The Hands seeing an opportunity—seeing a power-hungry woman from the north who knew nothing of politics and games, who wanted only strength. A temporary deal with a demon, to purge the rest from existence.

Ongrum had doomed them all.

And she had started with Yeva.

A horrible suspicion bloomed in the back of Ranka’s mind. The Kerth coven had been the first to be destroyed by the Hands—and their lands had shared a border with the Skra’s. Ever since she’d arrived in Seaswept, the presence of winalin witches had increased tenfold. Which meant either the Hands had gotten particularly adept at catching them—or someone else was helping them.

Someone the witches were more inclined to trust.

Ask Ongrum, Asyil had rasped, about the sick witches.

“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Ranka said slowly. “Why the Skra? Why would the Hands trust us with something as volatile as winalin? Why work with us to begin with?”

Ongrum looked puzzled, if not a little bored. “I mean really, Ranka. Who do you think supplied the Hands with witches to begin with?”

Ranka waited for Ongrum to laugh or backtrack, but instead she remained standing, her posture confident and relaxed.

Who do you think supplied the Hands with witches to begin with?

It was too far, even for her. Too horrific. And yet, painfully, horrifically, the pieces clicked together. The timeline was too perfect—of not just the missing witches, but the presence of more humans in the north.

Hunting not for any witch they could get their hands on—only one.

Ranka’s knees buckled.

She’d long wondered who had given up her identity to the humans. Who had known her so well, so intimately, that they were able to describe her down to her scar.

It hadn’t made sense for it to be a Skra before, because the Skra didn’t benefit from everyone knowing the Bloodwinn was one of their own.

Unless they wanted to drive her south.

Unless they’d worked out a deal with the humans, and Ranka’s identity was included in the price.

How many witches had died because of Ongrum’s greed?

How many more would?

Ongrum was speaking again, talking about how foolish the Hands were, how greedy, didn’t they realize they’d never be able to stand against the witches now that they held the capital?

Ongrum had orchestrated all of this. And she’d only been able to because of Ranka. Because Ranka had trusted her. Served her. Fought for her.

Now innocents would pay the price.

The panic swirling through Ranka went quiet. When she spoke, her voice came from far, far away. “I understand now.”

Ongrum brightened. “Well, it’s about time—”

“It’s incredible, really. Even I couldn’t have imagined something like this for you.”

“I’m glad you’re finally getting on board, witchling.”