Windwitch (The Witchlands #2)v(92)

“I don’t know.”

Iseult peered sideways at the girl, whose wide eyes were pinned on them. With mud mottled across her pale Nomatsi skin, she looked exactly as Aeduan had called her: like Moon Mother’s littlest sister, Owl.

She needs a bath, Iseult thought.

“Did you find her with the Red Sails?” She looked back at Aeduan.

He nodded. “The same ones who hunted you.”

“And … w-where are they now?”

“Gone.” It was all the Bloodwitch said, but Iseult didn’t need more. He had killed them, and that explained the blood.

Iseult knew she ought to be shocked. Horrified. Repulsed. Life was not meant to be claimed by anyone but the Moon Mother, yet … she felt only cool relief. Corlant’s men couldn’t hunt her anymore. “Can you smell the girl’s family?” she pressed. “Or her tribe? Perhaps we can return her to them.”

When Aeduan said nothing, Iseult slid her gaze back to him. He watched her, his face immobile. His chest immobile too, breath held. Whatever he thought, she couldn’t guess.

A flash of heat raced up her spine. She snapped, “What? Can you or can you not track her family?”

The edge of Aeduan’s mouth ticked down. “I can track them. There are traces of a tribe on her dress. But…” Aeduan’s attention moved behind Iseult. His pupils pulsed. “Her family is north. Back the way we came.”

Iseult’s nose twitched. “If we don’t continue on now, though, we will not be able to pass. The Raider ships will land, their armies will block our way.”

“They will block your way, yes.”

It took Iseult three heartbeats to sort out what he meant. And once she did, ice dropped hard into her belly. A soft exhale escaped her lips.

This, then, was the end of their travels together. Their strange partnership would end, presumably forever.

“I cannot leave the child,” Aeduan said, no inflection to his tone, no expression on his face. Yet somehow Iseult knew he spoke defensively.

“No,” she agreed.

“She will be a burden to us if we continue on.”

“Yes.”

“The Truthwitch is southeast.” He pointed toward the river. “Likely she is all the way at the end of the peninsula. Or perhaps even at sea beyond.”

Iseult nodded. There was no argument here—nothing she could say … would say to try to keep Aeduan traveling with her. This was a divergence of paths, and that was it.

“If you stick to the river, it will be the most direct route. Though you must hurry if you intend to beat the Red Sails. I will carry Owl…” Now he was saying something about food. Something about sharing rations, and who should keep the Carawen cloak.

Iseult was no longer listening.

She looked at the girl again. Owl. The Moon Mother’s littlest sister. More animal than human, she trailed silently wherever the Moon Mother went. In all the old tales, Owl’s bravery came out only at night, and by day, she hid in the forest’s darkest corners—just as this little creature did right now.

Why did he have to find her? Iseult wondered, heat splintering through her shoulder blades. For if Aeduan hadn’t found this child, then Iseult wouldn’t have to continue alone.

Safi was southeast; Safi was all that mattered. Safi was the rose in the sunshine, and Iseult was the shadow behind. Without her, Iseult was just a bumbling collection of thoughts that constantly led her astray.

Safi was the Cahr Awen. Iseult was merely the girl who wished she could be.

Iseult hated herself for that truth, but there it was. She wanted to go after Safi; she wanted Aeduan to lead the way; she wished this child would simply disappear.

Monster, she told herself. You’re a monster.

It was at that moment that Iseult realized Aeduan had ceased speaking. He stared at her; she stared back. One breath. Two. On and on, while a breeze rustled through the hedge and insects buzzed.

Iseult knew what she had to do. She knew what Safi would do in this position. What Habim or Mathew or her mother or anyone with a backbone would do. So why was she finding it so hard to summon any words?

Iseult swallowed. Aeduan turned to go. There was nothing left to say, really, and in seconds, he had pulled Owl to her feet. “Would you rather walk, Little Owl, or be carried?”

The girl gave no spoken answer, yet Aeduan nodded as if he were the one who could see green determination flickering in Owl’s Threads. A sign she wanted to walk on her own two feet.

Iseult turned then and dug herself back out of the elderberry tangles. Something wrestled in her chest. Something she didn’t recognize, at once fiery and frozen. If Safi were here, she would know what she felt.

Which was why Iseult had to keep going.

A patter behind her. Owl stepped free from the leaves. Then came Aeduan. Iseult looked at neither of them, her thoughts on the south. On the best route past the Red Sails.

A moment later, Aeduan silently—so silently—appeared directly beside Iseult. In his outstretched hand was the arrowhead.

When Iseult made no move to pluck it up, he gently grabbed her wrist and twisted upward. Then he dropped the iron into her waiting palm. It was warm against her skin, as were his fingers—fingers he now unfurled.

No words left his lips, and no words left Iseult’s. She simply examined, almost numbly, the iron needle head as it glittered in the speckled sun.