Page 68 of Bloodwitch
“What awaitsyou?” Now she was well and truly shocked.
“Hye. I am Admiral. That means I will lead the forces into battle.”
“You aren’t well enough to lead forces.”
“Excuse me?” His shoulders notched up. His nostrils flared.
“You aren’t well. You only just began walking without the aid of your chair a week ago. How can you expect to lead soldiers into a fight?”
“I have fought—andwon—with worse ailments than this disease, Vivia. I fought the Marstoks in the Hundred Isles while a knife wound bled out from my thigh. This disease no longer controls me, so I—”
“No.” The word loosed from Vivia’s throat. Too fast to stop. Too fast to consider. Then she said it again: “No. You didn’t. You didn’t command that battle in the Hundred Isles. You passed out the moment you were struck, and your first mate coordinated the entire thing.”
Evrane had told Vivia the story long ago, before Serafin had banished his sister from the city forever.
“And,” Vivia continued, “as the Queen-in-Waiting, I decide whowears the title of Admiral of the Royal Forces. And I haven’t appointed you. I still remain Admiral, and soIwill form all strategy moving forward. Meanwhile, you will cease all planning with the navy and soil-bound, and whatever steps you have taken for advancing north are now over.
“As for these messages you have been getting, that ends today. From now on, those missives will come to me. The city of Lovats and the people of Nubrevna must—and will—come first in this war.”
As Vivia spoke these words, as they bubbled up from some place in her spine she’d never known existed, her father transformed. In seconds, the Nihar rage had ignited. She could see it in the rising of his shoulders, in the compression of his lips. And if she wanted to, she could still prevent it. If she wanted to, she could stop the explosion from snapping free.
All she had to do was apologize. Grovel and beg. Exactly as she’d done her entire life.
And perhaps that was what agooddaughter would do. That was what a loving, loyal daughter would do. But maybe she wasn’t any of those things, and maybe she had no interest in sharing the glory or sharing the blame.
Not anymore. Not with him.
“You are welcome to attend the High Council meeting this afternoon,” she said, popping her chin high. “Your advice and experience are always appreciated, Father.” Then, without another word and without a backward glance, Vivia left the royal bedroom.
No regrets, keep moving.
No shouts followed her, but they would come eventually. Theyalwayscame eventually.
Three steps into the hallway became ten, and still no bellows sounded from Serafin’s room. It was not until she turned out of the royal wing, her guards moving into formation around her, that her father’s roar finally crashed out.
She merely walked onward with a new purpose in her stride. For the Raider King was on his way, and Vivia had a city—and an army—to get ready.
TWENTY-NINE
The Cleaved marked Merik’s way. In Poznin, they lined up shoulder to shoulder, just as they had the night before, circling around trees and ponds and fallen homes. He passed city squares that had once been open to the night sky, but now were thick with oaks and beech. He saw statues choked by ivy, graveyards swallowed by thorns, and gallows reduced to skeletons by moss and rot.
All of it was overrun by Cleaved. Always the Cleaved, standing sentry with eyes that stared into nothing and faces gaunt with hunger. Merik didn’t understand how they lived when clearly they did not eat, drink, or perhaps even move.
Merik himself was ravenous. Esme had offered him no food since Kullen had dropped him here, and even water had been scarce. Twice, she had admitted she perhaps ought to feed him, but both times she’d forgotten. Or perhaps her words were no more than another game, another experiment. Knife wounds had not claimed him, but maybe starvation would.
Near the northern edges of Poznin, Merik passed a half-collapsed, half-flooded building. White stone turned to brown, wood flooring had long since rotted away, and the roof had fallen in, leaving only high, crooked walls and a staircase leading nowhere. All of it surrounded amurky pool lined with cattails. Sunlight gleamed down, a beautiful view, were it not for all the corpses.
Tens of them, all ages and races, floated atop the water. And Merik couldn’t help but wonder if the Cleaved had entered because they had wanted to or if the Puppeteer had commanded these deaths upon them.
Chills whispered over Merik’s skin. His feet slowed to a stop. A corpse with a square shield on her back floated by. A breeze swished at the cattails.
There was something about this place. Something cool and calming that called to Merik, begged him to enter the pool and find release. Before he even realized what he was doing, he had stepped in. Ice swept against his shins. Another step, it reached his knees. Another step, it gushed into his boots—and that finally startled him back to the present.
He lurched around, panic slicing through his brain. His footing failed. He splashed into the pond. A frigid dunk that reached his chest and left him floundering amidst the cattails.Come,sang the water, pulling at him.Come in and find release.
But Merik was not ready for that kind of release. Not yet. He wanted to stay alive—very much so—and to escape by another way.Trulyescape.
Cam and Ryber were still out there, and Merik would get back to them. And Kullen… the Fury… Merik hadn’t given up on him either.
