Truthwitch (The Witchlands 1)

“Because, I am a servant to my people. If I must dirty someone’s hands, then I will always dirty my own.”

Safi blinked. Then she laughed—a broken, shocked sound. It would seem Vaness was just like Merik in that regard. Still … “This is much more than just … dirtying your hands, Empress. You were almost killed by a hurricane—and you almost cleaved too.”

“If my enemies had claimed you first, then you could topple me. Yet in my hands, you will save a kingdom. My kingdom. To me, that is worth dying for.”

Ah. Safi sighed at those words, and something deep and ancient flickered awake at the base of her spine. One for the sake of many. She understood that now.

“Surrender.” Vaness flicked her hand, and the spiked flail pendulumed. “There is nothing you can do.”

False, Safi’s magic breathed, and with that prickle of power, everything from the past few days washed over her. A deluge of words and lies that people believed about her.

… live out the same unambitious existence you’ve always enjoyed … This isn’t about you anymore … Only you would be so reckless … There is nothing you can do …

Then a single bright thought rose to the surface: If you wanted to, Safiya, you could bend and shape the world.

Uncle Eron had said that, and Safi realized—almost laughing as she did—that he was right. She wasn’t trapped inside her skin or her mistakes, and she didn’t need to change who she was. Everything she needed was inside of her: the tools from Mathew and Habim—even Uncle Eron—and the solid, unwavering love of her Threadsister.

Safi could bend and shape the world.

And it was time to do so.

In a single, fluid burst, Safi hooked a heel behind Vaness’s ankle and punched the Empress in the nose. Vaness fell backward to the street.

And Safi ran—flat out for the third pier. No looking back, no thinking. This was who Safi was and who she wanted to be. She thought with the soles of her feet, sensed with the palms of her hands. A bundle of muscles and power honed to fight for the people she loved and the causes she believed in. Her life hadn’t been leading up to Veñaza City or the flight from the ball. It had been leading up to this race to the final pier.

It wasn’t freedom she wanted. It was belief in something—a prize big enough to run for and to fight for and to keep on reaching toward no matter what.

She had a prize now. She ran for Nubrevna. She ran for Merik. She ran for Iseult. She ran for Kullen and Ryber and Mathew and Habim, and above all, she ran for herself.

Soldiers bloomed in the corners of her vision. A blur of green uniforms pouring from Lejna’s side streets. But they were too slow to catch up—at least not before Safi got to where she needed to be.

She felt it to the very core of her witchery, and with each explosive cry of true-true-true in her chest, Safi drove her legs faster.

She was ten paces from the pier now.

Five.

Something small and strong—like the handle of a flail—punched into Safi’s knee. She fell, but instinct took over. She swiveled into a graceless roll … and unfurled back into her sprint.

Then she hit the first plank of the pier, and pain shattered through her.

So furious, it masked all sight.

So explosive, it swallowed all sound.

Safi screamed. She crashed forward. Her arms crumpled beneath her.

Her left foot. She’d been hit by the flail’s spiky head. Her bones were smashed. Blood gushed.

But she was on the pier, and spilled blood or not, that contract had to be fulfilled. It had to be.

Black boots swarmed into Safi’s vision from all directions. In seconds, two Adders had hauled Safi upright and locked her in manacles.

As the Empress approached, shouting orders in Marstok that Safi found far too difficult to understand, she was pleased to spot a black eye blossoming on the Empress’s face. And ah, that was a lot of blood coming from her nose.

The two Adders clamped their hands on Safi’s shoulders despite the fact that she couldn’t have run—or even have walked—no matter how hard she tried. In fact, were it not for those hands on her shoulders, she wasn’t sure she could keep standing as Vaness leaned in close.

And though Safi wanted nothing more than to blink, to cry, to beg for someone to heal her foot, she met Vaness’s gaze and did not look away.

At last, Vaness smiled. It was a terrifying smile with all the blood dripping between her teeth. “You cannot escape me now.”

“I … wasn’t trying to,” Safi croaked—even though she really just wanted to scream. She forced herself to raggedly laugh. “If it’s my magic you want, Empress … if you think I’m so powerful … then you’re mistaken. I know truth from lie, but that’s it. And even when I know the truth … that doesn’t mean I always tell it.”

Vaness’s jaw tightened. She leaned in close, as if trying to read the secrets in Safi’s eyes. “What would it take to earn your loyalty, then? To ensure you tell me the truths that I need and help me save my kingdom? Name your price.”

Safi stared at the Empress’s swelling, purple face, and she nudged at her Truthwitchery for some sign of the woman’s sincerity. It seemed impossible that Vaness would offer something so vast … Yet beneath all of Safi’s blazing pain, her witchery shimmered its confirmation.

A triumphant smile curled on the edge of her lips—although that might’ve been a pained grimace. It was hard to tell at this point.