Page 93 of Witchshadow
She drew back, her golden eyes briefly settling on Aeduan’s face. Her lips briefly twitching with a smile. Then with fingers he hadn’t prepared for, she dug out the silver taler hanging at his collarbone and snapped the leather thong to which it was attached. “I’ll take this back now,” she said.
Moments later, she was gone.
There were times when the real Aeduan could reach the surface and break through the being that controlled him.
One moment, he was nothing but darkness. No sense of self, no up or down, no existence at all. Then suddenly, he would awaken—on the move, as if a rope yanked him fast, a ship retrieving its anchor.
Or a Heart-Thread retrieving its other half.
He heard her in those moments. So near to him, even if he could not see. He would recognize her voice anywhere, smooth as a scythe and twice as sharp. Perhaps if he just swam harder, justfoughtharder against the claws that pulled him down…
There it was. For a fraction of a moment, he had cleared the surface. Light had swept in, carrying her golden eyes, her pursed lips, and the teardrop scar upon her cheekbone.
She was smiling, a hateful smile he’d seen before and hoped never to see again. A smile directed inward. A smile to break men’s souls.
Then Aeduan was dragged under once more. Prey to be consumed at the bottom of the sea, his skin eaten off and bones picked clean. But that was all right. He could heal from that—and hewouldheal, because she would not let him die. She had saved him before, in the Aether Well deep in the Sirmayans, and she would save him again as long as their souls were bound.
Aether Well.The word licked through Aeduan’s mind as the shadows closed in around him.Something happened at the Aether Well.He couldn’trecall what or how, but suddenly he was certain: the Aether Well was where all of this had begun.
If only he could remember. If only he could break through and tell her…
But he couldn’t and he didn’t. At least not before the claws and the darkness grabbed hold and dragged him to the depths once more.
THIRTY-TWO
Safi strode confidently toward the Emperor’s quarters, down a hall she had hoped never to traverse again. The attendant she’d toppled several days before did not scurry up to meet her, but instead sent his comparably terrified partner.
“You cannot see the Emperor right now,” the man said, bowing so low his head almost touched his knees. “He is detained.”
“Yes,” Safi drawled. “He is currently rutting with his mistress Paskella. Iknow,and I don’t particularly care.” She motioned vaguely toward the door. “I will wait in his study until he is done.”
The first attendant choked. “He does not like for guests to wait.”
“And I am not a guest. I am his wife.” Safi took a single step forward, and both attendants dove into her path.
“We really must insist, Your Imperial Majesty. No one is allowed in there—”
“I will throw you again,” Safi said to the first attendant. “And I will break both your kneecaps while you’re down.”
Though the man did not step aside, his eyes bugged sufficiently and neither he nor his fellow interfered when Safi marched for the door. Golden light shimmered ahead. Hell-Bard wards—which Caden had warned her about when they had figured out this new plan. The wards would keep out all unwanted intruders and, more importantly, keepinany unwanted sounds.
They would not, however, block Hell-Bards, and as Safi pushed the doors wide, a mist of power rustled over her. Comforting, calming, warm. She had not learned how to make these wards since, as Lev had said earlier, she had avoided the usual route of noosing and training. She suspected, though, as the magic slid over her skin, that it was linked to the Loom. To the colors and Threads she’d seen there. To the way Hell-Bards could draw on the life-force of one another to heal from mortal wounds.
Safi glanced back as the doors shut behind her and winked at theattendants. Then the hall was hidden; she was alone in the Emperor’s study. As always happened during a heist, Safi’s heartbeat sharpened in her chest. Her vision funneled down to only what she needed, only what mattered. She had been raised for moments like this one.
After crossing to a chair before Henrick’s desk, Safi peeled off the chain. Cold instantly scudded through her. Fingernails made of shadow. But like the night before, it was easy to ignore. Especially when the colors of the room suddenly brightened.
Ahyes,this was the version of herself she loved most. The one built for action. The one who initiated, the one who moved. All that was missing was Iseult.
I’m coming for you.
She tucked the noose out of sight in the chair’s cushion, then cut across the room to the Emperor’s dressing room. Each step brought new noises into her ears, and by the time she gripped the knob and gently turned it, she could almost discern individual sounds.
Sounds she had hoped she would never have to hear, that made everything inside her curdle and cringe. Henrick, it would seem, was…enthusiastic.
The door opened silently. The noises beyond the dressing room increased, and Safi’s wince deepened. This was, without a doubt, the most perfect opportunity to swap the golden chain and Threadstones—Caden had guided her well. But it was also disgusting, and she wondered if it was possible to cauterize one’s brain.
Darkness shrouded Henrick’s dressing room, but light from the study revealed shelves and cabinets and a suit hanging on a life-size wooden frame. Safi hurried toward it, hoping it was his suit from that day. That his belt would be draped around it…
