It wasn’t until Sotar stood before her, his hands grabbing at her biceps, that Vivia finally allowed her power to soften. And it wasn’t until Vaness was shoving in front of him, her coat and blouse soaked in blood and her eyes aflame, that Vivia finally let her magic dry completely.

“She’s going to pass out,” Vaness said, and briefly her ire gave way to something Vivia thought might be concern.

Maybe, though. Only maybe.

Vivia’s knees gave way. She tumbled forward into the Empress’s waiting arms. She did not go under, however. Not yet at least. Instead she clung quite firmly to consciousness and murmured, “Well done, Imperial Majesty.” She sucked in a ragged breath. “Well done.”

TEN

In the gray hours when moon and sun shared the sky, Iseult nudged Owl awake. The girl pretended not to notice—and Iseult bit back a sigh. Scolding never worked on Owl, and though they had come a long way in their month together without Aeduan, most days, Iseult was the enemy.

Perhaps if she used softer words. Perhaps if she could smile and caress. Perhaps if she offered love and kindness, as Zander had done with Owl in Praga when he’d been her primary guard … then perhaps Owl would behave.

And perhaps I will grow wings too. Iseult could no more change what she was—what her mother had made her—than Owl could suddenly become an obedient child. Which was why the words that escaped her throat as she toed Owl again were “I can see your Threads, Owl. I know you’re awake, and I don’t have time to play your games.”

The mound of blankets shifted; Owl’s Threads flashed with stubbornness. “I want to stay.”

Iseult’s nose wrinkled up. She would not get angry. Stasis in your fingers and in your toes. After all, no one would willingly leave the only true warmth they’d felt in days. Or the only cooked meals.

“It’s not safe for us to stay here,” she said at last.

“It is,” Owl countered. “You’ll just kill the bad people anyway.”

Something hard clenched in Iseult’s belly. She had done her best to hide the killings from Owl, but the child had often refused to look away, just like her namesake, who had kept her eyes open when Trickster had betrayed them all.

Iseult scratched her cheek and shoved the clenching downward to her toes. She didn’t kill because she wanted to; she killed to protect Owl. She killed because, with a magic like hers, it was the only path she could ever tread.

Sever, sever, twist and sever.

“What if,” Iseult proposed, turning nonchalantly away from the blankets, “I tell a story while we travel. Will you rise for that?”

Owl’s Threads perked with interest. She peeled back her blankets to reveal a single eye. “Five stories.”

“Two.”

“Three, and one has to be the little hedgehog.”