“Lies.”
Another huff—this one undoubtedly a laugh, for a sly half smile crossed his face. “I’m glad to see your witchery still doesn’t work on me, Heretic.”
Safi’s own smile faltered. She couldn’t fake her way through this. She truly couldn’t read him. So for once, she chose honesty. She let her grin slip away, and a frown bubbled to the surface. “Why? Why doesn’t my magic work on you?”
“No magic on Hell-Bards.”
“I know,” she said simply. “Why is that?”
He scratched the tip of his chin, where the scar ran down. “I guess your uncle never told you, then.
He eased backward a single step. “Magic, witcheries, power. Those are for the living, Heretic. But us?” Caden patted his chest, clanking the brigandine’s metal plates. “We Hell-Bards are already damned. We’re already dead.”
*
The arrowhead in Aeduan’s pocket felt aflame as he scanned the dark pines and oaks around him. Who would betray whom first? An hour had passed since the agreement between him and the Threadwitch, yet Aeduan was still asking himself this question.
The rain had finally stopped. Not a gradual tapering like the rains at the Monastery but an abrupt end. Storm one moment. No storm the next. Southern weather was like that: all hard lines and nature waiting to pounce upon the off-beats.
The instant the rain ceased, the insects of the night were out. Cicadas clicked, moths took flight, and the bats that ate them awoke too. They swept and crisscrossed over a dull black sky. Eventually the clouds slipped away to reveal starlight, and Aeduan watched the Sleeping Giant rise—that bright column of stars that always guided north.
He watched it alone, for the Threadwitch slept. Shortly after their conversation, she’d settled into the driest corner of the overhang. Moments later, she’d been asleep.
Aeduan couldn’t help but wonder at how quickly she had drifted off. At how miserable that sideways position must be. Or at how fearless she was to drop her guard so completely.
Fearless or stupid, and judging by her trick with the knives, it was the latter. Then again, she had deftly lured Aeduan into this insane partnership. Who will betray whom first?
All Aeduan knew for certain was that it was connected. The arrowhead. The Purist priest Corlant. And Aeduan’s missing coins. It was all connected, even if Aeduan couldn’t yet see how.
He released the arrowhead in his pocket and moved quietly, deliberately through the forest. There was a stream near; he needed a bath.
He found a spot on the shore where the canopy was less overgrown. Starlight poured down. Water burbled past.
Aeduan eased off his baldric, then his shirt. He hadn’t had a moment since leaving the bear trap to check the old wounds. They had, no surprise, reopened. But a cautious dab revealed only dried blood.
Aeduan sighed, annoyed. His shirt and breeches were ruined. While the forest wouldn’t care, humans would. The Threadwitch would.
Doesn’t matter. Blood was a part of Aeduan, and bloodstains had never slowed him before. He had come this far. He would keep going.
For some reason, though, he found himself bringing the shirt into the frozen stream. He found himself rubbing it, trying to get it clean. But the blood had set and could not be lifted.
Just as his wounds had set all those years ago. Run, my child, run.
It was, as Aeduan began to scrape at his chest, shuddering from the cold, that he saw something move along the opposite shore. At first, he thought it a trick of his eyes, a trick of the darkness, and an old song came to mind. One his father had sung back before … everything.
Never trust what you see in the shadows,
for Trickster, he hides in darkness and dapples.
High in a tree or deep underground,
never trust if Trickster’s around.
Aeduan shook his head. Water sprayed. He hadn’t thought of that tune in so long. Another shake of his head, this time to clear the tricks from his eyes.
Yet the movement was still there. A subtle glow that seemed to pulse in clusters through the forest. The longer Aeduan observed, the brighter the clusters grew. The more solid and distinctly defined, as if clouds dispersed to reveal a starry sky.
“Fireflies,” said a voice behind him. In a moment, Aeduan had her pinned against an oak by the shore.
They both stood there. Staring. The Threadwitch with her back to the trunk and hands at Aeduan’s chest. He with his forearm to her throat, dripping water.
Two heaving breaths, and he released her. “Be more careful,” he snapped, stalking away. Though if he spoke to her or to himself, he couldn’t say. All he knew was that his heart juddered in his chest. His blood and his magic roared in his ears.
He hadn’t smelled her coming. He couldn’t smell her coming, so his body had reacted to a threat.
He’d have to get better at that. At least as long as she remained near him.
“I almost killed you,” he said.