Page 54 of Witchlight
“In Lejna, when I told you to trust me as if my soul were yours—I had never said that before. Yet I was compelled to do so. I still am.”
The smile widened. “Then you accept my vow?”
“Stupid,” he replied before kissing her. Deep, full, with all the fury and the fear that still pulsed inside him. He had failed her hours ago by the road, but he would not fail her again.
He pulled away within moments. It was his only choice; otherwise, hewouldget distracted. He would lose sight of the plains and the bloods and the cold, gray night. “Go back to sleep,” he told her.
Her lips were parted. Her eyes wide. “No.”
“I will keep watch.”
“No.”
Now she was the one to kiss him. A brittle, urgent thing. Before she too pulled away. Then pointed at the tent. Her hand, Aeduan couldn’t help but notice, trembled slightly. “Iwilltake second watch, Bloodwitch. I command you to sleep now, and please remember: I am your master, so you must obey.”
He sniffed. He could argue if he wanted, but truth be told, he was exhausted. Now that his wrath had quieted, there was only gaping fatigue left behind. And the wounds, of course. Always those six old wounds.
So Aeduan bowed his head, “As you wish, Dark-Giver.” Then he kissed her on the forehead and returned, pace agitated, to the tent.
TWENTY-FIVE
“How bad is it?” The Truthwitch’s voice rasped through the tent, and when Aeduan turned from where he checked Surefoot, he found her gazing up at him. Her face, much too pale, glistened with sweat. Her freckles stood out like constellations.
Aeduan didn’t try to help her as she sat up.
“Earlier,” Safi continued with a grunt, “you said you sensed my injury wasn’t life-threatening, and that was a lie.”
Yes, it had been a lie.
“So how bad is it?”
“Better now.”
Safi rolled her eyes, a move that was barely visible in the shadows. She finished sitting up, her hurt arm hugged tightly to her chest. “You know you can’t lie to me, Knifey. So I’ll ask again: How bad is it?”
Surefoot snuffed. Dandelion stamped. But there were no sounds to suggest Iseult was near enough outside to overhear them.
“It’s more than a surface wound,” Aeduan said honestly. “And you should be resting.” He tried to turn away, to resume his careful checking of the horses. But Safi leaped to her feet, surprisingly agile for someone with an injury as bad as hers—and itwasbad. She had lost enough blood that the mountain ranges and cliffsides were nearly swallowed up by the meadows filled with dandelions and the truth hidden beneath snow.
That didn’t mean her magic had suddenly become stronger, but rather that all those Cahr Awen souls inside her were crushing down on the pieces that made Safi who she was.
Her arm muscle was also ripped apart. Aeduan was no healer, but he would wager there was bone damage—and also that she had the start of a fever. It did not radiate off her yet, but there was a certain shallowness that hit blood when infection took hold.
Safi’s was beginning to throb that way.
“You can’t help me.” The way she said this was more statement thanquestion. “You, who controls people’s bloods… you can’t do anything to help me.”
“No.”
She staggered toward him. Aeduan tried to withdraw, but there was nowhere to go. And in the shadows of the tent, her blue eyes had become storm gray.
“Because you will not orcannot?” She crooked toward him, her voice lowering until it was almost lost to the winds outside, until not even the horses could hear her. “Make me a promise: if I cannot walk to the Well, then you will walk me there. You will take control of my blood and move me like a puppet every step of the way.”
Bloodwitches cannot do this. They cannot control people like this.
Aeduan swallowed. “We have Painstones.”
“Not many.” Safi’s right hand whipped out and yanked him close. The feverish gleam in her veins was unmistakable. “Not enough to last us two days and carry us through armies. Which means, Knifey, that when the time comes, youwilltake control of my blood. Whatever consequences might come from that magic, we’ll reckon with them after the Well is healed.”
