Page 19 of Bloodwitch
By a fire she could not control.
For half a seemingly endless breath, Iseult was overcome by guilt. By how much she hated herself and her magic and what she had done to that Firewitch. He wasn’t even the first person she had killed. All those soldiers and Adders in Lejna that Esme had cleaved…
That had been Iseult’s doing. The Puppeteer had usedIseult’smind to find out where Iseult was. Then Esme had usedIseult’smind to ultimately make her attack.
Iseult clutched her temples and stumbled away from Blueberry. Away from Owl or Aeduan.
“Stasis,” she hissed at herself, thinking of ice, ice, and only ice. “Stasis in your fingers and in your toes.”
Branches smacked against her. Mud from last night’s rain churned beneath her boot heels. The pack jangled and bounced with each step. No amount of moving had outrun the demons so far, though, and no amount of running had evaded the Firewitch. There was no reason to believe it would suddenly start working now.
She would just have to be more vigilant then. No more flashes of anger. Andabsolutelyno more sleep. She’d started a fire this morning when the blow to her head had pulled her under—thank the Moon Mother, only gravel had surrounded her and Aeduan.
Tirla, she was certain, would be much more flammable.
Iseult finally slowed at the first signs of people. Threads thick as a quilt wafted along the periphery of her magical range. Every type of emotion was covered, from iron pain to scarlet Heart-Threads, but needling through them all was one commonality: the green focus of people on a journey.
Here Iseult waited, the minutes skippering past and her magic readjusting to so many people, so many Threads. The stasis that had eluded her earlier now anchored into place, comforted by rules she was accustomed to. She had grown up around people; she had lived many years in a crowded city: detachment and logic were easier when one was always on the outside looking in.
With Aeduan, there had been no Threads. There had been no outside.
Eventually, the Bloodwitch hobbled to her side. He clutched Owl’s hand in his, and though a pouty red rattled across the girl’s Threads, at least she was moving again—and Blueberry was nowhere to be seen.
Aeduan fixed Iseult with his ice-blue stare, questioning. As if he wondered why she had jogged so far away. As if he wanted to know that she was well.
She pretended not to notice. The flames were her problem and her problem alone. There was nothing he could do to help her. There was only moving forward and slogging on.
Goddess, she wished Safi were here, though.
“Think like Iseult,” Safi whispered. It had been her prayer for the last two hours while she’d sat on the edge of her bed in these beautiful white quarters—wearing the same beautiful white dress the man had bled on.
White, white, white.Everywhere Safi’s eyes landed was white, from the walls to the tiles. The first day, Safi had admired her quarters. Soothing and bright. Now, she saw it for the truly terrible shade it was. White showed blood too easily, and once that blood was dried, there was no erasing it.
The footprints she’d tracked in were still on the ground, mottled to rusty brown. An inescapable reminder of what Safi had done. What Safi had caused—because the memories branded in her brain were not enough. The detached head, with its still-blinking eyes and spurting arteries. The man’s last words:What a ridiculous question.
The thirteenth chimes clanged outside; the sun beamed down, though only a gauzy gray light filtered through the iron shutters over Safi’s lone window. A small courtyard garden bloomed out there, and at this hour, katydids clicked and clattered.
She wrapped her fingers around the Threadstone at her collarbone and rested her head on her knees. This stone had been a gift fromIseult, and it—like the matching one Iseult had—lit up when either girl was in danger.
“Think like Iseult. Think like Iseult.” Safi’s Threadsister would see some solution out of this disaster. Cool, logical Iseult would work through it like a knot in a fragile necklace, plying Safi with questions and coaxing out the facts of the situation.
The facts were that twice in her life now, Safi had carved her own path, had played her own cards—with no one to guide her—andthiswas where her choices had led. She had become Truthwitch for Empress Vaness in exchange for trade with the starving nation of Nubrevna. Then she had made a similar choice in Saldonica. The mark on her thumb was a reminder of that.
A day after her duel with Admiral Kahina and her resulting agreement with the woman, a thin red line had appearedrightwhere Kahina wore her jade ring. The ring had flashed when Safi had promised to give Kahina whatever she wanted; Safi suspected that meant the deal was far more binding than mere words. Like everything else here, though, she tried not to think about it. Her choice had saved her, and it had saved Vaness and the Hell-Bards too.
Of course, the Hell-Bards were gone now. The Marstoki Sultanate had opposed having any more Cartorrans than Safi in the palace, as had the generals, admirals, nobility, and Adders. The uproar that the Hell-Bards had caused as Safi’s guards and companions—it hadn’t been safe. For them or for Safi.
Which left Safi with another fact: she was all alone in the imperial palace, surrounded by Lake Scarza waters on all sides, the Kenduran foothills beyond that, and thousands of local enemies who wanted her dead. A thousand more foreign enemies too.
She knew Rokesh and the other Adders would protect her, but while she and Vaness might have become allies in Saldonica, even friends, if it became a choice between Safi’s life and the empire’s future…
One life for the sake of many was a truth Safi understood all too well.
Perhaps the most important fact of all, though, was that theTruthwitchery Safi had hidden her entire life was now public knowledge. The one thing sheneverwanted to be, that she had run from for nineteen years… It had all come to pass. She was a tool for an empire, a knife for Lady Fate, and men would die because of her magic.
True,purred Safi’s power, an unwelcome warmth in her chest. She squeezed her eyelids all the tighter. She wanted to leave. She wanted to abandon this post she had chosen, and she wanted to run as fast and as far as she could go.
Safi wasn’t so foolish, though. If she tried to escape, she would end up in chains, and chains would keep her fromeverleaving Marstok. Chains would keep her from ever finding Iseult—the only thing in all the Witchlands that mattered.
