Bloodwitch (The Witchlands, #3)

Then it became stairs, and though her breath scorched in her lungs, Iseult hopped them two at a time. The air sharpened, and frost glistened on the walls. The steps, though, were now layered in gravel. A clear line upward—as if an Earthwitch had come this way.

Iseult pushed her body even harder, and soon, moonlight and winter washed against her. She sprinted the final distance into the night.

Snow-dipped fir trees surrounded her. Wind kicked, and the first tendrils of dawn reached across the sky. Even here—wherever here might be—the sounds of battle and fire sang. Distant, though. Too far to sense Threads, too far for Iseult to even pinpoint a direction.

Except there were two sets of Threads near enough for her to feel, and they waited straight ahead. One set radiated brilliant green with the power of an Earthwitch, and the other bore a heart of churning, stormy blue.

Iseult reached Owl and Leopold in seconds. They waited ahead beside two piles of boulders, and at the sound of Iseult’s feet, Leopold whirled about. Then his Threads ignited with such pure relief, it hurt Iseult’s eyes. Meanwhile, Owl’s Threads tinged pink with delight, while the girl herself, filthy with dirt, grinned ear to ear in a way Iseult had never seen before. Such happiness. Such warmth.

Iseult almost wept at the sight of her.

No, she did weep. Tears flecked from her eyes, and she realized she had been wrong before. Back at the sky-ferry. The warmth in her chest was love, for this strange child who was not a child at all.

“You were slow,” Owl said, and before Iseult could process what that even meant, Leopold reached Iseult. Without warning and with one arm in a sling, he pulled her into an embrace. She was so startled, she did not resist it—and his Threads, such icy relief, such sunset happiness and mossy concern, briefly veiled the world around them. “I lost you on the river,” he said. “I could not find you, and I thought it was all over.”

No, Iseult thought, pulling back. I left you. She would confess that to him later, though.

“We have to go,” she told him in Cartorran. “Raiders and monks are coming this way…” She trailed off as the meaning of the scene suddenly sifted into place. Owl. Leopold. Together with two heaps of stones behind them.

“What are you doing?” She put the question to Leopold first, then in Nomatsi for Owl.

And Owl was the one to answer. “Leaving,” she said simply. “I know the way.” Then she turned to the smaller stone pile and levitated a boulder. It crashed onto the other pile with such force, the ground shook. Snow fell from the trees.

“The bat found me,” Leopold explained. “I was surrounded on all sides, and he scared them off. Then Owl was there, and I followed her.” He shook his head, incredulity in his Threads and on his face. As if he still did not understand what had happened or why.

Crash, crash. Rocks gathered. Owl’s Threads shone. The wind blew on and on.

“What is she, Iseult?” Leopold asked, watching the girl. “She is no mere child.”

“No,” Iseult agreed, but she had no answer beyond that. Owl was special, and that was all she knew.

“This way,” Owl interrupted, and in a burst of stone and speed, she launched the final boulder away, revealing a hole in the earth like a bear’s den that emanated blue light.

Before Iseult could stop her, Owl smiled again—a flash of pink amusement in her Threads—and crawled into the hole. The blue light swallowed her.

And Iseult, with Leopold just behind, pitched in after her.





FIFTY-NINE


Lightning dominated the darkness. Safi’s eyes sizzled. Her heart fried, and each breath tasted of burning death. But she and the Hell-Bards did not stop running.

It didn’t matter that Safi couldn’t spy the path beneath her feet, it didn’t matter that all she saw was a storm-spun galaxy far below—and it didn’t matter that this unnatural storm clashed harder and harder by the second. The Hell-Bards ran true, and not once did Caden let go of Safi’s hand.

Until suddenly he did. Until suddenly he had no choice because the earth was shaking and tearing Safi from his grip. A great sideways crunch that sent the bridge lurching.

And sent Safi flying headfirst into the darkness.

She screamed, a sound lost to the winds. A sound swallowed by the eternal crack! of lightning. Or maybe it was the mountain still breaking that stole her voice. There was no telling what crashed around her, no telling what death might hit her—or when or where or how.

Then her body slammed against something solid. Something frozen. Except she wasn’t dying and her life wasn’t sapping from her veins. Instead, strong arms were flinging around her and a man was bellowing, “HANG ON.”

So Safi hung on, even as her mind fought to catch up. Even as her eyes fought to see and her fingers fought to hold true. She had no idea who she was pressed against. All she knew was that he held her tight and that he soared.

Winds charged beneath them. They rocketed up, up while the storm pressed down. The squall tried to squash them and boil them and keep them from rising.

Then lightning slashed. A mere arm’s length away, so bright that the world turned to day. And so bright that, even as her eyes winced shut, Safi glimpsed the face before her.

Impossible, she thought at the same instant that her magic screamed, True!

And he must have glimpsed her face too, because his magic skipped a beat. Their flight faltered. The world dragged, and in that space between frenzied, storm-swept breaths, Safi saw everything she needed to see.

For the first time in a month, she saw Merik Nihar. She saw the man she had believed to be dead.

Angry red scars webbed up the side of his face, crawling above the hairline. Eating into his shorn, dark hair. Half an eyebrow was missing, and he’d lost weight. Gaunt bones poked against scorched cheeks, while strange shadows undulated beneath his skin.

But it was him. Safi would know Merik’s face anywhere. She would know his eyes anywhere. True, true, true.

Then time and storm plowed into them. Safi lost all sight, all sound. Static expanded inside her, scratched against her skin. Merik’s flight resumed.

Higher they hurtled, while the storm thrashed against them. Frozen, relentless, alive. And the earth trembled too—a bass vibration that chattered in Safi’s lungs and sent rocks coursing by.

When at last their ascent slowed, Merik’s winds dumped them roughly onto a crude staircase carved into the mountain wall. The storm still raged, and the stones still quaked. Safi could barely keep her knees steady beneath her as she clutched for a handhold against the side of the cavern.

Merik braced himself on the step below hers, one arm against the rock. The other still looped around her waist. He gazed up at her, his eyes as brown as she remembered, even in this lightning-lit world. He was alive. He was right here.

“How?” she tried to say at the same instant he said, “You died.”