Page 40 of Witchshadow
Iseult met his gaze. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to see, what she hoped would happen, but she found herself speaking in Nomatsi anyway. Saying: “If it’s my Threadstone you seek, it is in Praga.”
There was no recognition on Aeduan’s face. Only whispers of tan confusion and clay frustration in his Threads.
So she repeated in Arithuanian, “If it is my Threadstone you seek, it is inPraga.” She didn’t know why she changed languages for him. She didn’t know why she was making it easier. It was as if her heart wanted to help him—hadto help him—even as her brain warned her away. “Emperor Henrick took the stone from me,” she went on. “I can only assume he destroyed it.”
“Hmmm.” Aeduan’s lips twitched with an unnatural smile. “Such items, Dark-Giver, are not so easily destroyed.”
Dark-Giver.Her skin crawled. Her spine shriveled.Stasis, Iseult. Stasis in your fingers and in your toes.“Why do you want it?”
Aeduan ignored her. “Get up.” When she made no move to obey, his Threads flashed crimson. He dug his hands into her armpits and lifted her savagely to her feet.
Iseult saw no reason to resist. Her legs had gone numb, and a glacier now leaked through her veins. Nothing made sense. Nothing felt real.
Aeduan turned to Owl next. “Get up.” He shifted as if to grab her.
But Iseult touched his sleeve. “She doesn’t speak Arithuanian.”
A twinge of surprise crossed his face and Threads. He peered down at Owl again, but this time with cold assessment. “That collar blocks her, I suppose. Perhaps a good thing. For us and for her.” His gaze returned to Iseult. “Get her up, and get her on a horse. We have far to go before the sun sets.”
“So you have taken a lover,” Henrick drawled. He sat upon his too-tight throne with his too-tight crown, Safi seated in her own throne beside him. Their daily session at court had not yet begun. “It took you long enough.”
Safi choked. Then shook her head. Shemusthave misheard. “Forgive me?”
“It took,” he repeated impatiently, “you long enough. Everyone was expecting it—though I doubt they were expecting it with my nephew.”
Safi wet her lips. Of course Henrick knew of her affair with Leopold. He’d suggested it. Nonetheless, she had not expected him to discuss it so directly. Her fingers tapped against her lap. At the opposite end of the room, supplicants and sycophants lined up. Some were tattered, some were opulent. Henrick would listen to each of them equally.
“Is the imperial prince… a problem?” she asked eventually.
“No. Having an affair will give you something to do.” Henrick offered a bland sideways smile. “Perhaps if you are physically engaged, you will look less…” A sniff, a wave at her face. “Sullen.”
Safi’s fingers tapped faster.Do not punch him, do not punch him.Notthat she would leave much damage before he reached that glistening chain at his waist and rained frozen hell upon her.
“Speaking of physical engagement,” she said, as elegantly poised as any domna, “I was hoping perhaps I might train with the Hell-Bards. I have heard they practice in the lower levels of the new wing.”
Henrick shifted in his throne and stared at Safi. She stared right back, while on the floor, the first Cartorran was rushing forward to speak.
She knew there was great risk in her request. Her noosing was not public knowledge, and training with soldiers was hardly thethingempresses did. But ever since Caden had said those words to her in the entryway,Toward death with wide eyes,and each Hell-Bard had replied…
She couldn’t get the notion out of her head that she needed to train with them. How else was she going to understand this chain around her neck? Besides, her muscles would atrophy if she did not use them soon. She was a swordswoman who hadn’t touched a sword in weeks.
“A lover,” Henrick said quietly, “andtraining with Hell-Bards. If I did not know better, my Empress, I would think you intended to overthrow me. Fortunately…” His lip quirked sideways, his tooth jutted out. “Idoknow better.”
He stroked the chain on his belt, and cold lanced through Safi. Down her spine, into her abdomen. It took all her self-control not to chatter her teeth or curl into a quaking ball. But he would not cow her. He would not win.
“Yes, my Emperor,” she gritted out. “You… do know better.”
He nodded, seemingly satisfied with her words—and with her pain. Then he released the golden chain and turned his attention to the man now kneeling before him. “Ah, the blacksmith from Haemersmeid. I remember you. Is the dam still hurting your forge?”
They rode for hours. Owl sat with Evrane on Lady Sea Fox; Iseult on Lord Storm Hound with Aeduan. His Threads never veered from concentration. The Aeduan Iseult had saved from death at the Aether Well was gone. And just as shadow birds winged across Evrane’s Threads, the same shapes now galloped across his.
Iseult had no idea what they meant.
Aeduan was a stranger now. He did not notice that Iseult shivered against him—still so wet and so cold from the river. He did not noticeagainst the wool scraping the roof of her mouth, or when she choked and her eyes streamed.
Or perhaps he did notice, but did not care.
They followed the river west, Aeduan leading the way until they reached a spot where the water was shallow enough for the horses to cross. Iseult’s earlier search had been such a waste. Such a pointless, stupid endeavor by a foolish girl who never seemed to learn. If only she and Owl had never stopped to rest. If only she’d never crossed that river.
