Page 116 of Bloodwitch
They were merely wolves in a world of rabbits, who had forgotten that rabbits were important too.
Safi had no doubt that Mathew, Habim, and Uncle Eronbelievedin their cause—she also had no doubt that it had begun as good and true when they’d first started scheming twenty years ago. But along the way, they had become exactly what they hated.
True.
And now it was up to Safi to remind them that rabbits mattered too.
True, true, true.
She slipped her hand into her pocket. “You say that Vaness is what her parents taught her. Well, I am too, Mathew and Habim. You both showed me right from wrong, and you gave me a conscience.
“I love you,” she finished, “but I will not help you.”
She yanked the spark-candle from her pocket and threw it at the men who’d raised her as a daughter. “Ignite,” she whispered, already spinning away. Already slamming her body into Vaness and sprinting like the Void was at her heels.
Thank the gods, Vaness was small. And thank the gods, Mathewand Habim had trained her for exactly this moment, when she would have to lift a compelled Empress onto her shoulder and make a run for it.
As she’d expected, the spark-candle was no spark-candle at all. An explosion cracked behind her. Mathew roared her name—roared a command for her to stop. And she would have followed the command too, unable to resist such Wordwitched power.
But she was to the garden’s edge and he was too late.
She and the Empress toppled over and plummeted toward the lake.
FORTY-SEVEN
The Fury flew them down the mountainside, a sharp descent that made Aeduan’s ears ache and lungs compress until they were lowering again. No light shone on the forest below, and no amount of squinting through the winds revealed any landscape beyond. All he knew was that they were nearer to the valley that separated Ragnor’s mountain from the Monastery’s.
And all he could assume was that the Fury was bringing him to his father.
They lowered into a clearing surrounded by evergreens. One pine spired above the rest, twice as tall, twice as wide. Snow sprayed wide, carried on the Fury’s winds. It gathered in a circular bank around them.
Aeduan’s knees almost gave way upon the landing—and his teeth gritted against the sudden surge of pain. His Painstone bore only flickers of magic. He had, at most, an hour before the curse regained its full control.
At most.
“Hurry,” the Fury ordered, impatience thick in his voice as he left the clearing, and in his posture too. Eyes glittered within the trees, watching Aeduan and the Fury as they passed. Soldiers, Aeduan realized by the weapons in their hands and at their hips. They lurkedin the darkness, some sitting, some standing, and all clearly waiting for a signal.
Aeduan had found his father’s forces—and an attack must be imminent. There was only one target this way, though: the Monastery.
After passing rows upon rows of archers at work crafting arrows with the practiced speed of the battle-worn, and then passing Baedyeds on horseback, their steeds draped in camouflaging white cloth, the Fury led Aeduan to a round-roofed tent. Light shone from cracks in the hide walls and a hole at the top. Voices wafted out; smoke did not.
Which meant this was the command tent. Ready to be moved at a moment’s notice. Ten women and men hovered nearby, varied in their skin and clothes, because Ragnor had chosen a personal guard from each faction he commanded. They scowled as the Fury passed, but none tried to interfere.
Then the Fury shoved into the tent, and immediately, all voices silenced. Aeduan followed a heartbeat later. Orange light washed over him, bright enough to steal his sight.
Gradually, four figures materialized, poised around a long table covered in maps. On the left was a woman with skin as dark as the night’s sky and white hair piled atop her head. She held a pipe in one hand, extended mid-gesture before Aeduan entered. A jade ring glinted on her thumb.
Beside her stood a man with serpents tattooed across his brown face and the gold serpentine belt all Baedyeds wore. On the table’s right was a Threadwitch, tall with wide-set green eyes that glittered in a brazier’s glow.
At the head of the table stood Aeduan’s father, the Raider King of the North.
Ragnor det Amalej.
He was not a tall man, shorter than Aeduan by half a head, but furs added breadth to his shoulders. Beneath them, he wore the same high-necked black silk he always wore. Silver streaked his hair, more since Aeduan had last seen him. There were more lines around his eyes too—eyes of pale hazel beneath thick lashes.
Age, height, and eye color. The only differences between father and son.
“Leave us,” Ragnor said, and his three commanders instantly obeyed. The Baedyed and the Threadwitch ignored Aeduan as they strode by, but the white-haired woman paused her saunter just long enough to give him a thorough once-over.
