She wanted, more than anything, to see that goddess-cursed, infuriating, know-it-all princess one last time, even if it ended with Aramis spitting in her face.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and the scent of witch floated her way. Ranka tensed and then felt sick. What was wrong with her? Tensing at the presence of a witch? What had this place done to her?

An arm looped through hers. “There’s the hero of the night.”

Ranka grimaced. “Hi, Tafa.”

Her longtime friend was horribly, terribly drunk. A deep blush colored her cheeks. Her clothes were covered in blood. “We won, Ranka. I can’t believe we actually did it, but we won.” Tafa threw an arm around Ranka’s neck. It was strange, to be this close to her and feel nothing. Once, a glance or a touch from Tafa had filled Ranka with a rush. Now she felt like a stranger.

“Hey, remember when I ordered Yursi to shoot you? That was stressful. You should have seen your face. I can’t believe it worked so perfectly. Ongrum had everything planned. She really is brilliant.” Tafa took a long drink of wine. “Just look at this place, Ra! And now it’s ours!”

“I mean, sure.” Ranka walked a little faster. The garden fires crackled in her ears, coupled with the distant crashes of witches tearing the palace apart as they celebrated. “It doesn’t matter, though. We’ll be going home soon.”

“Ongrum didn’t tell you?” Tafa took another swig and grinned, her teeth stained dark with wine. “The city is too unstable. We have to stay and make sure no one else steps in to fill the throne.”

Every part of Ranka went still. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“Plans change. I mean, are we going to give over the seat of power to those crazy Hands?”

“But we can’t stay here. Who cares who rules Seaswept? It’s not our home.”

“Oh, relax.” Tafa leaned against the wall, a sloppy smile curling her lips. The wine slipped from her fingers and cracked on the tiled floor. Tafa frowned. “Oops.”

Ranka left her behind, her steps short and quick, and told herself the chill was just from the night air that was creeping in.

Why wouldn’t Ongrum have told her she planned to stay in Seaswept longer?

It wasn’t the plan. And Ongrum’s not supposed to change the plan without telling me.

She didn’t know where she was going, only that it mattered that she kept moving. Hysteria bubbled up through her. Cool air hit her face, and then she was outside, striding through the smoking, charred ashes of the palace gardens. She dug her fingernails into her temples. The pain was bright, and it lingered with an unfamiliar burn without her blood-magic to eat the sting away.