Windwitch (The Witchlands #2)v(114)

“Which is why”—he stretched his shoulders—“I won’t stay. I’ll leave Owl, I’ll leave the bat, and I’ll leave you. Then I’ll go to Lejna for my coins.” And perhaps hunt for Prince Leopold too.

Iseult nodded, as if this plan suited her. For some reason, the movement bothered him. Her easy acceptance made his lungs stretch tight.

Whatever that feeling was, though, it passed in an instant, and now Owl was splashing deeper into the shadowy pond. The mountain bat, meanwhile, slapped its tail against the wall with what looked to be displeasure. Though it might have been amusement. Impossible to guess which.

Iseult marched away from Aeduan, calling for Owl to be careful.

Which left Aeduan, as always, on the edge of a scene, watching while the world unfolded without him beneath a darkening sky.





FORTY

I’ve been here before, Safi thought as she surveyed the lines of white trailing the Cartorran ship. The marshy shoreline of Saldonica had long since faded, and now a sunset smeared fire across the waves. Across the blurry, salt-sprayed view through the window.

She had been here before. On a ship bound for Azmir while someone tended her wounds.

Pain came in bright bursts, a shuddering onslaught each time Caden’s needle pierced the skin above Safi’s eyebrow. Were her chair not stiff backed and sturdily armed, she would have fallen off ages ago, for as gentle as Safi knew the Hell-Bard tried to be, it still hurt when he stitched the cut left by Kahina’s fist.

For an hour, Safi had been in the captain’s cabin. First, Lev had come to rebreak and then set her nose. Despite her best attempts not to, Safi had howled and more blood had gushed. Even after all the pain and resulting tears, Lev had still been forced to leave with an apologetic, “Not sure it’ll ever look the same again, Domna.”

Safi had simply shrugged. Without any bewitched healer supplies on board—Kahina had claimed them all—Safi knew she’d wear scars and a crooked nose for the rest of her life. It didn’t bother her much. Not when there was so much actually worth worrying over.

Like her Threadstone.

It had stopped blinking. Iseult was safe again, but for how long?

“I misjudged you,” Caden said, scattering Safi’s thoughts. They were his first words beyond, Tip up your head or Close the eye. “In Ve?aza City, I thought you reckless. Na?ve and selfish too.”

Safi couldn’t help it: she glared up at him. “Thanks?”

The needle pricked hotter. Caden stiffened atop his stool. Then sighed. “Stay still, Domna.”

With a sniff, Safi attempted to relax her face. He resumed: “Your bravery earlier, on the ship—fighting the Admiral. It was still reckless, but it was also clever. And not selfish at all. Plus, what you did back in Saldonica, at the inn … I misjudged you.”

“And I,” Safi muttered, careful to keep her face perfectly still, “do not accept this attempt at an apology.”

Caden grunted once, almost a laugh, before leaning in close to tie off the hemp embedded above Safi’s eye. Seconds slid past, pain thudded through her skull, and Safi had nothing to stare at but the gold chain dangling from Caden’s neck.

The Hell-Bard’s noose.

He sank back. “Good enough. Give me your right wrist.”

Safi complied, and he held it toward the window, toward the light streaming in across the sea. His fingers dug uncomfortably into bruises swelling on her forearm.

“Hell-Bard,” she said.

“Hmm?” He set her arm, palm up, over his knee. Then he reached for his needle and a fresh length of hemp.

“Did you tell the emperor what I am? What my magic is?”

“I did not.” The answer came without hesitation as he threaded the needle, the copper winking in the sunset. “But I did confirm for the emperor what he’d already heard from other sources.”

“Ah.” Safi exhaled roughly, and her muscles weakened. She slouched back, watching as Caden cleaned the long cut with a water-soaked linen. Fresh blood welled, and fresh pain with it.

Safi forced herself to keep speaking. “How can you tell what my magic is? What is it that Hell-Bards do? You told me if we survived that you would explain.”

“I was hoping you would forget that.” His eyes flicked up. “Can’t trick a Truthwitch, I suppose.”

“Answer the question.”

“Let’s just say…” He chewed his lip for a moment. “Let’s just say that we Hell-Bards were once heretics too. Just like you.” Here he paused to set aside the bloodied linen and grasp the needle once more. “Our magics were taken away from us, Domna, as punishment. Now we serve the man who took them from us. To remove the noose is to die.”

Safi gasped. Her eyes winced shut as pain barked from the needle’s stab—and a memory formed. Of Uncle Eron removing his chain, his noose—though only for a few breaths at a time. Long enough for Safi to read his truths.

Then Eron had always slipped it back on.

She opened her eyes to find the top of Caden’s head so near. He had freckles on his forehead. She hadn’t noticed them until now.

“When the noose is on, you’re protected against magic. How?”

“I can’t tell you all my secrets, Domna. Otherwise, you’ll run off and then the emperor will hang use all—and with a real noose this time.” He laughed, but it was edged with sadness.