Bloodwitch (The Witchlands, #3)

“Safi!” Caden clapped a hand on her shoulder. She flinched. “We need to follow this bridge.” He dipped his head until his eyes bored into hers. “We can’t stay here.”

She blinked, confused now. Lost, even. She had been so certain that voice belonged to a dead man.

“Bridge?” she murmured at last, gaze finally latching onto Caden’s.

“That one.” He pointed straight into the crevasse, and when Safi followed his finger she saw only shadows.

While far, far below, a galaxy swirled.

“Magic,” Zander repeated once more, and for the first time since stumbling through the doorway, he moved, striding right off the ledge and into the abyss.

Safi lunged forward to grab him, but she was too slow, and …

And Zander didn’t plummet to his death. Instead, he marched right across the cavern while Vaness bounced upon his shoulder.

“Another glamour,” Lev explained, moving to Safi’s side. “I bet you’re getting real sick of those.” Then with a rakish grin, she too strutted onto invisible nothing.

“Stay close,” Caden murmured, and his fingers laced into Safi’s. “This bridge is narrow, and it’s a long way down.”



* * *



Merik met the Fury head-on. A collision of winds, a clashing of magics. Cold and ice-bound against stars that now sang inside his blood. The two winds plowed against each other …

And stopped. A wall of noise, a wall of storm.

“Run!” Merik bellowed at the Northman on the steps behind. A refrain he’d yelled so often to this man—but that had never mattered more than it did right now. “RUN!”

The Northman ran, vanishing from Merik’s peripheral gaze.

Does he have them? Kullen’s voice raged atop his winds—or perhaps he only raged it inside Merik’s skull. Either way, it jolted the gale in his favor. A sudden lurch of shadowy power that thundered against Merik.

He skidded backward. His calves hit stairs, and his balance was thrown. He fell. Winds pulverized him, and suddenly Kullen was there, sweeping past in a swirl of shadows that aimed for the Northman.

Merik did not think, he did not evaluate. He moved, flying full force toward Kullen. And right as Kullen landed—right as the Northman flung himself through a glowing doorway that led only Noden knew where—Merik blasted into him.

He tackled the Fury in a graceless tangle of limbs. Together, they keeled over the edge, tumbling into the chasm below. They spun, they fell, and for several eternal heartbeats, gravity gripped harder than any magic or any storm.

Then Kullen’s frozen winds pummeled in, and Merik’s swooped in just behind. Now, they shot back up toward ledges, toward glowing doorways half masked by dust.

Where are they? Kullen’s words severed into Merik’s brain. Where have you put them?

“Put what?” he tried to scream, but there could be no out-screaming this storm. And there was no out-flying Kullen either. Every flip Merik attempted, Kullen flipped faster. Every evasion, every sweep, Kullen was there before Merik could twist away.

You took the blade and the glass. But I will get them back, Threadbrother. You cannot hide them from me.

The Fury grabbed, his magic clawed. Twice, ice-fingers scraped at Merik, sharp enough to cut. Cold enough to cauterize. First his face, then his chest. And twice, it would have been Merik’s throat if he hadn’t punched his winds between them.

The harder Merik flew, the harder the Fury flew to catch him—and the more winds they sucked in, forcing the air to thicken. Ice-laden, yet hot with rage. Snow streaking, yet charged and building.

Then lightning cracked. Near enough to singe Merik’s skin. To judder electricity through his chest and veins. And bright enough to startle both him and the Fury.

Merik used that moment. He used the spots flashing in his eyes to thrust away. Aimlessly, yet with every piece of power inside—and inside those stars spinning far below.

It worked. Merik launched high, he launched fast. Kullen roared after him, a bellow to rupture Merik’s skull. A scream that set off more lightning, more winds. But Merik had the momentum he needed, and he catapulted up, up. Away, away.

And as he flew, he ransacked his mind for something—anything—that would help him. Kullen thought Merik had stolen his blade and glass; there had to be a way Merik could use that. Especially since as long as Kullen was here, he wasn’t letting the Raider King inside … and that meant the Raider King wasn’t reaching Lovats.

But Merik couldn’t distract Kullen forever.

Merik’s winds zoomed him to the ice-bridge. Cold quivered off it—different than the ice of Kullen’s storm. It seemed to hum, it seemed to sing: Come, come, and find release.

It was the song from the pond filled with bodies, firmer here. A mother urging her child to bed.

Merik’s flight slowed. The refrain thrummed louder. Come, my son, and sleep. Come, come, the ice will hold you.

His gaze traced the bridge across the dark expanse to where it fed onto a ledge with a tall door, half choked by more ice.

Come, come, and face the end.

Before Merik could fly that way, before he could fully answer that call, Kullen’s voice shattered across his brain: AND WHO ARE THESE INTRUDERS?

Merik flinched, a twang of his muscles that drowned out the ice, drowned out the song. He looked down, fearing he’d find the Northman. And sure enough, there was movement surging within the storm—colors that were not lightning. Figures that were not the Fury.

But they were not the Northman.

Four people ran across the cavern, somehow sprinting above the galaxy despite no stones to cradle their feet.

Even with his eyes streaming and lightning flashing, even with the ice to chorus and call, Merik recognized one of those figures the instant he saw her. That golden hair, shorter now, and that loping stride.

But she died, he thought, heart tightening. Mind reeling. She died in an explosion two weeks ago.

Then a second thought hurled in: And so did you.

In an instant, Merik pulled in his winds.

And Merik flew to her.





FIFTY-SEVEN


Vivia led the way to the under-city. Cam leaned on Vivia, his bandaged hand clutched to his chest and words tumbling out, incomprehensible and disjointed. Vizer Sotar followed just behind, lantern in hand. He did not believe Cam, but he also had not refused Vivia when she had asked him to join.

“Ryber and me,” Cam explained, “found Captain Sotar in the mountain. Or maybe the captain found us—I don’t know, sir. She was following Eridysi’s blade and glass. The ones that call out to people like her, see?”

Vivia did not see at all, and Sotar cleared his throat in frustration. The limestone tunnel descended steadily; the foxfire overhead shone green and bright.

“So Ryber took the captain with her into the tomb. It’s the fastest way back to the Convent.”

“Tomb?” Vivia asked. Then a second question hit her. “What about Merik? Where is he? You left the city with him two weeks ago.”