They stood together, Vivia with her hands behind her back and Vaness with hers gracefully at her sides, while they watched eleven dinghies bob toward shore, some Tidewitched, some rowed, all filled with Yoris’s hunters. Vivia’s crew, meanwhile, sat chained on a nearby warship, their heads bowed while Baile’s Blessing sailed in close enough to rescue them.

Vivia opened her spyglass. There was Sotar, posture erect and lips pressed tight. Beside him sat a lanky Cam with hair whipping on the breeze. Just seeing them made Vivia’s heart pump faster, her grip tighten on the glass. This plan had to work. No regrets, keep moving.

“When will you release my sailors?” She clacked shut the spyglass and rounded on the captain.

“After the hunters reach the shore.” Like Vivia, Kadossi stood with his hands behind his back. Unlike Vivia, he hadn’t watched the dinghies sail, but had instead observed Vivia with inscrutable eyes. “They are my guarantee.”

“Guarantee of what?”

“Guarantee that you do not try something. After all, you and a single ship beat us once before.” Respect glinted in his eyes as he said this, along with something else—something Vivia recognized from her father. Kadossi wanted to fight them again; he wanted a second chance to win. And, as if to prove her estimation of him, he flipped his hand her way, revealing a triangle tattoo.

Revealing he was a Firewitch.

No wonder he had elevated through the ranks so young, and, Vivia realized with a dredging sort of horror, no wonder the Iris had escaped. He hadn’t used his magic on them. He could have ended them so easily … but he hadn’t.

We are important, Vaness had said. So important that it was worth sending a navy after us. And so important that she and Vivia had to be kept alive. In theory, Vivia had known that, but it wasn’t until she saw Kadossi’s Witchmark—coupled with that gleam in his eyes—that it hit her viscerally.

She was important. So important it was worth sending a navy after her.

“There is only one prisoner that still remains,” Kadossi continued, and he pointed down. Vivia crooked over the railing to find a final dinghy pushing away from the Lioness. On it was a man with a cruel scar and crueler scowl. He caught sight of her, and for half a heartbeat, Vivia almost wanted to laugh at the sight of the old huntsman, chained between two sailors twice his size.

“Smut,” Yoris snarled, voice thick with spindrift. “Now you choose to do the right thing? After our village is ruined?”