Tafa whirled and then immediately relaxed. “Raaa.” She lurched forward, her breath so heavy with wine, it turned Ranka’s stomach. “Theeeere you aaaare.”

It took everything in Ranka not to flinch away from her. “Ongrum wants the ambassador moved to where the princess is being held.”

Percy stiffened.

Tafa blinked. “Really? Why?”

“She knows the girl has a soft spot for him—figures it’d be best if we did our interrogation within her earshot.”

“Smart.” A wicked grin bloomed across Tafa’s face. “Always more fun with an audience anyway.”

Ranka forced herself to smile in return, though it felt like her lips were carved from stone. Had she never come here, she might have meant that smile, might have indulged in the eager light in Tafa’s eyes. Now she felt only disgust.

The Murknen unfolded herself from the wall with a frown. She was older than Ranka, far shorter than her, with flaxen hair that had bits of moss woven through it. “Why is the Skra leader sending a pup to give us orders?”

A wave of panic prickled up Ranka’s spine, but she forced herself to remain steady. She looked at the Murknen and pictured Aramis—the way the princess wielded her cool dismissal like a weapon, the way she remained steady with that disinterested light in her dark eyes and the curve to her lips that suggested anyone who questioned her was nothing but a fool.

“She didn’t send a pup,” Ranka said coldly. “She sent the Bloodwinn.”

The Murknen glanced at Tafa, who nodded, and then dipped her head, though suspicion still shadowed her face. “My apologies.”

They stood there for an awkward beat. They expect me to lead. Which would make sense if Ongrum actually had ordered her to do anything. Ranka gripped Percy by his collar.

“You lead,” Ranka said. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“What an honor.” There was an odd edge to his voice, and his tone was particularly wheedling. “Escorted by my very best friend, the Bloodwinn. How privileged I am.”

“Quiet.” Ranka’s voice was flat. It took everything in her not to look down at him. If he saw her face, she’d betray them both, and then they’d be doomed. She glanced at Tafa and the Murknen, doing her best to look properly impatient. How long has it been now? Three minutes? Five? “Shall we?”

“Ranka,” Percy whispered. “Please, if you ever cared about us at all—”

“Quiet.”

The witches gave Percy and her an odd look.

He can’t talk to me like this.

“If you have an ounce of decency left in you—”

“I said quiet.”

They’re going to figure it out if I let him talk to me like this.

“You can’t let them near her—”

I’m sorry, Percy.

Ranka cracked a hand across his face.