Bloodwitch (The Witchlands, #3)

Owl meanwhile flung herself against Aeduan’s leg, and almost instantly, panic took hold throughout the stable. The nearest horses started trumpeting, and some even bucked against stall doors.

“Here!” Iseult called from a corner stall, already yanking gear off the wall. “This must be the gelding. I’ll tack him up—” She broke off as the black horse reared.

“Owl.” Aeduan knelt beside her. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks, while great hiccups shuddered in her chest. And there was no denying that the horses kicked in time to each of her building sobs. “Remember the two fish from the story I told you?” He had to lift his voice to be heard over the growing roars from the horses. “Owl, remember how they stayed strong and escaped Queen Crab? We have to do the same now. You must be strong and stop crying. Owl, can you do that?”

She wagged her head as if saying no, but her sobs did settle—and the horses did briefly calm. Long enough for Iseult and Aeduan to tack up the gelding together. Long enough for him to lift Owl, so light, so fragile in his demon arms, and drop her on the prince’s fine saddle. Aeduan offered a hand to Iseult.

She did not take it. “You haven’t gotten a horse.” Her eyes darted side to side. She was putting it all together. “In the room, you said that I had to leave. That I had to go to the Monastery. I, not we.”

On the saddle, Owl’s crying resumed.

“I have business elsewhere,” he said.

“Business,” she repeated, words getting more strained by the second. “You have business elsewhere? Does that mean you will find us after your … your business is concluded?”

“No.” He turned away from her. The soldiers were almost to the stable, a surge of blood-scents he could not ignore, and though he could bar the door, hold it closed with his own strength, that was only a temporary solution—

Iseult’s hand clamped on his shoulder. “What about Owl? What about her family?”

“I cannot help them.”

A shocked laugh. Then a disbelieving, “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes.”

“No.” She pushed in front of him. “You cannot just walk away. Not after everything.”

Shouts approached: “Check the stables!” It was now or never if Iseult and Owl were going to escape safely.

Which left Aeduan with only one option. If the choice was slaughter or the lamb, then slaughter it would have to be. Better that than the soldiers reaching Iseult and Owl. Better that than the Fury finding them.

“I can walk away,” he said coolly. “And I will walk away. We are not friends, we are not allies.”

“We are—” she began.

“Nothing.” He leaned closer. Their noses almost touched. “There is no we, there is no us. Do you understand? You were a means to an end, and I have found a better means.”

Time seemed to slow, and during the strange lull that stretched between one heartbeat and the next, it struck Aeduan that until this moment, he had never appreciated how much feeling Iseult showed. Not until right now, when she showed none at all. The subtle movements, the tics and tightenings—how had he missed the extent of them?

And her eyes. All this time, they had held such depth of emotion, yet he had never noticed.

Until now, when the emotion had faded to nothing at all. Her face was as empty as the moon and far less reachable.

“You might lie to yourself,” she said at last, voice smooth as a scythe and twice as sharp. “But you cannot lie to me.”

Then she turned away, and the soldiers arrived. They burst in from the back entrance, bellowing and drawing swords, pistols. Owl screamed, and Iseult swept onto the gelding.

Aeduan charged the soldiers. Eight of them. No time for magic, no time for anything but brute force and speed. He unsheathed his sword. He would hold the men off long enough for Iseult and Owl to—

The stable exploded. Wood crunched, the floor lurched. Dust and splinters rained down. The roof above was torn apart. Then fangs and fury crashed inside. Aeduan barely had time to dive away before Blueberry slammed to the earth. His wings spread wide.

Aeduan did not think, he simply ran. Wood fell around him. Horses plowed from their stalls, the latches rising one by one—as if an Earthwitch pulled the iron from afar. He passed four soldiers, men who had come in from the front. Men who now wanted to leave.

One by one, though, claws grabbed and screams ripped out.

Then Aeduan was to the stable yard, the cool air rushing over him. Horses and humans crowded for the exit. And there, galloping past the tree, its bark stark against the night sky, were Iseult and Owl.

Aeduan did not watch them go. Instead, he flipped his cloak inside out, since soldiers would now be looking for a monk, and he set off in the opposite direction. Away from the inn, away from Tirla, and away from the lamb he had never wanted to kill.





TWENTY-THREE


The Adder shroud fell from Safi’s fingers. She had been here before, watching as a flame hawk plummeted from the sky. As the heat roared closer and fire consumed all sight. This time, though, there was no Caden to save her, no Hell-Bard magic to cancel out the power of magicked flames.

Rokesh and the other Adders charged into tight formation around Safi and Vaness. Then everyone vaulted for the path. As they ran, Vaness flung her arms toward the sky. The folded tent whooshed by, and the hawk’s screeching cry told Safi the tent had hit its mark.

They reached the path and descending steps right as Marstoki soldiers tumbled out from the forest, blades drawn to battle the hawk …

Except their uniforms were already streaked in blood and death. False, false, false!

“Ambush!” Safi screamed at the same moment the nearest soldier raised his sword for an attack.

Rokesh swirled in. The soldier’s blade nicked his shoulder—but not before he thrust his own into the man’s heart.

One by one, the Adders clashed against the false soldiers, formation strong. Safi and Vaness protected. Fire still crushed in from behind, though. A hurricane of heat borne on seething, magical wings.

“I cannot control the blades!” Vaness shrieked over the battle. “They are not made of iron!”

Shit, shit. This ambush was targeted and thoroughly planned—and now the false soldiers were too many to stop. An Adder to Safi’s left was torn away from the formation. Then an Adder just behind.

Worse, the flame hawk had arrived.

Rokesh dove for Vaness. Safi dove for the trees. Rusty trunks and green uniforms blurred at the edges of her vision. No soldiers attacked, though. Everyone was too busy running.

Then sparks rained down. Branches ignited. And ten paces to Safi’s left, the hawk swooped by. A streak of orange that razed entire cedars to ash—and entire soldiers too. Their final cries rattled in Safi’s skull, somehow louder than the flames. Somehow louder than the creature hurtling by.

Safi vaulted faster. She cut, she spun, she moved wherever her feet would carry her. Still, no one attacked as she sprinted by. They were too occupied by the flame hawk, already blasting in again.