Page 156 of Witchlight
“I would like to,” she began, once they were seated, “that is to say, would you do me the honor—”
“Of a dance?”
“Ahtset. But also, would you do me the honor of—”
“A kiss?”
“By Noden, Empress, let me finish.”
“No.”
Vivia recoiled.“No?”
“Because if you finish, then I cannot be the one to ask, and I…” Vaness withdrew a small band from her pocket. It was not iron, but a silvery material.
And Vivia’s heart crumpled in her chest. “Steel?”
“Hye,” the Empress answered in Nubrevnan. “I told you, I only work with it for the most important items. And this… well, please domethe honor of becoming my bride. I understand there are political ramifications for our nations, but I believe we can—”
Vivia kissed her. A gentle thing of her lips against Vaness’s much softer ones. Then a harder thing when the Empress sank inward. When her bones seemed to melt against Vivia, and for once, the iron on her dress stopped moving.
“Ahtset,”Vivia murmured between kisses. “I will marry you.”
She now felt Vaness smile against her. Then she saw, when she opened her eyes, how the Empress’s dark eyes crinkled. It was an expression she so rarely revealed.Except for me.Between them both, all masks had long ago fallen.
“You will move to Marstok?”
“Of course not.”
The Empress laughed, scooting closer so she could slide her arms around Vivia’s waist. Then up Vivia’s back. “I did not expect you to, but it was worth asking. My Windwitches are tired of flying us back and forth.”
“You could move to Nubrevna then. That would solve it.”
Now Vaness’s laugh turned sharp. Her fingers too, as she let them dig into the muscles of Vivia’s shoulders. “Oh yes, a brilliant plan. My people and Sultanate and soldiers—whom I have only just returned to—will certainly understand.”
“Fine.” Vivia let one eyebrow cock high. “Neither of us moves. We’ll just wear out our Windwitches. And poor Cam and Aurora too.”
“Therearemagic doorways.” Vaness’s perfect eyebrows now notched high to match Vivia’s. “We could ask that the Sightwitches open one for us.”
Now Vivia really laughed, even as her mind wondered… wondered…Would they, maybe?“Logistics are for later,” she said, and with no other words—because really, they weren’t needed—she cupped the Empress’s face and kissed her again.
And nearby, where the Jadansi forever lapped against the city and saltedwinds forever blew, Vivia felt the waves kick higher. Crash hotter, responding to a Tidewitch celebrating whatever was to come.
Merik Nihar, Minister of the Republic of Arithuania, felt a fool as he tucked himself into a shadow of the Doge’s ballroom. He didn’t think he could have been any clearer with Revan’s mother—whom they’d found in Poznin, severely burned, but alive after the Great Collapse: he had not wanted buttons on his elegant attire for the Truce Summit ball.
Actually, Merik would wager it had been Revan’s own doing that the request regarding buttons had gone unheeded. He did so love his little unnecessary extras, so here Merik stood with an infernal number of pure silver beads climbing up his torso, a cascade of molten starlight against a blue so dark, it was almost black. Meanwhile Merik’s collar was high enough to stab into the edges of his jaw. It rubbed at the scars on his right side.
Merik’s only consolation was that his sister looked as blighted uncomfortable as he was, in her pale gray Nubrevnan Admiralty uniform. Chandelier light glowed across her and her entourage of vizers, and although she’d met Merik’s gaze across the tiled room several moments ago, she had yet to actually come speak to him.
To be fair, he hadn’t gone to her either. He and his lone guest, Sky, had been cornered almost immediately upon their arrival by a friend Merik hadn’t expected to see again. A man who’d been a Cleaved alongside Merik in Poznin, and without whom, Merik never would have escaped the Puppeteer’s control.
It was this man who’d thrust the killing blow into Esme, andhe, it turned out, was nothing short of royalty in the northernmost tribes of the Witchlands.
The Northman’s haggard beard was now a finely groomed one with beads and gold ribbon; his furs were dyed blue; a velvet purple cloak draped over one beefy shoulder; and a hammered band of silver rested atop his head.
The hug that the Northman and Merik shared made tears score in Merik’s eyes. (And also squeezed most of the air from Merik’s lungs.) But alas, the same language barriers that had prevented conversation in Poznin now prevented it on the dance floor. Sky did her best, but Merik could see her struggling.
Which was why he lifted both hands and said in Svodish, “We’ll be back—and with someone to translate.”
