Page 77 of Witchshadow
“Not yours, though.”
His lips part, and though he does not move, cold seems to swoop between them. After several moments, he pulls away. “Let a man have his secrets.”
But Iseult will not. For once, he has worn honesty with her and she refuses to let that pass. When he moves to the balustrade, she follows. “You aream-lejatu,Leopold.”
“I am?” He arches a wry eyebrow, his usual mask sliding into place. “And pray tell, what does that mean?”
“It means ‘the life-sleeper.’” Iseult rests her elbows beside his. He watches the people below, and she watches him. “It is one who goes through this life, never fully awake. Never fully connected. The Nomatsis believe it is a fate worse than death.”
He sniffs. “And you think I am a ‘life-sleeper.’”
“Well, you certainly aren’t living awake.”
His Threads flash darker; blue unspools, and Iseult knows she has found the spot that even he does not study too closely. She keeps her secrets behind her left lung; he keeps his buried even deeper.
“You have no Thread-family,” she continues. “I see it, you know.”
He bristles. “And here I believed you were my friend.”
“I am,” she admits. “We have been through too much together for us to be anything else. But friends are not Thread-family, Leopold. One is knowing someone well. Laughing together and sharing interests. The other is risking your life for them—and knowing they will risk theirs for you. You must know that when storm and wildfire come, they will stay beside you.”
“And here,” he repeats, “I believed that was you.” He reveals nothing on his face or in his posture. He is the epitome of stasis, and even Gretchya would have been impressed. His Threads, though, reveal everything. They bleed with blue. They drip and ooze as if tears fall—more tears than a single body could ever contain.
A thousand years’ worth of loneliness.
And Iseult realizes she has hurt him. Deeply. She also cannot lie to him. She sees no Threads of family on his soul; she sees only emptiness and solitude.
A new song begins below. Leopold watches the tapestry of dancers in silence, and Iseult watches too. Only when it ends does Leopold finally straighten and declare, “I am going down, if you wish to join.”
Iseult shakes her head. “No.”
“Hmmm,” he replies, and his green eyes meet hers for half a breath before he stalks away, off the balcony and out of sight. His Threads, however, linger in Iseult’s awareness long after. Confused, lonely, angry that someone in this world now knows the one thing he hides away.
The one truth at the heart of all his masks.
He is not gone long before another set of known Threads arrive, a shadowycore roiling inside pale urgency. Then Caden’s voice skates in from the hallway—overloud as if he wants Iseult to hear.
“There has been a change of plans,” he calls. “His Imperial Majesty will be going into the city once the dancing ends. Be ready.”
And just like that, all of Iseult’s and Safi’s preparations turn to ash.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“You did what?” A muscle feathered in Ryber’s jaw. She and Stix were back in their carriage, the usual orange tabby nestled at their feet, while outside a darkening swamp lugged by. Even with the carriage curtains swept wide, there was no finding a breeze. Only this thick, motionless humidity.
“I told Kahina where I found the—”
“I heard you.” Ryber pinched the bridge of her nose. “I meant, how could you do that? If Kahina really is this Paladin called Lovats—and honestly, is there any doubt at this point?—then she is the last person in the Witchlands who should know how to enter the Sightwitch mountain.”
“But the blade and glass aren’t there. You have them.”
“For now. But what about when she figures out we’ve moved them?” Ryber’s hand dropped. “You just told her how to access a thousand years’ worth of guarded secrets. Goddess, what if she finds Eridysi’s workshop, Stix? Or she gets into the Crypts? Or… “Horror bulged in her eyes. “What if she finds the tombs? My sisters are frozen there.Kullenis frozen there.”
For the first time since leaving Kahina, the triumphant surge in Stix’s chest faltered. She had thought herself so clever for telling Kahina where she hadfoundthe tools, instead of where they were. After all, that meant she had lost nothing, while hundreds of prisoners had gained freedom.
“She won’t find the Crypts or tombs,” Stix murmured, but Ryber only wagged her head.
“You can’t know that. And again, what will happen when Kahina finds out you’ve tricked her? Need I remind you of what those tools can do? Why they were created in the first place?”
