She’d always believed his self-flattery worth emulating. That such confidence was something to aspire toward. But tucked within the constant crowing were pointed insults. Jokes, he would call them, though Vivia never laughed. Advice, he would proclaim, though Vivia never learned. Concern, he would insist, though Vivia never felt loved.

She glanced at Vaness, held the Empress’s dark, earthen gaze. Vaness wasn’t perfect, but at least she was her own person. Her own well-honed blade of steel tempered by herself and those she ruled.

“I am not turning myself in,” Vivia said at last. “I am queen, and a queen must be free to help her people.”

A beat passed. The faintest curve hit Vaness’s lips.

Then Serafin replied: “If only Merik had not been the one to die.”

The Voicewitch’s magic ended. The man’s eyes shuddered, his breath loosed, and the ship’s boy gripped him steadily. But already the man’s lips were parting in horror as he realized what he’d just said.

Shanna’s neck muscles tensed and bulged. The ship’s boy stared at anywhere but Vivia. And Vaness …

The glint in her eyes had changed from amusement and pride, from approval and admiration, to something made of daggers. She, like the others, clearly expected Vivia to erupt. Or perhaps to cry. Something after words as hateful as the King Regent’s. But for once, Vivia felt no anger or grief. Gone was the churn in her gut and the sense that she was falling. It was as if some final mooring had been released. Now her ship was free. No anchors, no barricades, no shoals to block her way. Now the little fox knew.

Vivia smoothed at her salt-stiffened shirt. Then adjusted her collar. Then finally patted at the edges of her face. No mask now, for she was not a bear and didn’t need to be. Foxes had all the cleverness and wiles she could ever wish for.

“Contact the Dalmotti ships,” she told the Voicewitch. And then to Vaness, her mouth twisting sideways, “I think it’s time we turned ourselves in. But on our terms and as the Well Chosen you think we’re meant to be.”

Stix held Ryber’s hand and ran toward the center of the Ring. She didn’t know what else to do. The stall was in flames, the scaffolding and towers were in flames, and high-pitched squeaking filled Stix’s ears, lungs, bones.

Safety, she thought with each footfall. Safety, safety. She summoned ice to crack up around her and Ryber, but the heat was too strong. Each crackling shard melted almost as soon as it appeared, then puffed into steam and vanished.

So Stix tried freezing the rats instead, but Hagfishes take her, there were too many. For every ten she got, another hundred came rushing over, close enough that she could feel their footsteps vibrating into her teeth.