“We found the warship by chance,” Vaness answered smoothly. “It must have been attacked by sea foxes as well.”

“Then, surely”—Leopold propped his elbows on his knees—“its dead crew will not mind if you take it ashore.”

For half a breath, Vaness froze. She did not speak, blink, or even breathe. Then she shot to her feet, bracelets clattering and a new mask settling into place: anger. Or perhaps it was no mask, for when Aeduan sucked in a full breath, he sensed her pulse was faster. Hotter.

“You would deny me help?” she said softly. “I, who am the Empress of the Flame Children, the Chosen Daughter of the Fire Well, the Most Worshipped of the Marstoks?” She stretched both her hands on the table with such poise that not a single iron link clanked. “I, who am the Destroyer of Kendura Pass? To deny me is to ignite your own funeral pyre, Prince Leopold. You do not want me as an enemy.”

“I wasn’t aware we were allies.”

Vaness’s body tautened like a waiting snake, and Aeduan instinctively summoned his own magic—a mere ripple that would leave his eyes clear of red. If this moment escalated, Aeduan would lock down the Empress in a heartbeat.

Leopold tipped a single finger at Vaness. “Here is the situation as I see it, Your Highest of Highs. First, I think that you are following my uncle’s betrothed—because why else would you abandon a truce summit at which you are supposed to be?

“Second”—he unfurled another finger—“I think you met Safiya’s kidnappers here and engaged in a battle that somehow fell between the Truce’s cracks.” Leopold flexed a third finger, frowning now. “I cannot sort out this third finger—which is the reason for it all. Safiya cannot possibly hold any value for you, Your Most Beloved.”

The air in the room tightened even more. Vaness’s chest expanded … but then Aeduan felt her blood cool, her fury back in control. “I,” she murmured, “do not want your uncle’s betrothed, Prince Leopold.”

“And I,” Leopold flowed to his feet, towering over the Empress by a full head and a half, “do not believe you, Empress Vaness.”

Magic rushed out—faster than Aeduan could ever have guessed. It stripped three knives from his baldric, launched them over the bench, and aimed them at Leopold’s neck, heart, and stomach.

Aeduan’s power roared to life. His blood reached for Vaness. His body tensed for action.

But in a slippery whisper, ten Adders unholstered their blowguns and aimed them at Aeduan and Leopold.

Aeduan’s gaze raced back over the room, mind groping for an escape route. He could control Vaness, but he’d still end up with a chest full of poison or steel—and although Aeduan would survive, Leopold would not.

The prince lifted a cool hand, no sign of fear in his voice—or, to Aeduan’s surprise, in his blood. “If you find Safiya fon Hasstrel before I do, Empress, you will return her to me immediately, or you will face the consequences.”

“Do you love your uncle’s plaything so much?” Vaness flipped up one palm, and the knife at Leopold’s neck drew back several inches. “Do you value her life so highly that you would risk my displeasure?”

Though the prince’s lips twisted up, there was no amusement in his smile. “I have known Safiya fon Hasstrel my entire life, Your Royal Perfection. She will make an incredible leader when the time comes. The kind who puts her nation before herself.” His eyes flicked significantly to Vaness’s bracelets. “So mark my words, Chosen Daughter of the Fire Well, if you do not give me the future empress, then I will come to Marstok and I will claim her myself. Now lower your blades before I accidentally step into one. That will erase your name from the Twenty Year Truce, I can assure you.”

A rigid pause stretched through the room, and Aeduan kept his witchery quaking high. Ready … Ready …

The blades lazily twirled back. Then they slid away and fell.

Aeduan caught the nearest from the air, but the other two hit the table. The bench. As he snatched them up, Leopold dipped forward to pluck another candied fruit. “Thank you for the treats, Great Destroyer.” He smiled blandly. “It’s always such a pleasure to see you.”

Without another word, and with the squared shoulders of a man in charge, Leopold the Fourth strode for the door. “Come, Monk,” he called. “We have lost time, and we must now make it up.”

Aeduan marched after Leopold, his eyes and his power never leaving the Empress or her Adders. Yet no one made any attempt to stop Leopold or Aeduan as they departed, and moments later, the men were rocketing off the splintered Marstoki galleon.

Once firmly on their cutter again—and with Leopold shouting for Commander Fitz Grieg to fetch him clean breeches—Aeduan watched the prince through slitted, distrustful eyes.

“The Empress,” Aeduan said once the Hell-Bard Commander had vanished belowdecks, “lied about having Tidewitches onboard.”

“I assumed so.” Leopold scowled at an invisible mark on his cuff. “She also lied about not wanting Safiya fon Hasstrel. But”—Leopold glanced up—“I have one advantage over the Empress.”

Aeduan’s eyebrows lifted.

“I have you, Monk Aeduan, and trust me when I say that that has the Empress of Marstok now sailing scared.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

“Keep the light steady!” Merik bellowed from the tiller. Two sailors aimed the Jana’s spotlights on the waves. The moon gave some light when the clouds bothered to part, but it wasn’t enough—especially not with the lingering rain.