“Now flip me, girl, and start punching until I beg for—”
Safi flipped her, a bucking of her hips that actually worked this time. Distantly, she was aware of cheers from the dock. The Hell-Bards. The Cartorran crew.
False, false, false. Kahina’s back hit the deck, and Safi piled on. False, false. More cheers, more blood—and more wrongness to scrape against her magic. Lies of her own making. Lies to set them free.
“Stop,” Kahina groaned. “Stop.” Her eyes were sinking back in her skull. “Enough, girl, enough!”
Safi stopped. Then dragged herself off the stronger, smaller, wiser woman. “We claim,” Safi panted, loud enough for the crews to hear, “this ship. Take your men and go.” False, false, false.
Kahina only sighed, sinking back against the deck in mock defeat. Her face was pulp. But lies—all of it lies. “I will go. The ship is yours once more.”
And that was the end of it. The duel was done, the deal was final.
Safi did not watch the admiral leave, though. Nor did she observe the Cartorran crew marching on board, nor the Hell-Bards and Vaness arguing on the dock. Safi simply hauled her broken body to the stern and looked out at the murky bay. Behind her, a growing war thundered across Saldonica.
Yet while Safi’s eyes stayed locked on the soft lull of Saldonican waves—blood drip-dripping from her nose, her cheeks, her mouth—her thoughts were stuck elsewhere.
For resting on Safi’s palm was her Threadstone. It flickered and shone, a sign that Iseult was in danger yet again. A sign that Safi could do absolutely nothing to help her except stand here and pray to whatever gods might be listening.
THIRTY-NINE
A mountain bat. The mountain bat from earlier. Iseult didn’t know why she was so surprised to see one. After all, they were creatures of carnage, and a battle raged here.
Time seemed frozen as she held her ground beside Aeduan, taking in the monster. A shudder moved down the beast, rippling through its dark fur. Rain sloughed off.
Then it lunged for Iseult’s head, teeth bared and jaws wide.
Her instincts took over. She twirled sideways, ripping her cutlass free. Strong. She felt stronger than she’d ever felt before. And she couldn’t help but wonder—a smattering of thought between breaths—if it was because …
Because of the Firewitch.
Her speed was still nothing compared to Aeduan’s. His sword was already there, slicing roughly. He connected with the mountain bat’s fur, and mossy brown tufts fell with the rain.
Its silver Threads shone brighter. Iseult didn’t think she could cleave those Threads—and the fact that she wanted to, desperately, sent sickened heat punching up her throat.
But now was not the time for guilt. Nor revulsion. Nor regret. Iseult had to use this new strength to get herself and Aeduan away.
As if on command, Aeduan charged low, but the bat was rolling down in a blur of shrieking forest shades. Aeduan careened directly toward its fangs.
Iseult charged, a war cry building in her throat. “Me!” she screamed. “Come for me!”
A half second—maybe Aeduan gained that much from Iseult’s distraction, but it was enough. He shot for the nearest pillar, and in three steps, ascended.
Then he dove out, ready to impale the beast from behind. Positioned as the mountain bat was, with its wings outstretched for leverage, the creature couldn’t possibly twist around in time.
Aeduan’s sword slung up, ready to drive all strength and magic into his blow …
Iseult saw it, then: the silver Threads shimmered with a new color. One that made no sense—one that Iseult hadn’t known possible. Yet there it was, sunset pink braiding and twining within the silver.
The Threads that bind.
Aeduan’s blade met flesh and fur. The tip of a pointed ear—a chunk of meat as large as Iseult’s head—splattered to the rain-soaked earth.
The mountain bat roared, its breath rushing over Iseult and knocking her back. Then it heaved its enormous serpentine form around, wings crashing outward. Each step set the earth to shaking.
Four more haggard steps, and it took flight.
Sunset Threads flared more brightly, wisping off toward the waterfall. Toward a faint, distant smattering of terrified, broken Threads. Familiar Threads.
Owl. The mountain bat was bound to Owl.
Aeduan staggered to Iseult, blade and body coated in bat blood. His cheeks were scarlet, his eyes swirling red.
“The … Falls,” Iseult panted. “Owl is at the Falls. And the bat … is bound to her.”
A blink of confusion. Two shuddering breaths. Then understanding braced through him. “That must be why the pirates want her. A child who can control … a mountain bat.” He wiped his face on his shoulder, then offered Iseult his hand.
She clasped it tight, her fingers lacing between his. Together they ran.