Page 89 of Witchshadow

They had not stopped the Dalmottis. Their warships floated close enough for Vivia to see sailors. Close enough for her to see individual flags slapping across the masts.

Twelve of them, and each manned with cannons aimed toward the shore.

The Empress spotted it too, and with only a wordless glance passing between them, they spun together and ran. Away from the sea, away fromthe warships, away from whatever strangeness the Well had brought out between them.

At the foot of the Origin Well, a jungle awaited. Thick with ferns and pines, overpowering in its sound: cicadas, birds, glowing insects Vivia didn’t recognize. For several moments, as she and Vaness staggered off the steep stairs that led to the Well, she had no idea where to go. She couldn’t hear the ocean, couldn’t hear the falls, and all around her was damp forest brightening with dawn’s first glow. What had once been a path was now overrun by stinging nettle.

And those several moments of confusion made all the difference. Right as she’d decided which way to run—which way was Noden’s Gift because the river, near and singing, slithered from that way—Yoris and his hunters coalesced from the trees. Tens of them, camouflaged and silent. Vivia might never have seen them if Yoris hadn’t stridden directly toward her, slashing at nettle with his cutlass and face gleaming with the humidity. There was just enough sunrise to see his scowl.

“A valiant effort, Princess.” He came to a stop fifteen paces away. “But ultimately a failure.”

Vivia blinked at him. She had no idea what nonsense he was spewing, and her attempt to count the hunters was failing. They blended too well into the jungle, and each time she reached twenty-three, she lost count again. There was no missing their crossbows, though. Or their drawn blades.

Not that those would be any trouble for Vaness, whose bracelets coiled and whose blood—like Vivia’s—now skipped with the power of a healing Well.

“Come peacefully,” Yoris said, “and my people won’t use their weapons.”

Vivia scoffed. She didn’t mean to, but the laugh simply burst out from her. “You think we’re trying to escape? We were attacked by Dalmotti assassins, you old fool. And no thanks to your guards, we managed to stop them.”

“Oh, we know about the assassins.” Yoris beckoned to some unseen hunter in the trees.

Leaves rustled, and ferns parted. Then two hunters stalked out, and clasped between them was a familiar Windwitch in black. His head hung limp against his chest. Every few moments, he mumbled something and drool slid down his chin. Eddies of harmless wind swirled around him.

Drugged,Vivia realized—the same drug they’d used on Vaness, presumably. But to make it worse, the man was wounded. It was almost invisible in the shadows, with his clothing pure black, but the wetness of his breaths gave it away. And once he was fifteen paces away, dawn light glittered over a bloody hole in his shoulder.

Vivia had no pity for the man who’d tried to kill her, but the inhumanity of forcing him to walk and endure that wound untended was too far. “He needs a healer.” She glared at Yoris. “Soon.”

“And he will get one, when he returns to his ship.”

“His… ship,” Vivia repeated, and at those words, ice sifted through her. It settled in her belly and sank to her toes. “So you know of the ships beyond the Well.”

Yoris smiled.

“And,” Vaness murmured, her first word since the huntsman’s arrival, “youletthe assassins have us, no? I suppose the Doge has a better offer for you than your own king?”

His smile faltered. His eyes thinned. “I am loyal to my king and vizer, Marstokifilth.” Spittle sprayed with that word. “But yes—his offer is a good one. We give you to them, and they leave without attack. It is hard to refuse something that saves lives.”

The ice in Vivia’s bones laced outward. She felt sick. She felt cold. She felt very small and very alone. For Yoris would not act without command. He was a dog reliant on his master to know what to think, feel, do. He must have sent word to the capital as soon as he had Vivia in his paws. Then sent word again when these assassins had arrived with their offer. And if Vivia had to guess, the Doge was offering more than simply sparing Noden’s Gift. There must be gold involved.

Or weapons. Her father could never resist weapons.

Of course it would come to this. Vivia didn’t know why she’d ever expected otherwise. Ofcourseall her years of scraping and fighting and gushing praise upon a fragile, spiteful man had come to this.

“And to think I thought family mattered,” she said to no one. She wasn’t even sure the words escaped, or if they were entirely in her head. “All that ever mattered was the crown.”

“He would not dare,” Vaness said.

“And yet he did.” Vivia lifted a single shoulder, her eyes finding Yoris’s in the shadows.

And the old man nodded. “He did.” Then he circled his arm once, finger pointing to the sky, and his hunters emerged from the forest. Their intent was clear: it was time to reclaim the hostages.

“Now if you will release your magics and surrender,” Yoris said, lifting his own blade high, “then we can finish this trade. You two will go with the Dalmottis, and then the Dalmottis will sail away.”

Neither Vivia nor Vaness moved. For several breaths, the only sound was the forest, humming through Vivia’s veins.

“Think of all the lives we will lose, Princess.” Yoris shifted his weight, face wrinkling with impatience. “Those ships will make short work of Noden’s Gift, unless you surrender.”

Vivia ignored him and turned her gaze on the assassin. “Why does the Doge want us? Why did he send you here?”