Truthwitch (The Witchlands, #1)(97)

Then they were to the bottom, and Safi was reaching for the rocks. Iseult reached too …

Her fingers hit something. Something she couldn’t see but that sent power—static—rushing over her body.

A red light flashed. Then flashed again—brighter. Safi’s and Iseult’s Threadstones were blinking.

That was when it happened. A boom! that slammed into Iseult. It yanked her sideways, wringing the air from her lungs. But she didn’t release Safi, and Safi didn’t release her as they churned toward the surface, pushed by water. By the charging roar that still quaked around them.

They broke the surface. Waves kicked and swept toward shore. Iseult sputtered and spun, completely disoriented by the Well’s roughness. By the power shivering through her.

Suddenly a gray head splashed up beside her. “Come on!” Evrane hooked her arm in Iseult’s and towed her toward the ramp.

“What’s happening?” Safi shouted, straggling behind.

“Earthquake,” Evrane called, her strokes sure. Then Iseult’s feet scraped stone, and she shoved to her feet. Evrane and Safi did the same, and all around them, the Well’s waters kept reaching and spraying, twirling and trembling.

“I should have warned you,” Evrane panted, “we have tremors from time to time.” Already, the water was calming, the earth stilling once more. But Iseult barely noticed, her gaze caught on Evrane’s Threads. They were the wrong color for fear of an earthquake or even for concern over the girls’ safety.

Evrane’s Threads burned with a blinding sunset-pink awe.

And now that Iseult was staggering from the water beside the monk, she thought she saw tears falling from Evrane’s dark eyes.

“Are you all right?” Safi asked, clutching Iseult’s shoulder and distracting her from Evrane.

“Oh. Um…” Iseult stretched her arm and honed in on the feel of the muscle, the roll of her joints. “Yes. It does feel better.” Her whole body felt better, in fact. Like she could run for miles or endure the worst of Habim’s drills.

And now that she was focused on it, she found a strange, boundless joy rushing through her—almost in time to the waves against her calves. The wind gusting over the Well. The twirling happiness in Evrane’s Threads.

“I think,” Iseult said, meeting Safi’s bright eyes and grinning, “it’s all better now.”





THIRTY-TWO

“She has gone to shore,” Aeduan said. He stood at the door to Leopold’s cabin—which was, surprisingly, no larger than his own. It was made smaller, though, by the prince’s trunks against the walls and by the dozens of colorfully bound epics strewn everywhere.

Sunlight beamed over a single cot, on which Leopold groggily propped himself up. “Who has done what, Monk?”

“The girl called Safiya has gone to shore, and now your ship sails too far east—”

Leopold burst out of bed, blankets flying. “Why are you telling me this? Tell the captain! No … I’ll tell the captain.” Leopold stopped, gaze dropping to his night robe. “Actually, I shall dress and then tell the captain.”

“I’ll tell him,” Aeduan snarled. Why the prince was sleeping at midmorning Aeduan couldn’t fathom anyway. Much less why the man had bothered to don special attire for it.

Soon, Aeduan found himself at the tiller, speaking in broken Cartorran while sailors backed away, fingers flying into the sign against evil. Aeduan ignored them all. The domna’s scent had moved due north, and due north meant land.

Land meant that time was running out.

“You want me to go ashore where?” the bearded captain asked, his voice rising in volume as if Aeduan were deaf. He held a spyglass to his eye and scanned the craggy shore. “There is nowhere to moor here.”

“Ahead.” Aeduan pointed at a single sharp rock rising up from the waves. “The Nubrevnans went behind that, so we must follow.”

“Impossible.” The captain frowned. “We’ll be smashed and sunk in moments.”

Aeduan snatched the spyglass from the captain, then honed in on the lone rock surrounded by wild waves. Their Cartorran cutter was hauling past and would soon leave this spot entirely. Yet the captain seemed correct that landing here was impossible.

Except … that it wasn’t.

Now that the ship was lurching by, Aeduan could see behind the single rock. There was a gap in the cliffside. An inlet.

Aeduan shoved the spyglass back to the captain—who didn’t take it. The brass fell to the deck. The captain swore.

Aeduan ignored the stupid man and tipped up his nose. Breathed in until his chest bowed out and his magic had hooked onto the snow-swept truth of Safiya’s blood.

She had gone in that inlet and then set foot on land—moved east. Yet she was not far. Her scent was strong ahead.

Excitement roiled through Aeduan. Sparked in his blood, his lungs. If he moved fast enough, he could catch the Truthwitch today.

And the Nomatsi girl too.

“I need a Windwitch,” Aeduan said, turning to the captain—and making sure to keep his witchery alight. He wanted red in his eyes as he made his demands. “A Windwitch or several of them. However many it takes to fly me to the cliffs along with my things.” Along with my money.

The captain stiffened, eyes dropping. But then a voice rose from behind.