Except that as Kahina uttered, “Tell me your name,” it occurred to Safi that maybe this wasn’t a distraction technique but rather a stalling one. More important than the words spoken, Mathew always taught, are those unsaid.

“You … want to lose.” Safi captured Kahina’s gaze. They were both using these moments to catch their breath. “Why?”

Kahina’s eyes thinned. No—they crinkled. She was grinning. “Because I do not need this ship. However, a favor from the future Empress of Cartorra. Why, imagine what I could do with that, Safiya fon Hasstrel.”

Dread, bleak and booming, filled Safi’s lungs. Of course Kahina would have learned who she was. The information wasn’t exactly secret, and at least Kahina didn’t seem to realize Safi was a Truthwitch. That still remained private.

“Here is my bargain, girl.” Ever so slightly, Kahina bore down her weight—and ever so slightly, darkness woozed in. “I will let you win this fight, and my crew and I will depart. In return, though, you will owe me. Anything I want, I will one day collect from you.” Kahina’s words were laden with truth. “Do we have a deal?”

Safi writhed. Safi fishtailed. Safi strained. But there was no breath here to sustain her, and grappling had never been a skill she’d bothered learning. The sky, Kahina’s face, the ship—it all wavered in and out. Leaving Safi with no choice. She had to agree.

Though she still choked, “Two … conditions.” It was inaudible—no air!—but Kahina understood and eased up enough for Safi to squeak out: “I will kill no one for you, and I … will not give my own life.”

Kahina’s smile spread. “Then we have a deal.” As she spoke those words, a hiss of magic brushed over Safi’s skin. A glow flashed in the corners of her eyes.

Kahina’s jade ring, humming with magic inside.

“Now flip me, girl, and start punching until I beg for—”

Safi flipped her, a bucking of her hips that actually worked this time. Distantly, she was aware of cheers from the dock. The Hell-Bards. The Cartorran crew.

False, false, false. Kahina’s back hit the deck, and Safi piled on. False, false. More cheers, more blood—and more wrongness to scrape against her magic. Lies of her own making. Lies to set them free.

“Stop,” Kahina groaned. “Stop.” Her eyes were sinking back in her skull. “Enough, girl, enough!”

Safi stopped. Then dragged herself off the stronger, smaller, wiser woman. “We claim,” Safi panted, loud enough for the crews to hear, “this ship. Take your men and go.” False, false, false.

Kahina only sighed, sinking back against the deck in mock defeat. Her face was pulp. But lies—all of it lies. “I will go. The ship is yours once more.”

And that was the end of it. The duel was done, the deal was final.

Safi did not watch the admiral leave, though. Nor did she observe the Cartorran crew marching on board, nor the Hell-Bards and Vaness arguing on the dock. Safi simply hauled her broken body to the stern and looked out at the murky bay. Behind her, a growing war thundered across Saldonica.

Yet while Safi’s eyes stayed locked on the soft lull of Saldonican waves—blood drip-dripping from her nose, her cheeks, her mouth—her thoughts were stuck elsewhere.

For resting on Safi’s palm was her Threadstone. It flickered and shone, a sign that Iseult was in danger yet again. A sign that Safi could do absolutely nothing to help her except stand here and pray to whatever gods might be listening.

THIRTY-NINE

A mountain bat. The mountain bat from earlier. Iseult didn’t know why she was so surprised to see one. After all, they were creatures of carnage, and a battle raged here.

Time seemed frozen as she held her ground beside Aeduan, taking in the monster. A shudder moved down the beast, rippling through its dark fur. Rain sloughed off.

Then it lunged for Iseult’s head, teeth bared and jaws wide.

Her instincts took over. She twirled sideways, ripping her cutlass free. Strong. She felt stronger than she’d ever felt before. And she couldn’t help but wonder—a smattering of thought between breaths—if it was because …

Because of the Firewitch.

Her speed was still nothing compared to Aeduan’s. His sword was already there, slicing roughly. He connected with the mountain bat’s fur, and mossy brown tufts fell with the rain.

Its silver Threads shone brighter. Iseult didn’t think she could cleave those Threads—and the fact that she wanted to, desperately, sent sickened heat punching up her throat.

But now was not the time for guilt. Nor revulsion. Nor regret. Iseult had to use this new strength to get herself and Aeduan away.

As if on command, Aeduan charged low, but the bat was rolling down in a blur of shrieking forest shades. Aeduan careened directly toward its fangs.

Iseult charged, a war cry building in her throat. “Me!” she screamed. “Come for me!”

A half second—maybe Aeduan gained that much from Iseult’s distraction, but it was enough. He shot for the nearest pillar, and in three steps, ascended.

Then he dove out, ready to impale the beast from behind. Positioned as the mountain bat was, with its wings outstretched for leverage, the creature couldn’t possibly twist around in time.

Aeduan’s sword slung up, ready to drive all strength and magic into his blow …

Iseult saw it, then: the silver Threads shimmered with a new color. One that made no sense—one that Iseult hadn’t known possible. Yet there it was, sunset pink braiding and twining within the silver.