Page 90 of Witchshadow
The man held his groggy silence. His blood had gathered on the pale earth, and if the hunters released him, Vivia feared he would collapse and be gone for good.
A hand slid onto her shoulder. The Empress moved near. “Their crossbows all have iron.” She spoke in Lusquan—a language Vivia had not used or practiced in almost a decade. So strange was it, so unexpected, that it took her several moments to unravel Vaness’s words.
“And their blades are made of steel. I could end every one of them in a heartbeat, Your Majesty.”
“I… do not want bloodshed.”
A tightening across Vaness’s face, still damp from the Well. “Then I will shackle them.”
Vivia nodded ever so slightly.Thatshe could live with.
“Simply give me the signal—”
“Enough chatter,” Yoris barked. “Come with us now and protect Noden’s Gift. It is the least a good princess would do.”
“Oh yes,” Vivia replied. She straightened, letting her magic rise within her. The river was far, but the Well had enhanced her. She could reach it. She could use it. “Perhaps itiswhat a good princess would do, Yoris.” She smiled at him. “But I am not a princess, you see? I’m a queen.”
She lifted her arms toward the sky, and in perfect sync, Vaness lifted hers.
Arrows loosed, though not toward Vivia or Vaness. They sprang wildly from their bows, melting as they moved while cutlasses flattened and flung. The hunters yelped. Some tried to run, some tried to charge. But it was no use. A fully healed Vaness was unstoppable—and a fully healed Vivia was too.
In seconds, the hunters were pinned to trees, to the earth, to each other while water gushed in, a spout of power that cocooned Vivia and Vaness in an impenetrable curtain. No one could see them nor stop them.
And this time, as they spun to flee, they grabbed each other’s hands and threw themselves into the first glimpse of sunrise.
THIRTY-ONE
Iseult would not be dismissed so easily. After ensuring Owl was willing to follow Alma to the healer, she shot off after Gretchya—already fifty paces away. The two hunters who flanked Gretchya allowed Iseult to get near, and when Iseult barked, “Give us space,” they actually obeyed.
Gretchya of course did not slow her loping pace across the tribe. Already, people collapsed tents, their Threads taut, bright with anxiety.
Your fault,Iseult’s brain declared.They have to run because of you.
“Why are you here, Mother?” She hurried into step beside Gretchya. It was easier to fling out accusations than face the ones flinging in. “What happened to going to Saldonica?”
“Corlant happened.” Gretchya did not slow, did not even look Iseult’s way. “He caught us before we could leave Dalmotti.”
“Oh.” It was an easy answer. One Iseult had not considered. “But then why are you here? In the Solfatarra?”
“For the same reason you are. To escape Corlant. To escape his magic.”
“Oh,” Iseult repeated, and this time, everything settled into place like an anchor on the seafloor.Firewitched lanterns in the tents. Alarm-spells on the trail. Glamours over the camp.
“Everyone here is a witch. This isn’t a true tribe at all, is it? You fled Corlant and have been hiding here.”
“Yes.” Gretchya gestured curtly to a group of Nomatsis collapsing a tent beside the ancient remains of a wall. They moved methodically, disassembling a skeletal wood interior with the silent rhythm of experience. Not only were their Threads briefly bound by the united focus of their task, but now that Iseult was looking—trulylooking—she couldn’t miss the hints of power. Faint yellow Threads for a Windwitch, orange Threads for Fire, and even the verdant green of a Plantwitch.
“It is not merely the Purists who have come to hate witches, Iseult. Corlant has drawn many Nomatsis to his cause, and they willingly hand over their family, their friends so that Corlant may, as he calls it, free them.
“A month ago, he began erasing Nomatsi magic. One by one, he took witches into his tent. And one by one, they came out, no longer bound to the elements that they had lived their whole lives by. Then, almost two weeks ago, he went away—and I was ready. I gathered as many Nomatsi witches and their families as I could, and I led them here.”
Ah.Iseult’s breath whispered out. So her mother was a champion of the people. Iseult should be impressed, she supposed. Perhaps even proud. Instead, all she felt was the festering in her chest.
“Where were you before? How did you know this place was here?”
“We were in the Windswept Plains. Corlant works with the Raider King, and the King sent Corlant west. When Alma and I and all the other witches escaped, we found this place by accident. It was safe and contained, so we remained.”
Ah,Iseult thought again, and the festering expanded. It bubbled up her throat. All this time she’d thought her mother and Alma were in Saldonica; all this time, they’d been resisting Corlant in secret.
