Ranka rolled her eyes. Witchery largely favored women, but there were witches of every gender. A male witch had led the Kerth; a nonbinary witch piloted the Oori coven’s fleet. Even if a witch was given the wrong gender at birth, the power remained.

“Bloodwinn,” a voice said. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

The guard approaching looked to be in his midforties, pale and lean with a shock of red hair. His uniform gleamed with medals, and the sword at his side was simple, lightweight, and well worn.

The other guards dipped their heads, stepped back, and mumbled, “Sir.”

The man looked her over. He had more freckles than anyone she’d ever met. “I’m Captain Wolfe, though you’re welcome to call me Foldrey.” His eyes were wary but kind. There was a harsh lilt to his words, one that felt like home. This man had been a northerner once. “I know you must be terrified, but no harm will come to you here. The Sunra family has always honored the treaty.”

Ranka swallowed, her head spinning. The captain of the guard—good. If anyone knew where Yeva was, it was him. “You can let her go now.”

Foldrey smiled awkwardly. “I’m sorry?”

“The witch you mistook for me. That you kidnapped, to bring me here. Yeva. You can release her.”

They stared at each other. Ranka kept her face carefully blank, though her heart threatened to beat out of her chest.

“I—I’m sorry,” Foldrey said finally, looking more uncomfortable with each passing second. “I don’t know what you mean, child. We’re not in the business of kidnapping girls.”

Disappointment clouded her.

He had to be lying. No one else had reason to take Yeva. He had no reason to be honest with her. For all she knew, Yeva was rotting in a dungeon cell right below her feet, held prisoner to ensure Ranka’s compliance.

No matter. Ranka would find her one way or another.

Foldrey cleared his throat. “Right, well… if you’ll follow me, Prince Galen is very eager to meet you.”

Galen. The guard said the name so softly, like the wretched Skybreaker prince were his own child and not a monster of a boy who sought to force her into marriage for some treaty that’d done more harm than good.

Ranka swallowed the bile rising in her throat and followed Foldrey across the palace grounds.

The grounds unfolded as they walked. Gardens swollen with pale irises and dark vines gleamed between arguing diplomats and opulent statues. Boardwalks stretched over shallow ponds, where sunset-colored carp swam in lazy circles, bobbing to the surface to compete for the bread crumbs a squealing little girl was tossing over the lilies. Even in the shade, the heat of the midsummer sun pressed down with suffocating weight. Vivna would have loved it. Yeva would have melted at the sight of the beauty shimmering across the grounds.