Truthwitch (The Witchlands, #1)(17)

SIX

As the snare drums approached, Safi’s wrath riled higher and higher. The only reason she didn’t chase after that cursed Nubrevnan as he strode toward his ship (with his shirt still unbuttoned) was because the tallest, palest man she’d ever seen marched beside him … And because Safi had lost sight of Iseult.

But her frantic search for her Threadsister was interrupted when the footsteps and the drumbeats of the approaching guard cut off. When the crowds along the pier fell silent.

A slice, a thunk … a splatter.

For a long moment, the only sounds were the pigeons, the breeze, and the calm waves.

Then a strangled sob—someone who’d known the dead man, perhaps—cut the silence like a serrated knife. It echoed in Safi’s ears. Shook in her rib cage. A minor chord to fill a hole left behind.

A hand landed on Safi’s bicep. Habim. “This way, Safi. There’s a carriage—”

“I need to find Iseult,” she said, unmoving. Unblinking.

“She’s gone somewhere safe.” Habim’s expression was grim—but that was nothing unusual. “I promise,” he added, and Safi’s magic whispered, True. A warm purr in her chest.

So, stiff as a ship’s mast, Safi followed Habim to a nondescript, covered carriage. Once she was seated within, he shut the door and yanked a heavy black curtain over the window. Then, in curt tones, Habim explained how he and Mathew had recognized the girls by their weapons and had shortly thereafter found Mathew’s destroyed shop.

Shame crept up Safi’s neck as she listened. Mathew was more than just her tutor. He was family, and now Safi’s mistakes had ruined his home.

Yet when Habim mentioned sending Iseult to an inn—alone, unprotected—all of the afternoon’s horror was swallowed up by skull-rattling rage. Safi dove for the door …

Habim had her in a stranglehold before she could even twist the knob. “If you open that door,” he growled, “the Bloodwitch will smell you. If you keep it shut, however, then the monk can’t trace you. That curtain is made of salamander fiber, Safi, and Iseult is wearing a cloak of the same fabric right now.”

Safi froze, her vision crossing from lack of air and the scarred back of Habim’s right hand blurring. She couldn’t believe Iseult had simply walked away without a fight. Without Safi …

It made no sense, yet Safi’s magic shouted in her rib cage that it was true.

So she nodded, Habim released her, and she straggled into her seat. Habim had always been the more tightly keyed of her mentors. A chime-piece wound faster than the rest of the world, and it left him without patience for Safi’s impulsiveness.

“I know this holdup was your doing, Safi.” Habim’s soft voice somehow filled every space of the carriage. “Only you would be so reckless, and then Iseult followed you as she always does.”

Safi didn’t argue with that—it was undeniably true. The card game might have been Iseult’s idea, yet every single bad decision since could be laid at Safi’s doorstep.

“This mistake,” Habim continued, “has complicated—possibly ruined—twenty years of planning. Now, with Eron here, we’re doing what we can to salvage the situation.”

Safi stiffened. “Uncle Eron,” she repeated. “Here?”

As Habim offered up some story about Henrick summoning all the Cartorran nobility for a grand announcement, Safi forced herself to mimic Habim. To settle back and relax. She needed to think through everything like Iseult always did. She needed to analyze her opponents and her terrain …

But analyzing and strategy weren’t her strengths. Every time she tried to organize the pieces of her day, they swung apart and were that much harder to reassemble. The only thought she could keep pinned down was Uncle Eron is here. In Ve?aza City. She hadn’t seen him in two years; she’d hoped she would never have to again. Simply thinking of Eron reminded her that, for all that she’d built a life in Ve?aza City, there was a different one waiting for her back in Hasstrel.

Safi needed Iseult right now. She relied on Iseult to keep her mind focused and clear. Acting and running and fighting—those were the only things Safi did well.

Her fingers itched for the door. Her toes curled in anticipation as she reached with aching slowness for the latch.

“Don’t touch that,” Habim intoned. “What would you do anyway, Safi? Run away?”

“Find Iseult,” she said quietly, her fingers still hovering. “And then run away.”

“Which would allow the Bloodwitch to find you,” he retorted. “As long as you stay with your uncle, you’ll be safe.”

“Because he did such a good job protecting my parents.” The words snarled out before Safi could stop them. Yet where she’d expected a swift retaliation from Habim, she got only silence.

Then a stony, “Hell-Bards protect their family, yes, but the empire must come first. In that instance, eighteen years ago, the empire came first.”

“Which is why Emperor Henrick dishonorably discharged him, is it? He gave Uncle Eron the shameful task of being my regent and nursemaid out of gratitude?”

Habim didn’t engage. In fact, his expression didn’t waver at all. This was hardly the first time Safi had pressed Habim on her uncle’s past, and it wasn’t the first time she’d gotten cold silence either.