Bloodwitch (The Witchlands, #3)

Cam grimaced, and behind them, Sotar’s pace stuttered—for of course, he didn’t know Merik still lived. No one in the kingdom knew that. They all believed he’d died in the Jana’s explosion.

“Merik was with us,” Cam admitted, “but we … we got separated. He ain’t dead though,” the boy added hastily. “I just know it in my gut that he ain’t dead.”

In your gut? Vivia wanted to demand—just as she wanted to demand more information on where Merik and this boy had been or how they’d gotten separated. Now wasn’t the time, though. Not with Vizer Sotar right there and a city to defend.

So Vivia returned to the early trail of information. “You mentioned tombs, Cam. Where? Whose tombs?”

“At the Sightwitch Sister Convent.” He spoke as if this explained everything. “Ry said the ice tombs were the fastest way to the surface, so she and Captain Sotar followed them up. They’re going to destroy the standing stones, see? Then, once they break ’em, the mountain will collapse and the magic doors’ll stop working. After that, the Raider King won’t be able to reach Lovats. Or anywhere else.”

Vivia’s forehead wrinkled. A squishing frown between her brows because all of this was absurdity. Magic doorways and standing stones and the Convent from a long-lost order—it was madness. Something out of one of her mother’s dreams. Yet, as Cam kept speaking, kept explaining all these impossible pieces as if they were real, Vivia started to wonder if maybe … just maybe it was true.

If the Void Well could live inside Lovats, maybe there were other hidden wonders out there too.

“But,” Cam finished tiredly, “just in case Ry’s plan doesn’t work, she and Captain Sotar sent me here. To warn you.”

“Just in case,” Vivia repeated, and this time, she glanced back to Vizer Sotar.

His nostrils were flared, his head shaking a warning.

They reached the end of the tunnel, where the doorway framed by Hagfishes waited. She shoved inside, and a young father with a babe in his arms bowed crookedly at Vivia’s entrance. Then other people along the narrow limestone street caught sight of her. Hesitant smiles flashed, curtsies and bows, and more fists over hearts than she deserved. Most, though, slept at this hour. Oblivious and thinking themselves safe.

Vivia’s teeth ground. If Cam spoke the truth, then every one of these people was at risk—and with each step, Vivia felt more and more inclined to believe him. Cam’s story might be fragmented and wild, but he had spoken words that only Stix could know.

Noden and the Hagfishes ought to bend to a woman’s rule.

“That way,” Cam murmured when they reached an intersection, and Vivia walked faster, towing Cam along where he pointed. Three more intersections and they reached a narrow tunnel at the edge of the cavern. She’d seen this space before, but it led nowhere, so she and her workers had left it alone.

Now, though, she followed Cam inside, and when they reached the stone end, Vizer Sotar stepped closer, lantern light spraying over it. A rectangle as tall as Vivia, framed by a hundred tiny boxes with diagonal lines.

“This is it,” Cam said, and he patted the stone with his unbandaged hand.

“This,” Sotar said flatly, “is a wall.”

And Vivia was inclined to agree. It was as if someone had started a door here, but then given up.

“No,” Cam insisted. He turned earnest, pleading eyes on Vivia. “The door only goes one way, sir. You can leave the mountain to come here, but you can’t go back through. The original Six made it that way for safety. I swear this is where I came in.”

Only goes one way. A breath hissed from Vivia’s lungs. What the hell-waters was she doing here? She wasn’t really going to trust a boy she barely knew just because he’d quoted something Stix had said …

Was she? Could she?

“Please, sir,” the boy whispered. He laid a hand on Vivia’s sleeve. “You gotta believe me.”

She turned and met his eyes. Sincere, innocent eyes—no shadows, no deceit. Merik had trusted this boy, and clearly Stix had too. And if Stix had truly sent Cam here because she believed that Vivia and Lovats needed warning, then Vivia couldn’t risk ignoring him. No matter how impossible his tales of magic doorways and Sightwitches might seem. Vivia would rather empty the under-city and be hated than lose hundreds of lives.

She turned to Vizer Sotar, and said, “Evacuate the under-city.”

He reared back. “You cannot be serious.”

“Do it,” she countered, fidgeting with her cuffs. “Then evacuate the entire plateau, Vizer. Or at least try to. I want every wind-drum in the city pounding.”

Sotar’s mouth bobbed open. Then shut. Then: “Please reconsider, Your Majesty. To empty the city would take—”

“Every woman and man inside Pin’s Keep,” she interrupted. “I know exactly what it would take, and I also know exactly what’s at stake if we choose to ignore this boy. If he’s right, Vizer Sotar … We cannot risk that. Now go. Please.”

At that name, Cam suddenly straightened. His eyebrows suddenly jumped. “Oh. It’s you, sir. I’m so sorry—I didn’t realize, or I’d have told you sooner. The captain also had a message for you.” A solemn bow to his head. Then: “She said she’s sorry she missed your birthday yesterday. Next year, she swears you’ll go to the Cleaved Man.”

It was like watching a wind change. One moment, the sails caught the breeze and Sotar’s ship flew. The next moment, he was dead in the water. His shoulders deflated, his eyelids fluttered shut. “I hate the Cleaved Man,” he said under his breath. “And she blighted well knows it. But she makes me go every year, all the same.”

Vivia inched closer to Sotar and, just as Cam had done to her, she laid a hand on the man’s sleeve. “You know what we have to do.”

“Hye.” He nodded slowly, almost to himself, and when he opened his eyes again, it was to offer a slow salute for Vivia. “It will be done, Your Majesty. We will evacuate the underground and the city.”

“Thank you.” She swallowed. Then she smoothed at her shirt, her coat, and said, “Also, I want you to bring me every witch in the city, Vizer. We need to block this doorway, and we need to block it fast.”





FIFTY-EIGHT


Te varuje.

I trust you as if my soul were yours.

Aeduan had never thought he would hear those words spoken to him. Not since his mother had died. Not since he had learned he was a demon—and that all demons died alone.

Te varuje.

Iseult vanished into the darkness of the cave.

And Natan bellowed his fury. The layers of his blood stank with it. The cackling laughter and mountain cold, the endless hunger and bloodied knuckles.

Aeduan had only two paths before him. He could fight Natan and let the battle overwhelm him. Or he could hold the battle and let Natan kill him. Both choices ended in his death, both choices ended in Iseult with danger on her heels.

And both choices would come to pass if Aeduan could not maintain his grip upon the battle. The Well’s power was fading fast from his blood.