She spotted Vaness’s abductor within seconds. He had reached the low dock where fishers cast their boats, and he was pushing off in a skiff. No oars, only magic.

He was a Tidewitch too, and he wasn’t waiting for his companion. No need, Vivia supposed, since the companion could fly.

She reached the dock, her footsteps thwacking a hollow beat. It drew the Tidewitch’s attention. His dark eyes glittered in the moonlight—as did his teeth, offered in a smile.

He launched water her way: four whips as deadly as the wind-knives had been.

Vivia ducked behind a chum barrel. Her magic flung wide. She could fight a Tidewitch, but she was losing blood from her abdomen. Hold me, she told the water. Help me. And the water obeyed.

It leaped up from the river, a shield that absorbed the assassin’s water, while Vivia, on her hands and knees, crawled to the dock’s edge. She needed a boat, a canoe, a raft—anything that would allow her to chase after that Tidewitch and Vaness.

But there was nothing. Which meant Vivia was going to have to swim. Noden protect me, she begged. Then to the water: Carry me safely. She toppled in.

The water welcomed her, as it always did, cooled by night, silted by years along these sharp banks. She could see nothing, could hear nothing, but oh, Vivia could feel so much.

The water came all the way from the mountains and carried all the way to the sea, fed by countless tributaries and dividing into countless streams. Creatures lived in the soft bottom, in the crumbly shores—creatures wise enough to burrow deep and hide as Vivia called her power to her.

Her blood ribboned out, one with the water. An offering to appease something more ancient than her little fox mind could conceive. She surged forward as easily as a tarpon and with a thousand times more focus, more ferocity. Dalmotti would not claim Vaness. Dalmotti would not win.

She picked up speed, her course as true as the river’s. Ahead was another current, another magicked force disrupting the water’s flow. He was a strong Tidewitch—there was no missing it. Vivia felt his magic brush against her, remnants of command that the water still recalled. He was a witch who forced his will upon the element; Vivia was a witch who let the element decide and lead. It was easier that way, and the power so much more vast.

Stix had taught her that, all those years ago on the shores of a lake when they were supposed to be studying history lessons.

Vivia gained speed, the water thrilling at her request. Pushing her onward as if she were made of the same eternal matter. Where the river bent, she curved. Where the waters deepened, she surfaced to gulp in air.