She was smaller than Aeduan had realized, having only seen her from afar, yet despite her delicate bones, her blood-scent was unyielding. Desert sage and sandstone walls. The blacksmith’s anvil and gall ink. It was the scent of an Ironwitch—a powerful one—as well as a woman of education. And despite the fact that Vaness’s fleet was in shambles, she wore a fresh white gown, and her expression was coolly civil.

Aeduan settled into a wide-legged stance behind the second bench, calculating the best exits from the cabin as he did so—and the Empress smiled. It breezed over her lips—as if she and Leopold were merely meeting on the dance floor.

The Empress must have known who—and what—Aeduan was, yet she made no comment on his presence. Gave no indication that she found it odd Leopold lacked any sort of Hell-Bard escort.

Clearly, she was an expert at appearances, each expression a careful mask designed to keep the power of the room in her slender hands.

But why bother? Aeduan wondered. If she was as powerful an Ironwitch as the stories claimed, then she didn’t need tricks to get her way. The older Carawen monks still spoke of the day she destroyed Kendura Pass—the day she tapped into a magic so vast and so fearless, that she toppled an entire mountain.

And she’d only been seven years old.

Aeduan took that as a sign this meeting was peacefully intended.

“I will take some Marstoki dates, if I may,” said Prince Leopold. He hovered beside the table, seemingly more interested in examining his jacket cuffs than in speaking with Vaness.

Yet the mask Leopold wore was clumsy and overdone. It was like the prince played at being royalty while the Empress simply was.

Vaness motioned to the bench, the iron of her bracelets rattling. “Have a seat, Prince Leopold. I will have candies brought in.”

“Thank you, Your Holiest of Holies.” Leopold flashed her a bright grin, and with the sigh of someone who has worked a long, hard day, he sank onto the bench. Its black wood creaked.

Vaness swept onto the bench opposite him. Her spine straight, she cocked her head to one side, waiting. Her pause was quickly rewarded by a serving boy, who scurried in with a plate of sugared fruit. Leopold snatched up one, moaned his pleasure, and then snapped up two more. Seconds slid into minutes, and though Aeduan had no doubt the prince meant this as some sort of insult, the Empress showed only patience—which was more than Aeduan could lay claim to.

If Leopold’s point in coming was to offer petty insults, then this detour was an even greater waste of Aeduan’s time than he’d first feared. At this rate, Safiya fon Hasstrel would reach the Sentries of Noden before Leopold even finished downing his candies.

On the fourth fruit, Vaness’s face slid into a narrow-browed frown. “When I said that my fleet was hurt,” she said politely, “I had hoped for your assistance. Perhaps I was not clear.”

Leopold bared his usual flash of a grin and wiped a slow thumb over his lips. “But surely Your Most Majestic of Majesties realizes that sugar can improve even the most dire of situations.” He offered her a fig.

“I am not hungry.”

“One needn’t be hungry to enjoy these.” Leopold shoved the candy at her once more. “Taste one. They are almost as divine as your beauty.”

She bowed her head respectfully and, to Aeduan’s surprise, she accepted a sugared fruit. She even went so far as to nibble off a corner.

Aeduan ran his tongue over his teeth, at a loss for how to interpret this behavior. Leopold clearly wished to anger Vaness, yet she deftly avoided taking his bait. Which meant whatever she wanted was important—and whatever she wanted, she got. So why drag this out? Why keep a veneer of serenity with a power like hers? Aeduan certainly never bothered.

Leopold seemed to think the same, for on his sixth date, he abandoned his game. With poorly veiled annoyance, he slouched back and crossed his legs.

“What happened to your fleet, Your Worshipped?”

“Sea foxes,” she said simply—which earned a laugh from the prince.

“Sea foxes,” he repeated, eyebrows rising. “You expect me to believe that? Did shadow wyrms and flame hawks get you as well? Or let me guess: the Twelve returned with their wicked swords and bashed a hole in the hull.”

Vaness showed no reaction, yet the air in the room seemed to contract. The Adders stiffened, and Aeduan’s hand moved to his sword hilt.

“Flame hawks are still present in Marstok,” Vaness said, her tone as smooth as before. Her mask preserved. “And it would seem that the sea foxes have returned.”

Aeduan’s eyes flitted to Leopold, trying to gauge the prince’s reaction. Aeduan had heard of sea foxes, yet as far as he knew, there hadn’t been any sightings for decades.

For once, though, Leopold remained silent and unreadable.

So Vaness continued. “I am due in Azmir, Your Highness, but I fear it will take my men too long to repair our fleet’s damage. I ask that you lend us Tidewitches from your crew. We have none left.”

Then why, Aeduan mused wryly, do I detect at least three Tidewitch scents belowdecks? There was no mistaking them. They smelled of high-water marks and river rapids.

As Aeduan considered how best to inform Leopold of the Empress’s lie, Leopold flourished his hands. “Your Imperial Perfection,” he murmured, “I couldn’t help but notice an intact ship in your fleet. It didn’t match your other ships. In fact it looked—what did we say?” Leopold threw a pointed glance at Aeduan—one that made it clear he didn’t expect a response. Then the prince snapped his fingers. “It looked Nubrevnan. That was it. I wonder, Your Imperial Perfection, how it came to be in your possession?”