Page 162 of Witchshadow

Evrane was herself again, and as ruthless as ever.

With that truth to warm him, he braced himself firmly against her. Then two rolls of his wrists, a crack of his neck, and together with his mentor, the Bloodwitch named Aeduan set off into the winter’s light.

FIFTY-FIVE

Vivia stood at the edge of the Origin Well and watched the Dalmotti fleet, mere specks on an ocean bright with sunshine. Any moment now, they would sail past the horizon. Any moment now, and she could finally breathe.

Beside her was Vaness, also watching the Jadansi. Her gown had finally stopped dripping, though her hair still hung in long, damp hanks. Since ascending the rough stairs to the Well, Vivia had said nothing. Vaness had said nothing. They had simply marched across the plateau and taken up sentry above the Nihar coastline.

Somewhere behind them, below them, Shanna negotiated with Yoris so that Vivia and her Foxes might remain here. And though Yoris still hated Vivia, he now also feared her. She had raised a ghost navy; she had scared off a fleet of twelve warships; she had won what Serafin had avoided entirely.

Such stories would cross the Witchlands. Vivia and Vaness could earn enemies from it—but also gain many more allies to their cause.

When at last there were no more ships upon the waves—when even her spyglass could discern nothing—Vivia’s lungs unwound. Though only slightly, for there was still so much to do. A village that needed repairing, a shoreline that needed fortifying, and a future that needed planning.

She turned away from the sea. Vaness, however, did not. Her gaze had turned glassy, her focus somewhere on the middle distance.

“We strike,” the Empress said softly, “which justifies that they strike, which justifies that we strike. And it goes back and forth for all eternity. Echoes bouncing across a cavern, except that in a cavern, the sounds eventually fade. With war…”

“It only grows.” Vivia ran her fingers over her spyglass, the brass warm and reflecting the sun. “Justice, we called it here, but in truth, it was just areason to fight. I would have killed you and all of Marstok, Empress, because it’s what I was taught to do.”

Vaness swallowed. Her eyes, dark and sunlit, dragged to Vivia’s face. “I do not blame you. I was the one who let Nubrevna become a wasteland, all in the name of protecting my people. I never questioned if my methods were right. I simply believed they had to be done.” She squared her body to Vivia, her fingers reaching for Vivia’s hands.

And rather than withdraw like she always did, Vivia slid her glass into her pocket and allowed Vaness to clasp them. The Empress’s touch was cool. The salt wind wefted through her hair. “How do we change that echo? If we try to reclaim our thrones, people will die. How do we keep that from escalating into war?”

“I don’t know,” Vivia answered honestly. “But I do know that I don’t want to kill you anymore, Empress. It’s… well, it’s hard to truly hate someone you know.”

The Empress laughed, a wry rush of air over lips reddened from the sun. “So the solution to continental war is getting to know each other?”

And now Vivia laughed too. The idea sounded absurd when Vaness put it that way. “Well, it certainly can’t make things worse.”

“No.” The Empress squeezed Vivia’s hands, a brief burst of pressure before she withdrew. Strangely, Vivia wished she hadn’t.

“Why the questions?” Vivia scrubbed the back of her head. “Why the doubt? Yesterday you were proclaiming us Well Chosen and convincing me to gallivant into open rebellion.”

“Ah, but doubt isgood.” Vaness arched her spine, face cresting toward the sky. “It means we question our choices. It means we look for better solutions. In Marstok, we have a saying: They who see only one way forward are they who step off the cliff.” She glided forward as if to do just that, and without thinking—without pausing to realize thatof courseVaness wasn’t going to stride off the plateau and into the sea—Vivia slung her arms around the Empress.

She whirled Vaness toward her and clutched her close. Chest-to-chest, clothes wet and faces flushed. And though Vivia ought to pull away now that she realized it had been a joke, she didn’t.

Vaness didn’t either. Her eyes moved to Vivia’s lips, and Vivia realized in a vague, incredulous sort of way that the Empress wanted to kiss her.

An earnest voice shouted from across the Well: “Your Majesty, Your Majesty!”

Vivia jolted; Vaness flinched, and as they lurched apart, heat billowed up from Vivia’s ribs, from a firepot that had gone off inside her chest and was now burning, burning, boiling through her.

“Your Majesty,” Cam called again, oblivious to the scene he’d interrupted as his booted feet slapped over flagstones and around cypress trees. He came to a panting stop before Vivia and Vaness. “We’ve… had word,” he gasped, “from the Red… Sails. They’re attacking the Dalmotti ships and want to know… if we’d like to take Captain Kadossi into our custody.”

Vivia and Vaness locked eyes—Vivia’s wide, the Empress’s razor thin. “Well, this is unexpected,” Vivia murmured. Her thoughts were flustered, her skin aflame from a kiss she’d seen in Vaness’s eyes.

“That is a vast understatement,” the Empress replied, while the iron at her wrists shivered restlessly. If she was flustered, she didn’t show it. “He could be useful to us.”

“He could also be dangerous,” Vivia countered. “And we shouldn’t accept gifts from pirates.”

“Says the woman who was a pirate.”

Vivia shook her head. Then shook it more emphatically when Vaness’s expression remained unchanged. “You cannot possibly think we should take him, Empress. The Red Sails have no reason to aid us. This is clearly a trap.”

“Or perhaps they simply know which side will win the war.” Vaness turned to Cam. “Tell the Red Sails we will take Captain Kadossi into our custody immediately—”