Page 53 of Bloodwitch
“I can distract the soldiers long enough for you to get away. But you have to untie me.”
Again, Aeduan said, “No,” but Iseult ignored him. She had caught this man and brought hell-fire onto their heads. Maybe… maybe that act need not be a total waste. Especially if Leopold was the one meant to meet her all along.
She crossed the room in four long strides and glared down at the prince. Moonlight flooded in through the rain-speckled window, draining him of color. “Why should we trust you?”
“What other options do you have?” he demanded, and Iseult was inclined to agree. There was no time left for subtlety, nor time for clever word games. Iseult needed a straight answer from the prince. Now.
“Do you work for Safi’s uncle?”
Surprise and a quick skittering of confusion spiraled through his Threads. “You know about that?”
“Iseult,” Aeduan cut in, Owl clinging tightly to his leg. “You cannot trust him.Leavehim.”
She couldn’t, though. Not when she had so many questions and so little time. Lips pressing tight, she withdrew the knife she’d reclaimed from Owl. She dug the blade into Leopold’s lowest vertebrae, and whispered, “If you betray us, if you so much asbreathea word to those soldiers about where we are going, then I will burn you alive and shred whatever bits of your body remain. Do you understand?”
A gulp. A shiver of unsteady Threads. “I understand.”
“Good.” She hauled him upright, then cut his bindings. Hestumbled into Aeduan, who caught him and slung him out the door. A shallow breath later, and the prince was gone.
The seconds slithered past as Aeduan, Iseult, and Owl waited for some sign the soldiers below were busy. The glass around them shook faster and faster. Even the floorboards trembled, and no amount of whispered words could calm Owl. Terror had sent her magic spinning out of control. Aeduan knew what that felt like.
Iseult’s hand closed over Aeduan’s elbow. His breath hitched.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You are ill, and now we have to run—all because I was a fool. I had no idea who he was, I swear.”
Aeduan hesitated. They had come so far in this odd partnership to now be apologizing to each other.
He pulled away from her. “I found a Painstone at the outpost. I will be fine.”
Iseult’s lips parted as if to reply, but then Leopold’s voice sang up from downstairs—“Why are all these soldiers here?”—and there was no time for conversation or explanation.
Aeduan and Iseult each carried a pack, while Owl clutched Aeduan’s hand. Every shift of their belongings, every groan of a floorboard, every pause in the arguments below, sent Aeduan’s pulse spiking higher. Before they even reached the back stairwell, his fingers were numb from Owl’s squeezing.
Worse, she had started to cry. It was just a soft sniffle for now, broken up by muted whimpers every few seconds, but Aeduan knew a full storm might break loose at any moment. Iseult knew too, and she took the lead, whispering, “There are no Threads ahead.”
They reached the first floor just in time to hear Leopold bellow, “Your superiors will hear about this!” and then Iseult was guiding them for a low door. Boot steps echoed out from the hall as the soldiers stomped up the main stairs.
Aeduan reached for the door’s latch. This was a side entrance to the stable. It had to be, for he sensed horses beyond—the wild bloodof freedom and open roads. But Iseult grabbed his wrist. “People. Three of them.”
He flinched. Owl whimpered. How had he missed those people? How had hismagicmissed them? For Iseult was right: when he drew in a lungful of air, he could smell the faintest flicker of human blood. Weak, though, as if his Painstone were failing him already. As if his witchery were fading, carried away by a curse.
Anger rippled through him. Anger that those arrows could do this to him. Anger that the Painstone had not lasted longer. Anger that Lady Fate had struck so decisively and so fast.
“I will deal with them,” Aeduan said, the words a snarl beneath his breath. He opened the latch.
Again, Iseult grabbed him. Wariness flickered in her eyes. “Aeduan.”
His anger flashed hotter. “I will not hurt them.”
“It’s not them I’m worried about.” Her fingers tightened on his forearm. Five pressure points he wished would let go.
And that he also wished would stay.
Then Iseult did release him. “Owl, come to me.”
For once, the child obeyed, and after easing his pack to the floor, Aeduan crept into the stable. Pine shavings and horse filled his nostrils. A comforting smell, were it not laced with human blood. Three distinctive scents that grew sharper with each of his cautious breaths.Wind-flags and winter. That came from the nearest stall, and with it the sound of water dripping down. “Damned storm,” a girl muttered. Two stalls later, where the stable bent left, waited another scent.Cinnamon and horsehair.
But the third scent, the third—no amount of inhales was pulling the third scent to Aeduan. Perhaps the stable hand had left.
