“Hye.”

“And twice, if not three times, as many Windwitches.”

“Hye.” Vivia nodded, and her own lips pursed to match the Empress’s. “But they don’t have Nubrevnan ships, and they don’t have”—she tapped her skull—“Nubrevnan knowledge. My people have evaded the empires for decades. This is nothing new.”

Vivia twisted toward the horizon and toward the ships just forming in the distance, four small specks without her glass to magnify. Yet for some reason, the Empress still stood beside her.

Vivia fought the urge to glare. “What is it?” She lifted her hands toward the sea. “Speak now before I loose my magic.”

The Empress swallowed. Her throat bobbed, a strangely nervous movement. And a strangely attractive one. Then she bounced a shoulder and said, “Do not kill us all,” before whirling away toward the door belowdecks.

Vivia would have smiled at that—a sour thing—if not for her magic. It was pouring through her again. The waves, the water, the lapping, kissing sea. Command us, command us.

“Prepare winds,” Vivia hollered at her officers. “Make way!”

Winds funneled into the sails, and water lifted beneath the Iris’s hull. The ship groaned to a start. Due east, straight and true, exactly as Vivia had commanded Sotar. Exactly as she commanded the waves. Gentler than yesterday, in an easy pace that matched the wind-drum, now rising.

At some point, the sailors began to sing. Softly so as not to be heard by any approaching ships, yet loud enough, steady enough to steel Vivia and her witches. To focus their magic, one crew, joined as a single voice.

Just as the Empress had said, the Dalmotti ships had their own witches, and they were fast. Yet no one knew the coast like Nubrevnans, and no one but Nihars knew about the Lonely Bastard. A jagged rock thrusting up from the sea, the Bastard hid a small cove in the cliffside behind. The waters were cruel, the passage narrow, and only the right-size ship with the right-minded witches could ever slip through.

Vivia just had to make sure the Iris got there before the warships could see where they went. Otherwise she had no doubt they would simply build a new blockade and keep her and her crew trapped. Or worse, they might try to find somewhere to lay anchor and come ashore.

Faster, Vivia coaxed the waves. Just a little bit faster.

“The maidens north of Lovats,” sang the crew. “None ever looked so fair! When they catch your eye, you’ll fall in love, so everyone beware!”

Winds cycloned. Water kicked. The Iris moved faster, and the first glimpses of land came into view, crowned by rocks and exposed reefs. Not that Vivia could see it—her attention was wholly focused below, on the tides thrusting and currents carrying. But she felt the shore. Felt the waters shallow and the waves break over shipwrecks from navies past.