Bloodwitch (The Witchlands, #3)

“Then you will wait a long time. Take her.”

The Adder advanced, and Safi dug in her heels. They would have to poison her too if they wanted her to leave.

Two more steps and the Adder reached her. Still she did not move—and when he grabbed her wrist, she flipped up her arm—an easy yank Habim had taught her so that no man could ever keep hold.

The Adder grabbed again, and this time, he raised a dart toward her neck—

“Enough.” Habim stalked across the room, and for the first time since arriving in Azmir, his careful control frayed. Flames glittered along the tips of his fingers.

“Wake the commander,” he barked at the Adder. Then, while the man slid away, Habim stared—hard—into Safi’s eyes. “These people are not your friends. They are your enemies, and torture is no less than what they would do to you.”

Habim’s voice trembled with belief that fluttered warm and true against Safi’s magic. But he also didn’t know these Hell-Bards as she did.

She turned her back on Habim, watching in horror as the Adder pulled two darts from the back of Caden’s neck. Two breaths later, Caden’s eyes opened. He gasped like a drowning man, gaze flying around the room. Safi reached his side in an instant. Like she had done with Lev, she gripped his chin and held it high.

“Safi,” he choked out, wobbly pupils finding hers. “Are you hurt?”

“Hush,” she murmured, even as she felt her heart fishtail and writhe. “I’m sorry they did this to you, Caden. I’m so, so sorry.”

“We waited for you,” he murmured. He did not slur as Lev had, yet despite this small feat, he was not truly here. His mind remained trapped somewhere desperate, somewhere scared. “We waited for you, Safi, and when we saw the attack, we went in through the hole in the wall. We wanted to build wards to protect the city, but there was no time—”

“Stop.” Habim’s command bounced across the room. “That man is dangerous. Step away.”

Safi did no such thing—and Habim’s patience frayed a bit more. He stalked to her, but without pushing her aside, he wound his fingers through Caden’s noose, the gold chain all Hell-Bards wore.

“What do you think this man is, child? What do you think the Hell-Bard’s noose does to them? Whatever Emperor Henrick wants, Emperor Henrick gets. All their master must do is pull the leash, and then the dogs obey.” He jerked at the chain; a groan broke from Caden’s throat.

“They have no choice. Their magic—their very Aethers—have been severed from them and bound to the Emperor. If they disobey a command, they die. If they remove the noose, they die.”

“I know,” Safi said, and she did know. Caden had explained what Hell-Bards were. He had told her that their magics had been severed from their souls. Although, admittedly, she hadn’t realized that Henrick could kill them if they did not obey.

But that doesn’t change anything here.

“Tell me, Hell-Bard.” Habim pulled the noose tighter, towing Caden’s face up. Stretching his neck long. “What will happen to you if you return to your master without his Truthwitch? What will Henrick do to you? I have heard tales of his displeasure.”

“No.” Caden coughed that word. His eyes found Safi’s. “That … isn’t why … we stayed.”

“Do not lie to her.” Habim yanked at the chain. Caden hissed, eyes rolling. “If you really cared for the Truthwitch, then you would have traveled as far away from her as possible. As long as you are near her—or the Empress—then you are a liability. As long as you live, then you are a liability.”

Tighter, tighter he pulled. Until it was too much. Safi snatched at Habim’s wrist and tugged. “Stop, Habim. Please, let go of him.”

To her surprise—and relief—Habim did. He released the chain. Caden’s head fell back and hit the wall.

Then Habim fixed the Adder with a purposeful stare. “Finish this.”

Before Safi could react, Habim swung his arms around her and hauled her toward the door.

Finish this. Finish this. It took two dragging steps and a sharp inhale before she realized what those words meant.

“NO.” Safi clawed. She fought. She tried, tried, tried to break free, but this was the man who had trained her. She stood no chance. I don’t know you anymore. I don’t know you anymore.

Yet right before Habim could get Safi through the door, Caden’s voice rang out, strong and true: “We stayed because of your uncle, Safi! We stayed because he was arrested for treason and he will hang within the week.”

Habim froze. Safi froze. Even the Adder seemed stunned by this announcement. And although Safi could not use her magic on Caden, she had no doubt his words were true.

Uncle Eron. Arrested for treason. Hang within the week.

In that moment, three questions crashed in Safi’s mind: How had Eron been caught? How could she save him? And why in all the sodding hell-gates did she care so much? Her whole life she’d thought she hated him. Now she couldn’t even begin to conceive a world where her uncle had been taken away.

If she had thought herself helpless before, it was nothing compared to the weight that bore down now. Uncle Eron was on the opposite side of the Witchlands, and she was no more use to him than these Hell-Bards chained against the wall.

Her eyes found Habim’s, certain she would find the same horror she felt reflected back at her. But all she found was flint-eyed determination.

Her stomach bottomed out. He already knew. Somehow, he already knew, yet he hadn’t bothered to inform Safi. Nothing, nothing—he had given her nothing, since his arrival.

Before her ire could fully ignite, though, before screams could rip from her throat, Habim’s fingers tightened around her biceps. A firm, reassuring touch that brought her back to her childhood. To the countless times he had towed her from a card game or dice match or yet another screaming match with Uncle Eron.

Uncle Eron, who had been arrested for treason.

Uncle Eron, who would hang within the week.

Habim led Safi to the cell’s exit, six paces away—giving them six paces during which he could whisper without the Adder to overhear.

“Be ready,” he said. “At the party, we will make our move. Be ready.” Then he released her into the hall, to where her earlier assembly of Adders still stood.

The cell door clanged shut behind her.





THIRTY-THREE


It amazed Iseult how much a landscape could change in a day.

Last night, there had been rowan and fir trees, nettle and grass. By dawn, evergreens had replaced the hardwoods, and the tufted grass had given way to sedge. The paths grew narrower and narrower too, until eventually they had to leave the horses behind.

“Go home,” Leopold told the gelding, after removing what few supplies they had from his saddle. To Iseult’s astonishment, Rolf actually seemed to understand. He turned away, and quickly vanished within the stunted pines, followed obediently by the stolen mare.