Truthwitch (The Witchlands, #1)(73)

As it snapped its jaw and swiveled toward the warship, Iseult saw more teeth than any natural creature should possess.

And fangs. The thing most definitely had fangs.

But what scared Iseult the most was how the creature blazed with the Threads of the bloodthirsty—and how its mouth was opening wide …

The creature screamed.

*

When Ryber had described a sea fox, this was not what Safi had imagined.

And she definitely hadn’t imagined that it would scream like the souls of the damned. A thousand layers screeched from the monster’s mouth—and then screeched from a second monster now towering over the Jana nearby.

Safi’s eardrums split, and she was vaguely aware of her pulse ramping up. She flung a glance toward the Jana, searching for Merik across the foaming sea—but her search was short-lived when the nearest fox’s shriek broke off.

It had found a target: one of the Marstoks closest to the ship’s rail. The man’s hands sparked and sputtered as he reached for his witchery, but with his wrists bound, he was too clumsy to fight back.

Safi scrambled to her feet, thrust out her knife, and roared, “Leave him alone!”

The sea fox whipped its long neck Safi’s way.

Shit. Safi had just enough time to admire the icy blue of the monster’s eyes—zooming in fast—before she flung out her throwing knife. It stabbed an inky pupil, and the sea fox flipped down, screaming, to splash beneath the water. The boat tipped dangerously, but the sea fox didn’t resurface.

Safi flung a desperate glance at the Jana and found the second sea fox had left as well.

“Nice job,” called Iseult. She stepped carefully across the main deck, clearly not in possession of her sea legs. A cleaver gleamed in her left hand.

Safi’s heart soared into her skull. Seeing Iseult, standing tall—no matter if her energy was from the Painstone—made Safi want to laugh in relief. Or cry. Probably both.

But it was Iseult’s eyes that really got her. They were bright and they were open.

“New weapon?” Safi asked, her voice embarrassingly pinched and thick.

Iseult’s lips quirked up. “I have to save your hide somehow.”

Safi’s throat squeezed tighter. “Carawen steel is the best, you know.”

“It is,” Evrane growled, stalking toward the girls—sea legs strong against the boat’s trembling. “And you, Domna”—she glared at Safi—“just wasted that steel on making the monster angrier.”

“I got rid of it.” Safi motioned to the now-empty waves.

“No! That is how they hunt.” Evrane unsheathed a second throwing knife. “They test the ship—see how we fight. Then they dive. As we speak, both foxes are swimming for the surface, building momentum as they go. They will try to unbalance the boats and grab any men who fall.”

Safi’s mouth dropped open; salty air swept in. “You mean it’s coming back?”

“Yes.” She shoved the knife at Safi. “So take this knife and widen your stances, fools!”

Safi snatched up the knife just as Iseult cried, “Here it comes!”

Wood exploded in a deafening crunch. The boat tipped sharply left … left … Safi angled her body into the deck, against the ship’s rise.

Screams ripped out behind her. Marstoki sailors tumbled for the water, and with their hands bound, they would fall right in.

Safi and Iseult locked eyes—and Safi knew her Threadsister thought the same thing. As one, they stopped fighting the rise of the ship, and instead they fell into it.

The wood grabbed at Safi’s bare soles. Locked her down and forced her into tiny, bouncing hops behind Iseult, whose boots slid more easily over the wet planks.

Iseult reached the other side first, and with a roar, she grabbed at a green tunic right before its owner toppled overboard. It was the bearded Firewitch healer.

“Not so filthy now, huh?” Safi shouted.

But then a cry burst up. A second Marstok—just a boy—fell toward the railing. Safi dove for him. He flipped over the edge. Safi flipped after. She snagged his ankle—and then Iseult snagged hers.

“I’ve … got you,” Iseult gritted, hugging the railing with her bad arm. “Not for long, though—oh shit.”

The boat stopped tipping. Gravity took hold, and the ship fell the other way in a howl of water and resisting wood.

Safi and the boy swung onto the boat, Iseult shrieking from the pain of holding on … until Evrane was there, somehow still on her feet, and towing Safi upright.

The sea fox burst from the waves—way too close to where Iseult was scrabbling back.

Safi threw her knife. It punched into the fox’s eye, inches away from the first knife.

The monster shrieked and dove once more. Saltwater rained down, the ship pitching all the more wildly.

Safi pulled Iseult to her feet. Iseult’s right arm hung limp, her face creased with pain—though she still managed to yell, “Nice aim.”

“Except I was going for the other eye.”

“Stop doing that!” Evrane shouted, several paces away and with the young Marstok beside her. “You’re wasting my knives!” Her sword arced out. She slashed the boy’s bindings. “And stop standing there! We need to free these men while we can.”

Iseult nodded tiredly and staggered for the nearest set of sailors. But Safi was—yet again—weaponless.