Vivia grabbed the finger. Her lips curled back. “All because you want to prove a point?” She swung her legs out of the bed, covers sliding off her. Still she gripped Vaness’s finger, even when she stood. Even when the room spun and she glared down at the smaller woman. “You would have damned us all just because you did not want to obey?”
A long breath slid by. Then a second and a third before Vaness finally spoke. “I am not your sailor, I am not your soldier. I am the Empress of Marstok, and I will never fire a cannon again.”
She yanked her finger free, and though Vivia could have held on, she saw no reason to. Vaness could win this one. But if the Iron Bitch thought she could be on board without using her magic to fight, then she was sorely mistaken. Every sailor did their part here, even royalty. Especially royalty.
It wasn’t until hours later, as Vivia oversaw repairs to the Iris’s main deck, that she remembered all the blood. Vaness had almost passed out. In fact, she’d almost lost control entirely … So maybe it was not mere insubordination that made her so angry, so vicious.
Maybe it was fear. Maybe something was wrong.
* * *
It was nearing midday before the Dalmotti navy caught up. Vivia didn’t know why she was surprised. She’d likely sunk their ship, and she’d outrun a Doge’s command. Of course they would want retribution.
The question was why he had wanted her and Vaness to remain in Veñaza City at all. Why he had risked battle in the first place just to keep them there. No matter the answer, when the ship’s girl shouted, “Warships on the horizon,” Vivia knew right away that the chase had begun.
“Witches,” she hollered, abandoning the tiller to Sotar again, “it’s time to fly. Leeri! Take the drum.”
“Where will we go?” Sotar asked, spyglass trained on the horizon.
“Nihar,” Vivia replied.
He snapped down the glass. “Your father will have people there—”
“And we won’t stay.” An unwelcome flush rose to Vivia’s cheeks. Stix would never question her. Stix would never pause.
Sotar seemed to realize his mistake, for his expression shuttered. He bowed his head. “Of course, Your Majesty. Do we go to Lejna, then?”
“No.” She flung her finger east. “We go to the Lonely Bastard. For now, steer us directly to shore. I will handle the rest.” Then she loped down the main deck, aiming for the ship’s stern once more. Her Windwitches were lined up, their wind-spectacles on, and Cam was once again at the drum.
“Not too fast a rhythm this time,” Vivia called as she clipped past. “We’ll need to hold the space steady.”
“Is this wise?” came a new voice, and suddenly the Empress of Marstok was in step beside Vivia. Cleaner, though her baggy uniform still bore stains. Perhaps Vivia should find her more clothes.
Incomprehensibly, she was embarrassed she hadn’t considered that sooner.
“You overdid yourself only last night, and now you plan to use your magic again?”
“Why, Empress.” Vivia bared a sideways smile. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were worried about me.”
Vaness’s lips compressed. She regarded Vivia with open disdain.
“But I do know better,” Vivia finished, reaching the stern. She grabbed hold of the railing. “I won’t exert myself. Just an easy tide to get us ahead of those boats and into hiding.”
“They will have Tidewitches of their own.”
“Hye.”
“And twice, if not three times, as many Windwitches.”
“Hye.” Vivia nodded, and her own lips pursed to match the Empress’s. “But they don’t have Nubrevnan ships, and they don’t have”—she tapped her skull—“Nubrevnan knowledge. My people have evaded the empires for decades. This is nothing new.”
Vivia twisted toward the horizon and toward the ships just forming in the distance, four small specks without her glass to magnify. Yet for some reason, the Empress still stood beside her.
Vivia fought the urge to glare. “What is it?” She lifted her hands toward the sea. “Speak now before I loose my magic.”
The Empress swallowed. Her throat bobbed, a strangely nervous movement. And a strangely attractive one. Then she bounced a shoulder and said, “Do not kill us all,” before whirling away toward the door belowdecks.
Vivia would have smiled at that—a sour thing—if not for her magic. It was pouring through her again. The waves, the water, the lapping, kissing sea. Command us, command us.
“Prepare winds,” Vivia hollered at her officers. “Make way!”
Winds funneled into the sails, and water lifted beneath the Iris’s hull. The ship groaned to a start. Due east, straight and true, exactly as Vivia had commanded Sotar. Exactly as she commanded the waves. Gentler than yesterday, in an easy pace that matched the wind-drum, now rising.
At some point, the sailors began to sing. Softly so as not to be heard by any approaching ships, yet loud enough, steady enough to steel Vivia and her witches. To focus their magic, one crew, joined as a single voice.
Just as the Empress had said, the Dalmotti ships had their own witches, and they were fast. Yet no one knew the coast like Nubrevnans, and no one but Nihars knew about the Lonely Bastard. A jagged rock thrusting up from the sea, the Bastard hid a small cove in the cliffside behind. The waters were cruel, the passage narrow, and only the right-size ship with the right-minded witches could ever slip through.
Vivia just had to make sure the Iris got there before the warships could see where they went. Otherwise she had no doubt they would simply build a new blockade and keep her and her crew trapped. Or worse, they might try to find somewhere to lay anchor and come ashore.
Faster, Vivia coaxed the waves. Just a little bit faster.
“The maidens north of Lovats,” sang the crew. “None ever looked so fair! When they catch your eye, you’ll fall in love, so everyone beware!”
Winds cycloned. Water kicked. The Iris moved faster, and the first glimpses of land came into view, crowned by rocks and exposed reefs. Not that Vivia could see it—her attention was wholly focused below, on the tides thrusting and currents carrying. But she felt the shore. Felt the waters shallow and the waves break over shipwrecks from navies past.
“The maidens north of Lovats are as strong as ten large men!” The singing grew quieter. Strained. And even the winds seemed to weaken.
“Do not slow!” Vivia screamed, briefly turning her gaze to the fore. “Trust me!” Then to prove her point, she wrenched her arms sideways and the waters wrenched the Iris too. “To port!” she shrieked at Sotar, who instantly threw his weight into the tiller.
The ship listed, the world dragged while the drum beat on. And the singing bellowed once more: “With minds as sharp as hammered steel, when they fight they always win!”
When the ship was upright again, it was perpendicular to the approaching Dalmottis. Dangerously exposed. Dangerously visible. But ahead, the first of the rocky outcroppings waited. They would dart and hide like a minnow. They just had to reach it before—
“Cannon fire!” The ship’s girl’s voice cut through song, drum, and winds. “Two incoming!”