Truthwitch (The Witchlands, #1)(114)

Which meant that if Iseult died here, Aeduan would be to blame—the exact opposite of a life-debt repaid.

So Aeduan ran to the roof’s edge and jumped. He flew three stories toward the fountain. Air rushed into his ears. Loud, fast. His right foot touched down. He pushed the power into a roll and tumbled to his feet—with barely enough time to keep from careening into the Threadwitch.

Who was swinging her cutlass at Aeduan’s head. He dove low and steel whistled through the air.

“No!” was all he could shout before he unsheathed his sword and rounded on the nearest Cleaved. The man was an Adder, his black hood scratched off and his skin oily and writhing. He chomped at the air, searching for someone worth devouring.

Aeduan drove his blade through the Adder’s shoulder … then ripped it back out. Hot acid sprayed harmlessly onto Aeduan’s cloak. Yet a drop landed on his exposed face, searing into his cheek.

So their blood really is poison.

There was no time to dwell on that revelation. The cleaved man was already dragging himself onward. His acid blood eating through his uniform, revealing chest and arms fit to erupt from the roiling pustules.

“The head!” the girl shouted before spinning her blade wide.

Steel bit through flesh. Through nerve and bone. The Adder’s head went flying, his body wobbling uncertainly while acid spurted like a fountain into the courtyard. It splattered the girl’s clothes, eating through the fabric. She stumbled back … then front-kicked the headless body. It collapsed.

The girl gaped at her sleeves, as if shocked by the holes. Fool. Hadn’t she seen the acid at work? It was her fault she’d stepped into it like that. Yet Aeduan still found his mouth opening and the words “Stay behind me” coming out.

Then he angled toward four more Marstoks and set to work. They lurched at Aeduan … and, of course, the stupid Threadwitch did not stay behind him as ordered. Instead, she swooped out, blade arching at neck height.

She missed; the nearest Cleaved hopped back with unnatural speed. Windwitch, Aeduan realized as he lanced out with his own blade. Again, the man leaped backward, skin brewing with black.

Air blasted into Aeduan; he staggered toward the fountain. The Threadwitch listed too, though she held her stance better.

A deafening crack sounded behind Aeduan. He had just enough time to twirl around—to see a rift splintering the fountain—before the Threadwitch grabbed his cloak and yanked.

The fountain exploded in a blur of ancient stone and water—but Aeduan and the girl named Iseult were already soaring for the nearest alley. Clearly one of these Marstoks was a Tidewitch, and now that he had a source, Aeduan would be no match.

A magicked wind battered into Aeduan’s back, knife-like and meant to flay apart his skin. Yet Aeduan’s cloak protected him, and he protected the girl.

Aeduan pumped his legs faster, pushed Iseult on. “Right!” he bellowed, and she skittered down the new passage.

Rain fell hard now. Biting. It only added to the cleaving Tidewitch’s power. A bloodthirsty screech lifted over the streets. Several screams—tens of them, even.

“Left!” Aeduan barked at the next shadowy intersection. He had no idea where he was going, only that he needed a larger gap between him and the Cleaved. He could hide the Nomatsi girl until this ended.

Yes, Aeduan would repay his life-debt to Iseult, and then he would never think of her again. She wasn’t the Cahr Awen; she wasn’t his problem.

Aeduan spotted a recessed doorway at the end of the road. The door was loose on its hinges. “Ahead!” he shouted. “Inside!”

The Threadwitch’s sprint faltered. She flung a look back, eyes wide.

“Do it.” He grabbed her arm, grip vicious, and pumped his witchery through his blood. His speed doubled, the alleyway blurred, and the girl cried out. She wasn’t running as fast, and he couldn’t push her blood faster.

But then they were to the doorway and he was shoving her in, yanking her toward the back of the house, pushing her through a kitchen—their gasps for air almost as loud as the howling wind and beating water outside.

Pantry. Aeduan saw the tall cupboard at the back corner of the room, dangerously close to a shattered window … but the only hiding place he could spot. He shoved the girl toward it. “Get inside.”

“No.” She spun around to face him. “What are you trying to do?”

“Repay a life-debt. You spared me; now I spare you.” With a flick of his wrist, he unfastened his salamander cloak. “Hide beneath this. They won’t smell you.” He offered it to her.

“No.”

“Are you deaf or just stupid? Those Cleaved are seconds away. Trust me.”

“No.” Her hazel eyes shook—but not with fear. With stubborn refusal.

“Trust. Me.” Aeduan spoke more softly now, ears and magic straining for signs of the Cleaved. They would be here at any moment and this Nomatsi girl still wasn’t budging.

And if she didn’t budge, then Aeduan’s life-debt would remain unpaid.

So he summoned the only words he could find that would make her go: “Mhe varujta,” he said. “Mhe varujta.”

Her eyebrows shot high. “How … how do you know those words?”

“The same way you do. Now get inside.” Aeduan shoved her into the cupboard—hard. His patience was spent, and he smelled the approaching Cleaved. Bloodstained secrets and filth-encrusted lies.