They were up to something—but Ranka couldn’t figure out what. Any bid she made for information received a sharp rebuttal; any attempt at closeness was shut down. How was she supposed to find out anything that could help Yeva at this rate? How could she learn anything at all?

There had to be another way through to her.

“The people who attacked us in the morgue—” Ranka began.

“The sickness is none of your business—”

“I’m not,” Ranka snapped, “asking about the sickness, for the love of…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “The sick witch I told you about—she had one of their pins with her. I thought—well, I thought they might secretly work for the palace. But that night they were ready to kill you. Why?”

Aramis looked faintly troubled. Ranka half expected her to deflect—but instead, the princess knotted her hands into fists and lowered her voice. “The Hands of Solomei are… hardly fans of me or my brother. Or anyone associated with the Bloodwinn treaty.” She chewed on her lip. “I never thought they’d be so bold as to attack me directly, though.”

“So remove them. You have the guards, and the power—”

“It’s not that simple. You have to understand—before the treaty it was the Hands who turned Solomei temples into shelters during witch raids. It was the Hands who were willing to wield torches against rampaging blood-witches when the city guards cowered.” The princess fixed her attention on some distant point of the sea. “And though they’ve grown bolder, their methods more questionable, they are still protectors in the eyes of many.”

“And what about you, Princess? Is that why you hate me? Do you think witch-burners are noble protectors, too?”

As soon as Ranka said it, she regretted it. Aramis stood abruptly, snapping shut the book she was always scribbling in. She looked down at Ranka, contempt lining her face.

“Let me make something clear,” Aramis said. “I do hate you, Ranka. More than I’ve hated most. But not because you’re a witch.” Aramis’s voice grew quieter, each word cutting like a blade. “I hate you because you are a miserable, lonely, selfish girl, and because you’re a liar. I hate you because I believe if you get whatever it is you truly came here for, I’ll lose everything I love. But my country needs the treaty, so I tolerate you. And my mother was the Bloodwinn, so I help you—loathsome as you are.”

Ranka reeled, thrown by the vehemence in Aramis’s eyes. The princess had never lost her patience with Ranka when she failed during training. She didn’t shout the way Ongrum did or cut her rations in punishment. Even now Aramis Sunra was trying to rein herself in—and somehow that was far worse.