Windwitch (The Witchlands 2)

Caden seemed to feel the same, for his expression had turned glacial. No more Chiseled Cheater, only cool Hell-Bard intent. He pushed to his feet; Safi pushed to hers.

Admiral Kahina smirked at them both. “I do so hope I see you again.”

“You won’t,” Caden promised, reaching for Safi. He didn’t touch her but simply motioned for her to move in front so they could make their way back to the door.

“But what about,” Kahina trilled after them, “our meeting at the bottom of the hell-gates? I was looking forward to it.”

Neither Safi nor Caden looked back. They didn’t need to, for the pirate’s mocking laughter followed them all the way to the exit.

TWENTY-FOUR

Vivia examined the hole in the royal storeroom wall. She kept her forehead scrunched into the famous displeased Nihar frown—the one Merik had always managed so easily—while her fingers pinched her nose tight.

Everything stank of excrement.

Beside her, a pretty guard babbled on and on about how she hadn’t known there was a crack in the foundation. “We’d have fixed it long ago, had we known,” she insisted.

To which Vivia simply had to nod and look suitably irate. The truth was that Vivia had known this hole was here. In fact, she’d put this hole here, knowing the floods and the filth of Shite Street would keep intruders out. Until now, it had been a perfect solution for getting Fox goods into the storeroom unseen. Either Vivia or Stix would sweep a fresh flood through to clear out the tunnel, then, one by one, the stolen wares were loaded in.

The girls had attempted this trick fifty times, and each time it had come off without a hitch.

Until, of course, right now.

“Blighted Fury,” Vivia spat, and genuine venom laced the words. Not merely because the man had killed a royal guard, but because now Vivia’s plan was unraveling. Too many people had seen the secret, undeniably foreign foodstuffs hiding in the lowest levels, and this method into the storerooms had been her idea—one her father had opposed.

Oh, Serafin was not going to be happy.

Vivia turned to go. The guard called after, “Should we fix the hole, sir?”

“Leave it,” Vivia called. “For now, I want it guarded. Ten men, all hours.” A curt agreement, and Vivia left the guard behind, aiming for the stairwell. She wove around servants and soldiers and officers, each searching for more cracks in the palace. For more areas where more criminals might get in.

It was too many people, Vivia thought as she hit the stairs. There was no way she could expect them all to keep the Fox secret quiet. One person—that was all it would take. He would blab to his friend over ox tea at the Cleaved Man: “I saw Marstoki grains in the storeroom!” Then that friend would prattle to his mother, and then on the story would move, until everyone knew about the Foxes before Vivia or Serafin was ready to share. The High Council would deem it a wild risk, a mad risk, and then Vivia would never win her mother’s crown—

“No,” she hissed at herself, bounding up two steps at a time. “No regrets. Keep moving.” She reached the next level’s landing and hopped off. Stix’s white head buoyed above the rest of the guards, all of them circled around the corpse.

Vivia had only glanced at the body, but a glance was all she’d needed. The man was an exact match for the corpse in Linday’s garden. The Fury had indeed been here; the Fury had indeed killed again.

Yet now an officer, bald and baritone, was cutting in front of Vivia. His head wagged. “It’s not one of ours, sir.”

Vivia blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he isn’t a royal guard.” He elbowed a path to the body until both he and Vivia could stare down at it. “That’s not our uniform, sir. It’s hard to tell with all that tarry blood on him—or whatever it is.” He cringed. “But underneath, it’s a different outfit entirely. Also, notice he’s only got nine fingers.”

With a hand over her mouth and nose, Vivia bent forward. Sure enough, nine fingers. Just like the body at Linday’s.

“Are you suggesting,” Vivia asked, straightening, “that he was part of the Nines? I thought that gang had dissolved years ago.”

“Maybe not.” The officer shrugged. “Or maybe he just used to be part of the Nines. It’s not like you can grow back a pinkie.”

“Right,” she murmured, and now her Nihar frown was a thoroughly real one. None of this made sense. Nines in the storerooms—or Nines guarding Linday’s greenhouse.

“Sir,” Stix said.

Vivia pretended not to hear and instead marched back to the stairs. She knew it was petty of her, but there was already so much going on. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to keep staring at Stix’s ruffled hair or wrinkled uniform.

Too good for me.

“Sir.” Stix clamped a hand on her biceps. On the mourning band. “The Fury has a companion—and I know where the boy lives.”

Now Vivia heard. Now she ground to a halt, three steps up. She twisted back, her eyes level with Stix’s. The first mate had paused a step below.

“Last night, it was the Fury who ruined your office. I didn’t have time to clean up—or wait for you—because I followed him.”

Vivia exhaled, hating how much relief slackened in her belly. For though Stix hadn’t spent the night out with a lover, it still didn’t make her a suitable match for Vivia.

“Followed him where?” Vivia asked tightly.