Page 80 of Bloodwitch
“No one asks for what life gives them.” She sniffed and scrubbed harder at the blade. “What matters is how you use it, and far as I can tell, you have squandered a magic that others would kill for. You ascended through the ranks faster than any other acolyte. You took all the best assignments, hoarded all the employers and coin, and the entire time, you looked down on the rest of us. We were mud for you to stomp through on your way to higher ground. You had no loyalty to the Monastery, no interest in the Cahr Awen.”
For the first time since her leash had wrapped around his neck, anger sparked in Aeduan’s shoulders. His fingers flexed.
Because she had it all wrong. Everything she said was backward.He had not looked down on the other monks; he had been cast aside. He had not wasted his magic; his magic had wasted him.
“Now,” she went on, voice bitter as she scooped more lanolin from a tub, “it turns out you’re son to the Raider King. I don’t know why I was so surprised to learn this. Of course you would be loyal to a man who kills innocents and burns the Witchlands—and ofcoursehe would breed a demon like you.”
Aeduan’s wrists rolled. The rage spread hotter inside his veins.
Why, he wanted to ask, should he be loyal to anyone? He had lived his entire life as a tool for others, a blade no different from the one she now cleaned. Even the Threadwitch had used him, tricking him with his own coins so he would track her friend across the Contested Lands.
Aeduan said nothing at all, though. Instead, his spine hardened and he inhaled deep. Rage was stoking his magic to life, a weak flame. Vicious and welcome within his heart. Though he was not strong enough yet to control Lizl’s blood and flee, if he was patient, if he wasangry…
Maybe enough of his power would return. And maybe this curse would not claim him just yet.
The Carawen Monastery was everything Iseult had hoped it would be.
It wasmorethan she had hoped, because now it was real. Now it was right before her with only minutes of flying before they arrived.
The sky-ferry approached from the south, and as it creaked past peak after peak, more and more of the Monastery emerged. It was as if Iseult were peeling back a page in her old book on the Carawens, slowly revealing the full scale of the monks’ home.
A black fortress clutched the side of a mountain. Imposing, impenetrable, and isolated atop its white peak. Snow-tipped trees clustered around its lower half, a dense forest that stretched into the valley below. Stone steps, ramparts, and towers fixed with trebuchets stacked their way up to the highest point of the mountain—and allaround that dark stone, over it and through it, moved tiny figures in white.
They were too far away for Iseult to sense Threads, but there was no mistaking their urgency. They moved in clusters, sprinting toward the highest tower. Some drill, perhaps? Or a sudden meeting? She supposed she would have an answer soon enough.
After years of dreaming of this place, Iseult det Midenzi had finally arrived at the Carawen Monastery. It looked exactly as it had in the illustrations, except so muchmore.No painting could ever capture all the angles and shades and movement of the place.
Her chest felt so full, she couldn’t inhale. The frost that had lived in her shoulders since last night thawed into something warm. Something that expanded in her stomach and pressed against her lungs…
Laughter,she realized, and if she wasn’t careful, she might actually startgiggling. And clapping. And bouncing. And, Moon Mother preserve her, would that be so bad? She was not merely here as a supplicant hoping to train with monks, hoping to finallybethe monk she’d always dreamed of. She was here as one half of the Cahr Awen.
Surely, even a Threadwitch could clap at that.
“See those little people, Owl? Those are the monks,” Iseult murmured. The girl’s Threads hovered with a pink. All her fear had whispered away, replaced by awe the instant the sky-ferry’s pulley had begun its haul. No doubt it helped that the girl was certain “Blueberry would catch her if she fell,” and no doubt that was true. For her, at least. Iseult and Prince Leopold, however, were on their own—and it was a long way down.
Despite this undeniable truth, even Iseult’s fear had settled the longer the wood croaked beneath them without incident, the longer the chain crunched them ever onward. And she had to admit, it helped that Leopold was so calm, so at ease. If the pressure popping in his ears bothered him, he gave no sign on his face. If the wind and the cold and the endless drop-off below unsettled him, none of that showed in his Threads.
What would Safi say if she saw me like this?Iseult thought, her fingers moving to her Threadstone. A prince beside her and a mountainbat soaring overhead while she ascended ever higher into the Sirmayans.
She had come a long way from that attic bedroom in Veñaza City.
What if, what if, what if.Iseult squeezed her Threadstone tighter. Soon, she would be with Safi again. Soon, the world would make sense again. It would be right side up as it should be.
Owl’s tiny voice split her thoughts. “Rook,” the child said, pointing above them, where sure enough, a bird circled on the currents.
At Leopold’s curious glance from the pulley, Iseult translated. He nodded, a flitter of surprise crossing his Threads even as he smiled lightly at the girl. “That is indeed a rook. They use them to carry messages outside the Monastery—andto spy on approaching visitors. I imagine we will be joined by monks the instant we land.”
When Iseult turned to tell Owl all of this, though, she found the girl eyeing Leopold.
“Where is your crown?” Owl asked.
A valid question for a child, so again Iseult translated.
And a startled laugh split his lips. The reaction, however, did not match his Threads. They were startled, yes, but also tinged with fear. “Tell her I lost it in my search to find you.”
Iseult dutifully explained, and Owl’s forehead pinched, her Threads sage green with consideration. Then at last she nodded: “I will make him another,” before turning once more to gaze upon the view.
Soon, the sky-ferry floated them past the final mountaintop, and the full Monastery was on display. Iseult could hardly breathe at the sight of it. Without thinking—having forgotten the height entirely—she scooted a bit closer to the railing. Owl inched forward with her.
