“My blood,” Ranka whispered. She was going to vomit. “You stole my blood and gave it to the Hands.”

Foldrey had been with them every step of the way. Foldrey had been there, in the workshop, watching as Aramis worked tirelessly for a way to neutralize a virus that turned witches’ bodies against themselves.

And Foldrey had been working against them this entire time.

“I did.” Foldrey dipped his head, and this time he spoke only to Aramis. “I know you won’t believe me, but I am doing this for you and Galen both. For all of Isodal.”

Aramis laughed bitterly. “By helping the witches launch a coup?”

Foldrey’s lips thinned.

“The Hands split,” Ranka guessed. The anger on his face confirmed it. “You were never going to aid Ongrum. You were going to pin the coup, winalin, all of it, on her—but some of your men broke from the plan.”

It was too perfect. Draw the witches in with the temptation of winalin. Promise them the world, an equal split of power—and when they launched a horrifying loose massacre on the palace and turned winalin witches into the streets, pin the entire plague on them. It would have been neat. Easy.

It would have ensured the Bloodwinn treaty could never exist again—and that any witch in Isodal would be burned alive the day their nails turned.

But he didn’t account for Ongrum. For all her faults, all her greed, Ongrum was a leader who knew how to inspire. She’d taken scared children and molded them into warriors. Could rally a band of bleeding, broken witches into believing sacrificing themselves was a glorious, noble pursuit, if it meant retaining a piece of territory.

There would have been Hands who resented Foldrey’s careful protection of the twins, humans who wanted them to burn along with the witches. It would have been all too easy for Ongrum to appeal to their bloodlust, to steal them to her side, both parties plotting to betray each other once Galen was dead.

“So why are you here?” Aramis snapped. “To gloat? To kill me yourself?”

Foldrey’s pale eyes flickered with something like grief. “I am here to help.”

“Right,” Aramis laughed. “And then you’re going to—what? Expect us to forgive you, expect us to trust you again?”

“No,” Foldrey said softly. “I offer you my help, but I have chosen my side. I am not your ally when this ends. And when it does, I will reshape Isodal. I will seal Witchik off, as intended. And you and your brother will live your days in the Sun Keys, guarded and protected.”

“As prisoners,” Aramis said bitterly.

“At least you’ll be alive,” Foldrey snapped, showing a rare flash of temper. “You were set up to fail, both of you. I’ll ensure you’re protected. Free to live out your days unburdened by rule. Safe, finally, for the first time in your young lives.”