Vivia had no pity for the man who’d tried to kill her, but the inhumanity of forcing him to walk and endure that wound untended was too far. “He needs a healer.” She glared at Yoris. “Soon.”

“And he will get one, when he returns to his ship.”

“His … ship,” Vivia repeated, and at those words, ice sifted through her. It settled in her belly and sank to her toes. “So you know of the ships beyond the Well.”

Yoris smiled.

“And,” Vaness murmured, her first word since the huntsman’s arrival, “you let the assassins have us, no? I suppose the Doge has a better offer for you than your own king?”

His smile faltered. His eyes thinned. “I am loyal to my king and vizer, Marstoki filth.” Spittle sprayed with that word. “But yes—his offer is a good one. We give you to them, and they leave without attack. It is hard to refuse something that saves lives.”

The ice in Vivia’s bones laced outward. She felt sick. She felt cold. She felt very small and very alone. For Yoris would not act without command. He was a dog reliant on his master to know what to think, feel, do. He must have sent word to the capital as soon as he had Vivia in his paws. Then sent word again when these assassins had arrived with their offer. And if Vivia had to guess, the Doge was offering more than simply sparing Noden’s Gift. There must be gold involved.

Or weapons. Her father could never resist weapons.

Of course it would come to this. Vivia didn’t know why she’d ever expected otherwise. Of course all her years of scraping and fighting and gushing praise upon a fragile, spiteful man had come to this.

“And to think I thought family mattered,” she said to no one. She wasn’t even sure the words escaped, or if they were entirely in her head. “All that ever mattered was the crown.”

“He would not dare,” Vaness said.

“And yet he did.” Vivia lifted a single shoulder, her eyes finding Yoris’s in the shadows.

And the old man nodded. “He did.” Then he circled his arm once, finger pointing to the sky, and his hunters emerged from the forest. Their intent was clear: it was time to reclaim the hostages.

“Now if you will release your magics and surrender,” Yoris said, lifting his own blade high, “then we can finish this trade. You two will go with the Dalmottis, and then the Dalmottis will sail away.”

Neither Vivia nor Vaness moved. For several breaths, the only sound was the forest, humming through Vivia’s veins.

“Think of all the lives we will lose, Princess.” Yoris shifted his weight, face wrinkling with impatience. “Those ships will make short work of Noden’s Gift, unless you surrender.”