Page 6 of Bloodwitch
Habim would be very impressed by her self-control.
“How do you do?” she asked.
The man only waved her greeting aside before swiveling toward Vaness and launching into a long-winded description of his travels. How he had crossed the Sea of Karadin in a storm, how flame hawks now nested on the mainland shores, how bandits lay in wait amidst the cotton farms beside the river.
As the man continued to list off the trials of his journey, each one more impressive than the last, Safi stared him down. Bayrum of the Shards was a liar—that much was obvious. His love for subterfuge and deception frizzled down her spine, scratching at her insides in a way that only an untrustworthy soul could.
Safi would have expected no less from a nobleman, though. At court, everyone lied. It did not matter what nation, what government, what people. Uncle Eron had once told her that when power was at play, lies grew thick as weeds and the liars beneath them flourished.
It had proved true in Cartorra, in Dalmotti, and now again in Marstok. Like weeds, though, lies were not a symptom of corruption in the soul, and truth was not a symptom of its purity. Nations could not run without blackmail or false promises or money exchanging hands, especially not nations as vast as the Marstoki Empire.
What Safi needed to know, though, was if this cousin was a part of the plot to overthrow Empress Vaness. It wasn’t a plot that Safi believed existed. Yes, there had been explosions and attacks across the city. And yes, there was a current of… ofwrongand ofrotshivering through Azmir, but that was connected to the Baedyed Pirates’ rebellion. Safi was certain of it. After all, those pirates had made their betrayal known in Saldonica, and they had already tried to kill Vaness once.
Vaness remained unconvinced, however, for one simple reason: the recent attacks had not included cries ofFor the Sand Sea! For the Sand Sea!This, she insisted, was the way of the Baedyeds. This, she insisted, was why another plot must be at work.
Now Safi was forced to meet every Sultanate minister, every military officer, and every backwoods imperial relation in Marstok, not to mention the massive gathering of basicallyeveryonein the empire who had come to the city for the Empress’s birthday celebration tomorrow.
It had been almost fun at first. A novelty. New faces, a chance to put all her training to the test while she sieved out the pure from the wicked. The first day, she had taken her duties very seriously, listening with great care to anyone who crossed the Empress’s path. But soon, all the words, all the truths and the lies, had blended into an endless cascade of meaningless nothing.
By the second day, Safi focused less. By the fifth, she had stopped listening at all. The words mattered little. If there was rot within this court, she would have to spot it another way. Her solution became three questions—very simple questions that eliminated any chance for an adept liar or devout believer to somehow trick her magic. For the reality was that Safi’s witchery was easily confused. Her power tricked by strong faith. Her magic duped by rumors or ancient mistruths.
When Bayrum of the Shards finally paused for a breath between tales of a daring escape from raiders, Safi pounced. “Are you aware of the peace treaty with the Baedyeds?”
The reaction was immediate, although to the man’s credit, he showed no panic on his face. No muscle twitched, no eyelid fluttered. “Yes. I heard Her Imperial Majesty was negotiating such an accord.”
True,Safi’s magic hummed. It caught her by surprise. Many knew of the treaty, but they usually lied about it. No one wanted to admit to partaking in gossip.
“And,” she continued, “have you heard of a plot to overthrow the Empress and claim the throne?”
“Nothing specific.” A dismissive shrug. “But such rumors always abound. Wherever there is power, flies will clot.” He smiled at Vaness, and though the expression rang false, his words rang true.
“And,” Safi asked lastly, each word carefully spaced, “did you know of the explosion on the Empress’s ship—”
“Everyone knows of it!”
“—beforethe attack occurred?” Safi had to pitch her voice louder to be heard, but the effect was instantaneous.
A pause, a blink. Then a slow “Of course not. What a ridiculous question.”
The lie dragged down Safi’s neck. Scratched over her skull like fingernails. The nobleman had indeed known, and such a thing was only possible if he had been involved in the plot.
A vast pit opened in Safi’s gut. Her toes tapped a descant against the tiles. Here was a man responsible for almost killing her two weeks ago. She and Vaness had survived; the Adders and crew had not been so lucky.
Safi glanced at the Empress of Marstok. Vaness had already rooted her dark eyes on Safi’s face. She arched a single eyebrow, seemingly disinterested in whatever word might fall from Safi’s tongue.
Yet just as Safi could feel the cousin’s lies, she could spot Vaness’s too. The Empress was the coiled asp, waiting for an answer and ready to act.
Safi bowed her head. “False. He knew of the attack.”
A snap from Vaness’s fingers. A cry from the cousin. Then the man’s hands were rising, his sleeves falling back to expose pale wrists and forearms.
In a blur of gray speed, iron shot from the shackles at Vaness’s wrists, wound into a disc, and sliced through the man’s neck.
His head hit the tiles. His body slumped next, blood spurting and oozing and gathering in the grout. Great pools of red that spidered and spread.
What poor servant will have to clean this?Safi wondered vaguely—also wondering why there was still no sound coming from her throat. Or why she was so calmly smoothing at her white dress. Or why she was fixating on the three spots on her hem, already drying to brown.
Somehow she kept her legs from rubbering out beneath her.Somehow she managed to speak to Rokesh when he cut into her path as she stepped off the dais a few moments later and aimed for the door.
