Page 9 of Witchshadow
“Yes,” Iseult lied, though she knew the weasel didn’t believe her. Yet the slithery creature had never had any solutions to offer—the nightmares had never plaguedher,after all. She had killed for pleasure as a human; she killed for pleasure as an animal. And after a few moments of watching Iseult map the next day’s route, the creature slunk outside to enjoy the night.
FOUR
Never had Vivia Nihar seen such extravagance. The Floating Palace of Azmir was a lesson in minimalism compared to the Doge’s mansion on the edge of Veñaza City. The glass walls alone must have taken a hundred witch artisans to create, and the gardens—so lush were they that even with Plantwitches to tend and coax, they must have required decades for the assembly.
“Do not look so horrified,” Vaness murmured beside Vivia. “The Doge is very proud of his gardens.”
Vivia’s face twitched.When you are with others, the Little Fox must become a bear. Now, is your mask on, Vivia?She patted the edges of her face, but no amount of grasping for her mask had seemed to work today. Or yesterday. Or any day since reaching Veñaza City a week ago.
Out of her depthwas a vast understatement. Everything in Dalmotti had been foreign, exhausting, and terrifying. She was the klutz to everyone’s grace. The barbarian to everyone’s flawless manners. The hardened sailor to everyone’s soft wealth.
Right now, her only tether to good manners was Vaness—and Vaness was her only tether to calm as well. As long as she had Vaness to imitate, Vivia could do this.
Keep moving,she told herself, and her feet obeyed. A little bit faster in their pace. A little bit longer in their stride. Jasmine fragranced with sea salt brushed against her, while a breeze kept the city’s oppressive humidity away. It billowed through the golden gown draped over Vaness’s petite frame. It tugged at the coattails and ruffled collar on Vivia’s salmon-red suit.
She might be a queen with no queendom, but curse it all, she was still a captain and she had earned this broadcloth and these silver buttons.
“Through here,” offered a spindly servant. He scraped a bow before an open glass door that towered to twice Vivia’s height. Light glared, hiding who or what might be within. The hair on Vivia’s arms pricked upward;she stretched her magic wide, combing for the nearest water.A watering can tucked behind that flowering ash. A small fishpond hidden in the lemon grove.She could use those if she had to—not that she sensed soldiers or assassins nearby, but how could anyone feel safe with so much wealth around?
“Relax,” Vaness murmured.
Vivia did no such thing, but as Vaness strode through the glass door, she did hurry after. Light softened. The room took shape. No soldiers, no assassins. Only the Doge, leader of all Dalmotti. He was a small man, bespectacled and with a tendency toward runny eyes—as if all the flowers outside irritated his nose. Unfortunate, considering the Witchmark on his right hand was a single leaf etched within a square: a Plantwitch.
“Ah, you are here.” The Doge looked up from a large desk layered in more papers and books and pens than any person could possibly need. He pushed to his feet, and with unhurried—and unsurprised—movements, he shuffled around his desk.
Vaness paused ten paces away, so Vivia paused as well.
“Your Imperial Majesty.” The Doge bowed for Vaness before turning to Vivia. “And Your Highness. You look so much like Queen Jana.”
Oh.Vivia’s shoulders tensed higher. Her magic keened higher too, and though she couldn’t see it, she felt the water in the fishpond riffle and groove. She had not expected the Doge to invoke her mother’s name. Nor had she expected the subtle slight. “Your Highness” instead of “Your Majesty.”
To this imperial leader, Vivia was no queen. To him, she was still just a princess—one who now drowned in the silence and the heat and the weight of jasmine clogging up her nose. The water riffled faster.
“You know why we have come,” Vaness said, cutting through the moment with the ease of sharpened steel. “And we will not waste your time nor ours with useless pleasantries.” She waved a hand toward the guards and servants. “Out. All of you.”
When none of them obeyed, her nostrils flared. The iron bracelets at her wrists slithered like baby cobras. Yet only when the Doge gave a casual flick of his fingers did the soldiers and attendants finally march into the garden.
The insult was clear, and before the Doge could open his tiny, fluttering mouth, Vivia knew what he would say. “I am afraid the Dalmotti Empire cannot help you.” He blinked behind his spectacles; Vaness’s bracelets writhed faster. “I have spoken with the Guildmasters, and we are all in agreement: we simply do not possess the resources you require.”
Lies,Vivia thought. This palace alone could more than fund what Vivia and Vaness wanted. Why, even two of those blighted glass panels would probably fund it.
“We will continue to house and protect you, of course, though you need not remain on your ship. In fact, I insist you join me in the palace as guests.” The Doge smiled, a simpering thing. “Claiming any thrones, however, must wait until the fighting concludes.”
“Until the fighting concludes,” Vaness repeated, and Vivia could practically hear her internal screams.
Her own screams were at approximately the same pitch. In fact, all her discomfort had washed away beneath the power of those screams, building in her belly. A rage she so rarely felt—much less let loose.
Her fingers stretched against her pant legs. If Vaness could remain calm, then she could too.
“You,” Vaness said softly, “are a disappointment, Doge. You turn down our offer and then lack even the decency to explain the truth.”
“The truth?” His fingers steepled.
“You could have had an alliance with the Marstoki Empire and Nubrevna.” Iron snaked up and down her arms, betraying her feelings even as her face did not. “Such power is not something you will come by on your own—nor something you will be able to forge. Right now, our people are your enemy.”
The Doge bristled, and for half a moment, Vivia saw how someone who seemed so mild-mannered might have risen to the top. A flash of heat across his eyes. A stiffening up his spine. “We lose lives in battle every day, Your Imperial Majesty. We cannot spare more lives to try to win back thrones we have no guarantee of winning.”
“In battle?” The words loosed from Vivia’s tongue before she could stop them—as did the laugh that followed. The fishpond riffled anew. “You call what your navy does ‘battle,’ Doge? You defend trade ships.”
