Page 105 of Witchlight
She could see across the Well from here—and see Kahina as the woman wrapped her body in flames. The fire flickered and licked, transforming from a desaturated gray to vivid orange. Because this was real fire.Thiswas the fire of the Moon Mother, not an alchemical cruelty built by humans.
Kahina attacked. Leopold vaulted, and a new fight began. One that Iseult could not follow, even if she’d wanted to. Her eyes drifted shut. She let her magic observe instead. The Fire Threads burning like a flame hawk; the Aether Threads sparkling like spirit swifts. Two Paladin souls who, despite their stark differences, were evenly matched.
Almostevenly matched. Kahina had one edge that Leopold did not: a thousand years of simmering rage. Where Leopold’s Threads were defined by a lost, lonely core, Kahina’s were defined by vengeance and a certainty that the entire Witchlands had been wronged by this Paladin right here.
In the end, Ragnor had only been a man when he’d faced the Rook King. A brilliant, perhaps once-kind man, but still only skin, muscle, blood, and bone. Kahina, however, was raw power, and Iseult didn’t think Leopold would survive this fight.
But she could do nothing to help him. She could not cleave, she could not move. She was an amalgamation of her Threads and Safi’s Threads and whatever had been held inside those broken tools gathered by Ragnor.
Sever, sever, twist and sever.
At those words, Iseult thought of Esme. She thought of the white weasel who’d died here and all the Cleaved now caught in the seafire to burn. Innocents who’d never deserved what came for them. Hundreds of bodies with Severed Threads and no Puppeteer to free them. Unless…
Unless.
The Well wasrightthere. Dead, yes, but perhaps Iseult was looking at it wrong. Perhaps she was asking its dead waters for the wrong thing. After all, it had been a Loom once; all those warping, wefting Threads might still be in there, waiting to be used again.
Iseult opened her eyes and dug deep inside herself. First she found a drop of strength in her muscles. Then she found a trickle. Then she had enough current—from Safi’s Threads, from the Threads of a broken blade and glass—to finally lift a single arm. It was so,soslow mountains could have grown before she moved an inch.
But she did move. And she did dig her fingers into the earth. And she did pull her body forward.
Iseult’s soul was not yet gone.
Her quest was not yet over.
It was without a doubt the stupidest thing Aeduan had ever done. It was the sort of decision one made when the choices were between certain death and almost-certain death. Thatalmostmade all the difference. He needed thatalmost,and he had no choice but to rely on it.
If you have to, then you will take control of my blood. Whatever consequences might come from that, we’ll reckon with them once the Well is healed.The consequences, Aeduan feared, would be dire, but they were all he had left now. Any burst of power he’d found inside the mountain was gone. His wounds were not simply weeping, but gushing. So heavily they soaked his clothes through.
He was losing a lot of blood. It was weakening him far faster than his magic could keep up with.
But there was still thatalmost,and he had to cling to it.
As Aeduan walked Safi toward the seafire, he removed his salamander cloak. Every nerve inside him fought against that. All he wanted was to run, my child, run and never look back. Yet Iseult had walked through fire to save him, so he would walk through fire to save her.
He and Safi were close to the flames now. Aeduan saw nothing else. Felt nothing else. His eyes wanted to pop from the heat—and that was only the beginning. “This will hurt,” he warned again, although he knew Safi couldn’t hear him. He draped his salamander cloak over her. He towed up the hood, and he fastened the fire-flap as if she were a child who needed dressing.
A final time, he said it: “This will hurt,” but this time, it was not for Safi. It was for himself.
“You’re not protected—” Safi tried to shout at him, but Aeduan had already reined her blood to his. He was already sending her muscles onward. She would go first; he would walk behind.
The fire devoured them. Aeduan had felt flames; he’d survived burns that no one else could; and he’d died by seafire too, beside the Aether Well. But he did not stop. And he did not let Safi stop either.
Run, my child, run.Straight ahead. Straight through. There was no sight, no sound, no touch inside the flames. All senses ceased to be, and there was only pain. Smoke to clog lungs, fire to peel off skin. While inside Aeduan’s chest, the six wounds would not stop bleeding.
They made it twenty-seven paces this way, before Aeduan realized his plan wasn’t working. That because he burned, his body was trying to heal—and because of the six old wounds, he was running out of blood to heal with.
His control over Safi was failing too, and she in turn was burning. Through the salamander fibers, flames kissed her. Aeduan tried to run faster, to push his magic to fresh heights. Somehow, he kept going. Somehow, there were still pieces of him that did not burn. Pinpricks of light from the Truthwitch herself, he realized, that he could latch on to.
Physically, he grabbed hold of her, his fingers spasming and cruel.
Magically, he latched on to her too, injecting the hot viscosity of his blood into her veins. And mentally, Aeduan screamed:Run, my child, run. Then he ran. With the Truthwitch leashed tight, he ran through the seafire and chased after analmostthat might only be ghosts in the trees.
Straight ahead. The light-bringer was almost there. Aeduan hadalmostfinished what he needed to do. He hadalmostsurvived with the Truthwitch beside him, and thatalmostwas all that mattered.
The heat morphed against Aeduan as he finally reached the end of his magic. As the last of his blood boiled. His steps flagged. His lungs, choked with flame, gave out. He thought he must be near the Well, but he couldn’t see to confirm.
Run, my child, run.
