Page 140 of Bloodwitch
“Aeduan.” Now, his father pleaded, a flash of desperation to sparkle across his blood. “You know what this is. You know that I need her.” He lifted a single hand, not quite beseeching. Not quite demanding, either. “Give her to me, son.”
“No, give her to me,” Evrane called. “The Cahr Awen has come to save us, Aeduan. Remember your duty.”
I do,he thought, and in that moment, it was true. He turned to Iseult. “Take my hand,” he said, and without hesitation, she twined her fingers into his. Her golden eyes held Aeduan’s and did not look away.
She trusted him. She had claimed his Aether, and she would guide his blade. She was the dark-giver, the shadow-ender, and he would not betray her. Not again.
Aeduan inhaled deep, quieting his mind and stilling his body sohis witchery could rise to its maximum power. A thousand blood-scents crashed against him, and a thousand more trickled and skipped beyond that.
All were his for the taking. All were his for the controlling.
But Aeduan already had enough blood on his hands, and as far as he was concerned, death did not have to follow wherever he went.
Not anymore.
Aeduan’s hand was warm in Iseult’s. Despite the cold wind scratching at them, despite the water burrowed deep within her clothes and bones.
“Follow me,” Aeduan told her. Then he walked toward the cedars, so Iseult walked too.
“Aeduan, what are you doing?” Evrane cried. “Give me the Cahr Awen! Youknowthe vow.”
“Blood runs deeper than any vows,” shouted the man with the raiders. He looked like Aeduan, except older. And except with Threads—dark green with command, but also flickers of white fear and blue loss.
“Aeduan, please,” the man begged, and the fear and grief flashed brighter.
The same white panic soon hit Evrane’s Threads. “Aeduan!” she screamed. “Where are you going?Stop!”
Aeduan did not stop. Nor did Iseult. They were almost to the edge of the Well.
Anger erupted in Evrane’s Threads. “Catch them!” she barked at the same instant the man ordered, “Stop them!”
With those words, every figure, every set of Threads around the Well launched into action. A vast swarm that would reach Iseult and Aeduan in seconds.
Iseult’s heart guttered. Her muscles tensed, ready to flee, but Aeduan only squeezed her hand tighter, his pace steady. His pace calm.
Iseult had once thought Aeduan carried himself as if he came from another time. As if he had walked a thousand years and planned to walk a thousand more. Now, though, there was a new stillness abouthim—and suddenly a thousand years seemed a very short time indeed for a man with strength such as his.
Aeduan and Iseult left the ice; their sodden boots sank into snowdrifts. Two monks bore down, Threads blaring with focused blue and violent gray.
Then the first monk reached them. His sword swung back. His sword swung down…
He froze. Midstride with his arm high, his mouth wide—and only two paces away from carving through Iseult.
Then the second monk reached them, her knives extended and Threads frantic and shaking.
She froze too. Then the third monk behind her as well, and then two raiders closing the gap on the left. One by one, every person that came near enough to attack stopped dead in their tracks.
And Aeduan showed no reaction at all, no change in his purposeful, forward stride through eternity.
He guided Iseult into the cedars. Ruddy trunks and glittering needles, so surreal and vivid amidst the smoke pluming ahead. Amidst the figures charging in from all angles.
Still, though, Aeduan did not rush. His eyes swirled red. His breaths were even and pure, and Iseult could feel his heartbeat thumping through his grip.Blood. Witch. Blood. Witch.A beat to walk by.
Every step brought more people rushing in. Monk and raider. White-cloaked and fur-clad. All with the forest green Threads of people on the hunt—until they reached Aeduan and Iseult. Then, as their bodies locked into place, a uniform brilliance overtook all other shades: shock. Only hair and cloaks and beards moved then, shivering on a cold breeze.
And their eyes moved too. Countless eyes to slide sideways. Watching, furious and powerless.
Iseult had not known Aeduan could hold so many people at once. She wondered if he had known either—or if he would ever be able to do it again.
