Ranka pictured Aramis’s steel calm, Percy’s polished charm, and Galen’s disarming kindness. “How long have you been running from the sickness?”

Ursay missed a step.

“How long,” Ranka added carefully, “have you been mourning your lost warrior?”

The noise of the room faded away. Now it was only her and Ursay, Skra and Oori, gripping each other’s hands so tightly, their bones ground. Rage lined every muscle in Ursay’s body. Good. Ranka could work with rage.

“Explain,” Ursay warned. “Quickly.”

“She was young,” Ranka continued. “Tan and pretty, with kraken tattoos. We couldn’t save her. There was another with her—a Kerth. Most of the victims have been Kerth—but you already knew about that, didn’t you? You know they’ve been wiped out, and that’s why you’ve been hiding in the north, because your newest recruits told you exactly what to run from.”

The last claim was a shot in the dark. She’d noticed some of the Oori’s tattoos were fresh, the skin around them raw, the new ink carefully bandaged. All their ears were lined with old puncture wounds—as if they’d spent their lives wearing wooden beads. From the fury rippling off Ursay, she was right on the mark.

They only stared.

“Whatever horror stories the Kerth told you about the plague are true. But there’s something they don’t know.” Ranka steeled herself. “There’s a cure.”

“Impossible.” All of Ursay’s lazy bravado dropped away. Now a real leader gripped her hands. She could practically hear Ursay’s mind whirring, calculating how the odds might have just shifted. “The blood plague is incurable.”

“It was,” Ranka corrected. “The Kerth they injected—we found her before the winalin managed to kill her. And she’s still alive.” Ursay said nothing as Ranka plunged forward. “The Hands of Solomei intend to weaponize winalin and infect every witch alive. That princess over there? She and the Star Isles ambassador have nearly cracked the cure. We are close, Ursay. So painfully, blessedly close. But if the Hands attack tomorrow and kill Galen, every witch is as good as dead.”

The music shifted to a faster tempo. All around them, couples laughed and twirled. Ursay’s dark eyes were unreadable. “You want my warriors.”

“I want your promise you won’t pick up anchor, head out to sea, and leave us all to rot.” Her palms were lined with sweat. “I want your commitment to the Bloodwinn treaty—because without it, without those twins, it doesn’t matter where you sail. Winalin will find you eventually. And with no cure, your fate will be the same as the warrior you already lost.”

The music faded and slowed. It was time to switch partners. Still Ursay gripped Ranka’s hands so hard it hurt, breathing unevenly through their nose to try to calm their fury. “My girl, Soma. Did she suffer?”