Truthwitch (The Witchlands, #1)(66)

“We’ll be stopping soon,” Merik said, seemingly unaware of her reaction. “There might be fighting, and … I wanted to warn you.”

“Who will be fighting?” Safi’s voice was oddly high-pitched, her fingers still humming as she gripped the spoon. “Are Iseult and I in danger?”

“No.” Merik’s head shook once, but the word—and the movement—frizzed against Safi’s power. False. “I will keep you safe,” he added, almost as an afterthought. Safi’s magic purred, True.

Frowning, she sipped the soup. It was disgusting—even as hungry as she was. Bland to the point of tasteless and cold to the point of congealed.

“Don’t watch me eat,” she huffed. “I won’t actually kill anyone with the spoon.”

“Thank Noden.” His lips twitched up. “I was worried for the entire crew.” A pause, then a curt wag of his head, as if he shook off some dark cloud that plagued him.

When Merik met Safi’s gaze, his eyes were sharp—the sharpest she’d ever seen them—and she had the uncomfortable sense that he saw her. Not just the surface of her, but all her secrets too.

“In all honesty,” he said at last, “you are a threat, Domna. That’s why I have to keep you in chains. You would do anything for your Threadsister, and I would do the same for Kullen.”

True.

When Safi stayed silent except for her soup-sipping, Merik went on. “Kullen and I have known each other since we were boys—since I went to the Nihar estate, where his mother works. When did you meet Iseult?”

Safi swallowed her current mouthful, almost choked on the bread, and then croaked, “Why do you want to know?”

Merik sighed. “Good-natured curiosity.”

True.

Safi’s mouth pursed to one side. Merik was being strangely open with her—which he certainly didn’t have to be—and Safi supposed there was no tactical advantage if he found out how she and Iseult had become friends.

“We met six years ago,” she finally answered. “She works … or worked, I suppose, for my tutor in Ve?aza City. Whenever I visited him for a lesson, Iseult was there. I … didn’t like her at first.”

Merik nodded. “I didn’t like Kullen either. He was so tense and hulking.”

“He still is.”

Merik laughed—a full, rich sound that sent warmth cinching around Safi’s stomach. With his eyes crinkled and his face relaxed, Merik was handsome. Disarmingly so, and against her better judgment and strongest wish, Safi found herself relaxing.

“I thought Iseult was tense too,” she said slowly. “I didn’t understand Threadwitches back then—or Nomatsis. I just thought Iseult was strange. And cold.”

Merik scratched his chin, rough with stubble. “What changed?”

“She saved my life from a Cleaved.” Safi looked at Iseult, stiff upon the pallet. And much too pale. “We were only twelve years old, and Iseult saved me without any thought for herself.”

There had been an Earthwitch near Mathew’s shop. The woman had started to cleave with Safi only paces away, and when the Earthwitch had lunged, Safi’d thought it was all over for her. Hell-flames or Hagfishes, she hadn’t known, but she’d been certain they were coming for her.

Until Iseult was suddenly there, jumping on the woman’s back and fighting like it was her life trapped in the balance.

Of course, Iseult hadn’t been strong enough to stop the Earthwitch, so thank the gods Habim had arrived only moments later.

That was the first day Habim had begun training Iseult to defend herself alongside Safi. More important, it was the first day Safi had seen Iseult as a friend.

And now this was how Safi repaid her—by sending their lives up in smoke.

Safi stirred her soup, watching the bread swirl. “How did you and Kullen become friends?”

“A similar story.” Merik wet his lips and, with a bit too much nonchalance, said, “Kullen has bad lungs. I … don’t know if you’ve noticed. It’s ironic, really—he’s an Airwitch and can control someone else’s lungs, yet not his own.” Merik gave a dry laugh. “Kullen had his first truly bad breathing attack when he was eight, and I used my winds to revive him. Rather straightforward.” Merik nodded to the soup. “How’s the dinner?”

“I’ve had worse.”

He bowed his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment. We do what we can here, with what little we have.” He lifted his eyebrows as if he intended a double meaning.

It was lost on Safi. “What’s your point?”

“That I think you do the same—make do with what you have. I will help Iseult when I can.”

“I can’t wait that long. Iseult can’t wait.”

Merik shrugged one shoulder. “You have no choice, though. You’re the one in chains.”

Safi flinched as if he’d hit her. She dropped the spoon and thrust away the bowl. Broth sloshed out the sides.

Let Merik mock her helplessness. Let him laugh at her chains. She had lit this pyre; she would put it out—and she didn’t need his or anyone else’s permission to do that.

“It tastes like crap,” she said.

“It does.” Merik gave a knowing nod—which only incensed her more. “But at least I get some dinner now.” He swooped up the bowl and then marched from the room as smoothly as he’d come in.