“Do not look so horrified,” Vaness murmured beside Vivia. “The Doge is very proud of his gardens.”

Vivia’s face twitched. When you are with others, the Little Fox must become a bear. Now, is your mask on, Vivia? She patted the edges of her face, but no amount of grasping for her mask had seemed to work today. Or yesterday. Or any day since reaching Veñaza City a week ago.

Out of her depth was a vast understatement. Everything in Dalmotti had been foreign, exhausting, and terrifying. She was the klutz to everyone’s grace. The barbarian to everyone’s flawless manners. The hardened sailor to everyone’s soft wealth.

Right now, her only tether to good manners was Vaness—and Vaness was her only tether to calm as well. As long as she had Vaness to imitate, Vivia could do this.

Keep moving, she told herself, and her feet obeyed. A little bit faster in their pace. A little bit longer in their stride. Jasmine fragranced with sea salt brushed against her, while a breeze kept the city’s oppressive humidity away. It billowed through the golden gown draped over Vaness’s petite frame. It tugged at the coattails and ruffled collar on Vivia’s salmon-red suit.

She might be a queen with no queendom, but curse it all, she was still a captain and she had earned this broadcloth and these silver buttons.

“Through here,” offered a spindly servant. He scraped a bow before an open glass door that towered to twice Vivia’s height. Light glared, hiding who or what might be within. The hair on Vivia’s arms pricked upward; she stretched her magic wide, combing for the nearest water. A watering can tucked behind that flowering ash. A small fishpond hidden in the lemon grove. She could use those if she had to—not that she sensed soldiers or assassins nearby, but how could anyone feel safe with so much wealth around?

“Relax,” Vaness murmured.

Vivia did no such thing, but as Vaness strode through the glass door, she did hurry after. Light softened. The room took shape. No soldiers, no assassins. Only the Doge, leader of all Dalmotti. He was a small man, bespectacled and with a tendency toward runny eyes—as if all the flowers outside irritated his nose. Unfortunate, considering the Witchmark on his right hand was a single leaf etched within a square: a Plantwitch.

“Ah, you are here.” The Doge looked up from a large desk layered in more papers and books and pens than any person could possibly need. He pushed to his feet, and with unhurried—and unsurprised—movements, he shuffled around his desk.

Vaness paused ten paces away, so Vivia paused as well.

“Your Imperial Majesty.” The Doge bowed for Vaness before turning to Vivia. “And Your Highness. You look so much like Queen Jana.”