“I already did.”
All eyes snapped to Caden, whose fingers poked above the door, a gold chain woven between his knuckles. It was the necklace all Hell-Bards all wore, including Safi’s uncle. And it was, Safi realized, what they’d all meant when they referred to the noose.
“On our honor,” Caden croaked, the words seeming to take great effort—and to cause great pain—“we won’t hurt you.”
It was the first assertion from a Hell-Bard that rang against Safi’s magic, and it was true.
“We won’t capture you again,” he went on, his face screwed tighter. “We’ll all escape together.”
Still true, true, true—there was no denying it. Safi’s magic was alight with the honesty in his words, and though it made no sense to her, she couldn’t deny what she saw. What she felt.
“Free them!” she shrieked at Vaness. “He speaks the truth—we can trust them. They’ll help us.”
A pause took hold of the world. Smoke, heat, sparks. It all melted back while the empress considered.
“Hurry!” Safi tried to scream, but at that precise moment, the entire inn cracked! Then sagged sharply down.
Time was up, and the empress knew it. With a snarl, she let the door fall. Caden fell into Lev, who instantly helped him refasten the noose. Meanwhile, Vaness claimed all iron from the door, strips of black to fill the air. To expand her shield before they all tromped off into the corridor with a wall of iron to press back the smoke, the flames.
It protected them step-by-step, Safi and Vaness at the fore, three Hell-Bards staggering behind.
*
It was right as Aeduan and Iseult were gathering their things from the ruins that a boom split the air. A distant sound, like a cannon fired off leagues away.
Iseult met Aeduan’s eyes. “People,” she said.
He nodded.
“We should check,” she said.
He nodded again. “Stay here.”
She didn’t. And he sighed—something he found himself doing more and more often around her. He didn’t stop her, though, and in minutes they’d threaded their way back to the same steppe they’d sparred upon.
The grass remained trampled where he’d pinned her again and again. Aeduan had never hurt her—he’d been careful to always stop, to always watch her face for pain—but he also never let her win. Just as Monk Evrane had never let him win.
From the steppe, they ascended, zigzagging up the forested cliff until they reached an opening in the oaks and pines.
Until they saw the boats drifting up the Amonra.
Aeduan exhaled sharply; Iseult’s nose twitched. “Red Sails,” he guessed. “Baedyeds too. With the Twenty Year Truce over, I suspect they’ve allied for an attack.” Quickly, he explained who the two pirate factions were and how whatever alliance they’d formed hovered beneath the tip of Lady Fate’s knife.
As he spoke, Aeduan eased a bronze spyglass from his baldric and scanned the view. Each ship was packed with soldiers, and each soldier was well armed. People teemed along the shore too. Almost invisible, but if he fixed on one spot long enough … There. Movement. Horses. More soldiers.
“Where are they going?” Iseult asked once he’d finished his explanation.
“Upstream.”
Now it was Iseult’s turn to sigh, but she didn’t say anything. In fact, the silence hung so long that Aeduan finally lowered his spyglass.
And found that she was watching him, her body still. For once, though, her face was not expressionless. It was tight with pain, her lips pinched and nose scrunched. Aeduan swallowed. Perhaps he had hurt her. Grass stains covered her shoulders, her knees, and a bruise purpled on her cheekbone.
But no. The longer he held her hazel gaze, the more he discerned. This wasn’t pain—this was grief. For the second time that morning, he wished he had said nothing about the Cahr Awen.
He angled away, returning the spyglass to his baldric, and cleared his throat. “They will have to disembark before the Falls, Threadwitch. We need to be gone before that happens.”
“Then let us leave,” she said, voice flat.
“We will need to move fast. Are you up for that?”
She snorted, and when Aeduan glanced back, he found her face had softened. The slightest—almost imperceptible—glint of mischief hovered there now.
“I think we both know the answer to that, Bloodwitch.” She stalked past him, her chin high. Challenging. “The question will be if you can keep up.”
Then she broke into a run, Aeduan broke into a run after her.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Cam hadn’t returned by morning of the next day. Merik had combed the streets of Old Town and the streets beyond—even the Cisterns too—but had found no trace of her.
Stop seeing what you want to see, Merik Nihar, and start seeing what’s really here! Her last words grated within his eardrums. Over and over. Laughing. Taunting. A ghost that wanted release. Stop seeing what you want to see!