Merik sighed. “Good-natured curiosity.”

True.

Safi’s mouth pursed to one side. Merik was being strangely open with her—which he certainly didn’t have to be—and Safi supposed there was no tactical advantage if he found out how she and Iseult had become friends.

“We met six years ago,” she finally answered. “She works … or worked, I suppose, for my tutor in Veñaza City. Whenever I visited him for a lesson, Iseult was there. I … didn’t like her at first.”

Merik nodded. “I didn’t like Kullen either. He was so tense and hulking.”

“He still is.”

Merik laughed—a full, rich sound that sent warmth cinching around Safi’s stomach. With his eyes crinkled and his face relaxed, Merik was handsome. Disarmingly so, and against her better judgment and strongest wish, Safi found herself relaxing.

“I thought Iseult was tense too,” she said slowly. “I didn’t understand Threadwitches back then—or Nomatsis. I just thought Iseult was strange. And cold.”

Merik scratched his chin, rough with stubble. “What changed?”

“She saved my life from a Cleaved.” Safi looked at Iseult, stiff upon the pallet. And much too pale. “We were only twelve years old, and Iseult saved me without any thought for herself.”

There had been an Earthwitch near Mathew’s shop. The woman had started to cleave with Safi only paces away, and when the Earthwitch had lunged, Safi’d thought it was all over for her. Hell-flames or Hagfishes, she hadn’t known, but she’d been certain they were coming for her.

Until Iseult was suddenly there, jumping on the woman’s back and fighting like it was her life trapped in the balance.

Of course, Iseult hadn’t been strong enough to stop the Earthwitch, so thank the gods Habim had arrived only moments later.

That was the first day Habim had begun training Iseult to defend herself alongside Safi. More important, it was the first day Safi had seen Iseult as a friend.

And now this was how Safi repaid her—by sending their lives up in smoke.

Safi stirred her soup, watching the bread swirl. “How did you and Kullen become friends?”

“A similar story.” Merik wet his lips and, with a bit too much nonchalance, said, “Kullen has bad lungs. I … don’t know if you’ve noticed. It’s ironic, really—he’s an Airwitch and can control someone else’s lungs, yet not his own.” Merik gave a dry laugh. “Kullen had his first truly bad breathing attack when he was eight, and I used my winds to revive him. Rather straightforward.” Merik nodded to the soup. “How’s the dinner?”

“I’ve had worse.”

He bowed his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment. We do what we can here, with what little we have.” He lifted his eyebrows as if he intended a double meaning.

It was lost on Safi. “What’s your point?”

“That I think you do the same—make do with what you have. I will help Iseult when I can.”

“I can’t wait that long. Iseult can’t wait.”

Merik shrugged one shoulder. “You have no choice, though. You’re the one in chains.”

Safi flinched as if he’d hit her. She dropped the spoon and thrust away the bowl. Broth sloshed out the sides.

Let Merik mock her helplessness. Let him laugh at her chains. She had lit this pyre; she would put it out—and she didn’t need his or anyone else’s permission to do that.

“It tastes like crap,” she said.

“It does.” Merik gave a knowing nod—which only incensed her more. “But at least I get some dinner now.” He swooped up the bowl and then marched from the room as smoothly as he’d come in.

* * *

Iseult was stuck in the half-dreaming again. Voices lingered outside of her awareness, and dreams hovered just beyond. Someone was here.

It wasn’t the people in the ship’s cabin, of which Iseult could hazily hear. This presence was a different shadow—someone who wriggled and writhed in the back of her mind.

Wake up, Iseult told herself.

“Stay asleep,” the shadow murmured. It had a voice she knew: Iseult’s own voice. “Stay asleep but open your eyes…”

The voice was stronger than Iseult. It coated her mind with a sticky, inescapable syrup, and though Iseult screamed at herself to awaken, all she managed was exactly what the voice wanted.

She cracked open her eyes, and saw the cabin’s oiled bulkhead.

“A boat,” the shadow murmured. “Now tell me, Threadwitch, what is your name?” The shadow still spoke in Iseult’s voice, though there was a giddy layer over her words, as if she constantly smiled. “And do you travel with another girl? A Truthwitch? You must, for there are only so many Threadwitches at sea right now—three, to be exact, of which only one is the appropriate age.”

“Who,” Iseult began, though she had to fight to get the single word over her lips. Her voice sounded a million miles away, and she wondered if perhaps she actually spoke in the real world—if that was why her throat seemed to burn with the effort. “Who are you?”

The shadow’s glee solidified, and an icy trickle slid down Iseult’s spine. “You are the first person to sense me! No one has ever heard what I say or what I command. They simply follow orders. How is it that you know I’m here?”

Iseult didn’t answer. Just voicing the one question had sent white-hot pain through her body.