Page 44 of Bloodwitch
With that promise to linger between them, the blades slithered back to Vaness’s wrists. Then she left the table and her general behind, offering no good-bye nor acknowledgment of Habim’s low bow.
In seconds, blowguns still ready, the Adders closed in tightly around Vaness and Safi, and in seconds, the mentor Safi had never truly known was out of sight.
EIGHTEEN
It was not the first time Iseult had been alone with Owl. It was, however, the first time they had been alone without Blueberry there to distract the girl. It was also the first time she had been alone with her in a crowded place, and Iseult was keen to obey the innkeeper’s orders:Don’t make any trouble.
It didn’t help that Owl made no attempt to pretend she felt anything other than disdain for Iseult, and Iseult was not particularly skilled at pretendingshefelt anything other than disdain for the little girl. Oh, she could keep her face blank easily enough, but then her words tended to snap. And if she managed to keep her voice calm, then her face sank into a frown.
Currently, though, they were in a standoff. Iseult wanted Owl to bathe. Owl wanted nothing of the sort. Her ancient gown had once been sage, now it was pure brown. Her skin fared no better.
“We’re all dirty,” Iseult explained. “Look.” She pointed to the washbasin, swirling with filth. “I just washed all of that off of me.”
Owl glowered at the basin, Threads gray with stubborn hate.
“I’ll get clean water for you, of course,” Iseult added. “Just like I got for me after Aeduan left. Don’t you want to be clean too, Owl? Remove all that dirt?”
“Dirt is good.” Owl stomped her foot.
And Iseult sighed. Of course an Earthwitch would say that, and at this point, Iseult was too tired to keep arguing about it. Let Aeduan deal with her when he got back.
When Owl realized she had won the argument, triumphant pink flew up her Threads. She even flung an arrogant smirk Iseult’s way before scrambling from the bed to the window.
Goddess, she was awful. A demon-child to the core—and this truth was only proven all the more several minutes later. Iseult had just finished sopping stray water off the floor, when Owl suddenly smacked her palm against the window.
“Dead,” she snarled.
Iseult flung toward her, alarmed.
“Dead,” the girl said again, smacking harder at the glass. Loud enough to draw stares from the courtyard below. “Dead, dead, dead—”
“Enough!” Iseult scooted across the room, but Owl jumped off the bed and darted to the center of the room. Then she began to stomp.
“Dead.” Stomp. “Dead.” Stomp. “Dead.” With each stomp, the room shook. The mirror, the washbasin, the window—they all rattled in time to her feet. And with each stomp, her Threads grew more frenzied, jumping between shades of fiery fury and tan confusion, of slate fear and purple want. There were even strands of blue sadness to twine between it all.
It made no sense, and it also wasnotgoing to work. It must sound like an earthquake in the room below, and if Iseult couldn’t get Owl to settle down, there might be an actual earthquake to contend with soon. Or at least a lot of angry soldiers at the door.
“Stop.” She lifted her hands, palms out. “Owl, stop—you have to stop. You’re snagging the weave!” She approached cautiously, hands never dropping, and this time, when she reached for her, Owl did not pull away. Instead, she gave a final stomp, pointed a finger at the window, and declared, “Dead.”
For several long breaths, Iseult did not move. She reached out with her magic, breath held, sensing for any Threads approaching. But the Moon Mother favored her, for no one near seemed to have noticed Owl’s tantrum. In fact, it sounded like a storm was rolling in, soperhaps people thought Owl’s stomping had been nothing more than thunder on the horizon.
“Outside,” Owl said, the first word that was notdeadin several minutes, so Iseult took the hint. She clambered over the bed and peered outside. Darkness had moved in, forcing her to squint against the brightness of the room glaring on the glass.
Sure enough, at the heart of the square below, the dead alder thrust up toward the sky. Raindrops speckled its pale trunk, one by gathering one. “That was here when we arrived,” Iseult said. “Why does it bother you now?”
“Danger,” Owl explained, and a bolt of fear briefly shimmered up her Threads.
Iseult’s lips pursed. She could see them puckering in the glass.A Threadwitch does not frown.
“I suppose the stormcouldknock it into the inn,” she offered, schooling her face. “Is that what you’re worried about? Surely after all these years it would have fallen if…” She trailed off. A figure had appeared beside the tree. A man in a beige hood with Threads that shone bright as sunshine.
Trickster.
He paused on the near side of the tree, head dipping back as if to look up. To glance Iseult’s way—
She jerked away from the window and twirled around on the bed until her back was against the wall. Her heart thudded behind her rib cage. Her eyes met Owl’s.
The girl nodded.
