Page 141 of Witchshadow
She flipped again, Esme screeching in her ear, and once more gazed upon a winter-calm forest disrupted only by a fallen machine—and by Threads too.
A hundred of them clustered on a snaking trail nearby, all with shadowy Hell-Bard hearts. They hunted for Safi.
Another plummet, another yelp, and now broken trees crossed Iseult’s vision. Then a clearing dotted with Threads—Safi’sThreads, as beautiful as they had been in the Loom and with Caden’s Threads pulsing beside her.
And with two Windwitches in Cartorran red too. Threads of violence spun over Threads of yellow magic.
At that moment, the last of Iseult’s stolen power bled away. She plunged straight down. Air beat against her, cold and frostbitten. The winds of gravity pounded, scraping her acid-raw skin.
One hundred feet until she and Esme hit the ground.
Iseult had to do something. Plan, plan—she needed a plan. And time, more time.
Esme shrieked in her ear. Eighty feet until they hit.
They were going to die. Gretchya’s choice and Alma’s sacrifice would be for nothing.
Seventy feet.
Safi looked up. Her Threads glared with surprise. Then fear. Then recognition and love. It was warm and unabashed. The bolstering Iseult so desperately needed.
Fifty feet.
Iseult’s fingers extended, wide within the bandages, and she grabbed two sets of Threads. The lightning she knew so well seared against her scarred hands. She yanked and snapped anyway, clutching at the Threads right as the first tips of trees blurred past.
Then there it was: the power. New winds to surge into her body. Fresh, alive. Stolen too, but she would face that truth another time.
Slow,she commanded the magic, and her speed all but stopped. She became a feather. She became snow, falling in perfect time to the flakes drifting down. Until at last, her feet touched the earth—right between her newly created Cleaved—and she met Safi’s blue eyes.
FORTY-SIX
A vixen never hunts near her den.
As Vivia swam silently through cool moonlit waters, she couldn’t stop thinking that phrase. She’d read it once in a book plucked off her mother’s shelf, back before her father had removed all of Jana’s things.A vixen never hunts near her den.
It made sense that foxes traveled abroad to avoid bringing trouble near their litters. Too bad Vivia hadn’t remembered that phrase before leading the Dalmotti navy directly to her home. Then again, she hadn’t known people lived in Nihar, hadn’t known Noden’s Gift and its thrumming cicadas lived again, much less that they would dig so deeply into her heart. She just prayed her newest hunt, once more upon her own den’s shores, wouldn’t make things worse.
She had learned two things in her communication with Captain Kadossi of theLioness.One, the entirety of Yoris’s hunters had been made prisoners of war, along with her crew from theIris.And two, they would all be returned—alive—once Vivia and Vaness turned themselves in.
So Vivia and Vaness had agreed, andBaile’s Blessingnow sailed in the same direction that Vivia swam. Slowly and on natural winds aimed for the Origin Well, it should arrive just in time for Vivia to board as if she’d been there all along.
First, though, she had work to do.
She coasted through the calm waters of a lull between tides. Below her, crepuscular fish awoke for their predawn meals and sharks skated over the ocean floor and sunken ships, dark shadows more interested in bite-size prey than her. She passed anemones unfurling and squid returning to the depths they called home. She glimpsed pelicans diving, crabs scuttling.
Stix had grown up by the sea, northeast of the Hundred Isles; Vivia had always envied her that.
And as Vivia had told Vaness only hours before, she felt more connected to each creature, each fleck of water and salt around her, than she’d ever felt before. Twenty-three years she had been bound to the tides, yet never had she felt as if shewasthe tides. She would have forgone breath entirely if her body hadn’t been smarter—hadn’t thrust her to the sea’s surface when the distant needles in her chest turned to ice picks.
At this hour, the world was nothing but vague shapes smeared in shadow. There was the Origin Well, its fox ears perked high. There was the shoreline, craggy and unwelcoming even with fresh forest to breathe and sigh. And there was the Dalmotti navy, still stationed upon the waves, like lions guarding their prey.
Once her lungs were happy, Vivia dove again, letting the water propel her as it desired, letting her magic glide in harmony alongside it. The water knew where she needed to be, and she trusted it to get her there—faster than any boat and with far more stealth. Soon, she reached the first warship.
Twelve of them floated atop the waves, creaking and swathed in algae. She needed to move quickly. Already, dawn lightened the skies. She’d taken too long swimming, been too engrossed in the reefs and their denizens—too willing to let the water lead and move at its languid, ancient pace.
Focus,she told herself as she swam up to theLioness,its masts repaired and captain satisfied he was about to win. She planted her hands on the hull. Barnacles, crusted thick, fluttered their feathers. Bubbles slipped from her lips and skated toward the sky. She fumbled with the satchel tied at her hip, almost dropped the first corkscrewed iron that was within, then swore at her clumsiness and lost more bubbles to the sea.
Focus.Shanna was depending on Vivia to get this right. All of Noden’s Gift, all of Vivia’s crew, and even blighted Yoris who didn’t deserve her help but was getting it anyway—for as Jana had taught her:We rule everyone, not just those who agree with us.
