Now whispers of demons filled the streets, of pets snatched in the dark. Corpses stolen from graves, found miles away, half eaten. Troubling reports came in daily from citizens who lived near mine entrances—claiming that at night they’d begun to hear screams.

How long until the winalin witches the Hands had set loose in the tunnels began snatching people?

How long until they roved the city streets, and then the countryside at large?

“Foldrey knew,” Ranka realized. “He knew this would happen, and that’s why he tried to get me to leave.”

Aramis whipped around to look at her. “He did what?”

So he’d truly been acting on his own, then. It felt wrong, to speak ill of the dead. Though there had been no funeral, and the official story was he was missing, they all knew with each passing day they’d never see the captain again. But Aramis deserved the truth.

“After Bell’s Corridor he called me to his office. He… told me I was a danger to you, and to this city. And he told me to leave.” She chewed on her lip. “He didn’t care where I went—just that I was gone, and quickly.”

And he had been right. With Ranka removed, the witches would have no reason to enter Seaswept. The Hands would have no one to infect. But fleeing was out of the question now. Border reports indicated the covens had entered Isodal a week ago. They’d be at the city gates within days.

They’d chosen this path. Now they had to find a way to survive it.

“Princess,” Ranka said slowly, uneasily. “Galen needs to know.”

“No. He’s so fragile with Foldrey still missing—”

“You’re coddling him.”

“I’m keeping him safe.”

“Are you?” Ranka pressed. The air between them was charged again, but it was no longer an aching, lovely thing. “Or are you refusing to trust him to bear the weight of the truth? This is no longer some runaway disease popping up in the streets. It’s biological warfare. The Hands don’t just have the Star Isles strain of winalin, they’re making more. Someone gave them samples of blood-magic, samples of me. A guard, a noble, maybe even a goddess-damned Council member. Someone wants you both unseated. Now every coven is headed here, and the Hands are going to try their hardest to ensure they leave infected with a plague that has a hundred percent mortality rate. We need a plan. Extra guards, preparations in case this all goes south, safe houses set up and allies identified for the absolute worst-case scenario. And for that to happen, Galen needs to know.”