“Because sending a message to a witch from Vetris will certainly still be possible with the city in full wartime alert,” Varia drawls.

“Yes, well, I’d rather not sit here and drink tea while they die,” I bite back.

Varia sighs. “Focus on teaching the valkerax. I’ll send word for you.”

“You know where she lives?”

“Approximately.” The princess shrugs. “I could feel where she was when I pulled your ownership from her. I’ll have my people send her a dried rat’s tail—a witch warning. If she’s still there, it will reach her, and she will know to flee.”

“Do you promise?”

Varia sighs. “Yes. I promise. She’s a citizen of Cavanos, and I’d be remiss not to save her life.”

Her words are echoes of Lucien’s—or is it the other way around? “Are you sure it’ll get to her? Don’t you think they’ll tighten security around the city?”

“Worry about the valkerax.” Her voice is hard. “I’ll take care of everything else.”

“Until you can’t anymore,” I say. “Until the burden becomes too big for your shoulders.”

“‘Too big a burden’? A d’Malvane doesn’t know the meaning of those words.” She laughs, but the sound is somehow thin. “I heard your inquiry was interrupted. I’m nearly certain that with the war in full swing, Father will have no time for it anymore. You got lucky.”

“Is that what being your flesh puppet is called these days? Lucky?”

Varia laughs again and heads toward her bathroom, the steam of an already prepared bath billowing through the open door. I watch her pull out the bag with TRAITOR on it and the bag with LEECH. Gavik’s heart and mine. My blood races at how close my heart is. She puts them down onto a small table, throwing me a smirk.

“You’re aware, of course, that your witch must put your heart back into your body for you to become human again.”

I scoff. “I spent three years in the woods with Nightsinger. Of course I know that.”

She’s quiet before she turns, walking into the bathroom. When I hear her slip into the water, I walk over to the table, stroking the TRAITOR bag. It’s so warm. I can feel the soft lump of flesh. I can feel my own heartbeat, and I fight back the tears it brings to my eyes. My other hand grips Father’s rusted sword.

“Soon,” I whisper.