His words ring in my mind, echoing in the wrong way, and the echo awakens the whispers in my mind again. I can feel their little claws against my consciousness, eager to hear my answer. Down below, I can hear some of the Inquisitors still moaning and struggling. It sounds as if they are ready to beg for their lives. Without answering Magiano, I walk back over to the ladder leading down and stare into the shadows.

At first, I think I’ll spare them.

But then the whispers say, Why worry about the Inquisition’s wrath? You came back to this country to exact your revenge on them. You shouldn’t be the one to fear them anymore. They should fear you.

There is a moment of heavy silence. Magiano watches me with an unreadable expression. I think back to the Inquisitors’ faces. Some of them had cringed away from me, while others had tears streaking their cheeks. Their white uniforms all blend into one in my thoughts. All I can see are the same men who had once so unceremoniously tied me to the stake and thrown fire at my feet. How many have they killed? How many will they go on to kill?

Strike first.

And with that, a dark cloud starts to fill my insides again, and my heart hardens. I look at Magiano. “I’m not afraid of the Inquisition,” I say. Then I nod at Sergio. “Tell your men to kill them. Make it quick and clean.” Violetta shoots me a sharp glance. I wait, perhaps defiantly, for her to say something against my decision … but she doesn’t. She swallows hard and looks down. After a while, she nods her agreement. As I talk, I can hear the whispers saying the words with me, so we are in chorus. Their voices remind me of my father’s.

“Let the youngest one live,” I finish. “When the Inquisition finds him, he can tell them who did this, and how I made them feel.”

Magiano’s eyes slit a little at me. There’s something admiring in his gaze that mingles with something … unsettled. I can’t quite figure out the expression. He glances back at the nearing harbor. He lets out a sigh, then leaves us to walk toward the bow.

Sergio is still smiling. “In that case, we’d better be careful in Campagnia. You have taken on a challenging adversary.”

“And are you and your men going to help us take on that adversary?” I ask.

It’s the question that has been lingering between us since we stepped on board this ship. Sergio looks at me, then around at some of the other crew on deck. Finally, he leans over. “We help whoever can get us the most gold,” he whispers. “And right now, that’s you, isn’t it?”

That is a yes. Something soars in my chest. I don’t want to ask what happens if we fail to take the throne and overthrow the Inquisition. Instead, I decide to revel in his words. I turn my back as Sergio walks over to the ladder and shouts a command down to the other mercenaries. The Inquisitors below let out muffled sobs behind their bonds. Their fear bubbles up to the deck in a thick cloud. It makes me tremble.

Then, the sound of blades against skin, the gush of blood.

The whispers cheer in my head. I keep my mind on the burning stake, the malfettos I’ve seen suffering right in front of Inquisitors who turn a bored eye, the breaking glass and screaming people. I should feel some sense of disgust, some recoil or horror at the thought of the carnage down below. But I don’t, not for those Inquisitors.

I strike first from now on.

We watch in silence as the harbor approaches, until our hull bumps dully against the piers and a worker on the ground ties us in. He casts a glance over at the quiet Inquisition ship behind us, but he doesn’t act on it. Instead, our crew prepares the gangplank, and we gather near the railing. Down on the harbor’s main street, clusters of Inquisitors cut lines through bustling crowds. I wonder how long they will take before they investigate the floating ship.

As the crew haul crates down the gangplank and hook up thick ropes to hoist larger cargo, we follow Magiano and Sergio off the ship. “This is exactly why I left this forsaken country in the first place,” Magiano mutters to me as we go. He still seems like he is in an odd mood. “Damn Inquisition, always swarming about. Come on. And keep your face disguised.”

I straighten my head wrap and check Violetta’s, then strengthen the illusion over my face. It’s not hard to blend in with the throngs wandering the harbor. I keep a steady illusion over my face, and my hair stays hidden inside its wrap. Behind us, several other crewmembers also make their way off the ship and scatter into the crowds. I watch them go. I recognize a few of their faces now, men I saw tying up the Inquisitors on the ship. I also see the man who had spoken briefly to me on board. All mercenaries. All loyal to me. For now.

Dead men belowdecks, sightless eyes, bloody chests. The whispers excitedly remind me of what had happened on the ship. Dead men, dead men.

Violetta makes a small sound, breaking my stream of thoughts. When I look at her, her brow has tensed. She starts to drag her feet, as if something had caught her interest. I frown, then look into the crowd.

“What is it?” I ask.

Violetta just nods silently into the milling people.

It takes me another second to spot what she’s noticed. Not far from us, walking along the edge of the street, is a girl I recognize. She seems like she’s in a hurry. Still, even in her rush, she pauses to smile and pet a stray dog. The dog starts to follow her.

“Gemma?” I whisper to myself.

The Daggers are here.

And so they huddled together, waiting, hoping for a savior that would never come.

—Tides of a Midwinter War, by Constanze De Witte