Page 57 of The Blood that Binds Us

He shrugs. “A little unusual, but I suppose a bloodwitchwouldworship the goddess of war.”

I can’t tell if he intends the comment as an insult or not, but I scrunch my face in an exaggerated smirk and hold my hand out expectantly. He strokes a bronzed finger over the carving of the dancing goddess before placing it in my waiting palm, curling my fingers back around the handle and lowering my hand to my side.

“I’ll let you two get back to it, then. Glad to see you listen, little witch,” he says over his shoulder as he strides off towards the next row of sparring partners.

Aldred shoots me a disapproving look, which I meet with a shrug and sink back into my fighting stance.

* * *

I attempt another locator spell in the evening, drawing a map on a spare sheet of parchment, but it yields the same crimson vines climbing to each corner of the paper. I crumple the map and fling it into the wastebasket, then heal the incision I made to perform the spell.

I barely finish healing my wounded palm when River taps on the door twice. She hurries in and places a tea tray on the bedside table.

“Evening, dear. I’ve come to inform you that His Grace has requested your presence on an upcoming trip.”

“Requested?” I repeat, calling out the lie, though I’m certain she didn’t mean it as such.

She scoffs, but it doesn’t touch her eyes. “You leave tomorrow morning. Best pack your things tonight and be ready by sunrise. His Grace is very particular about leaving at first light.”

“Where are we going?”

“Isn’t for me to know, dear. The tea is chamomile,” she adds matter-of-factly. “It will help you sleep, and I suggest you drink up because you’re likely in for a long day tomorrow, wherever you’re going. You’ll want your rest.”

I nod and mutter a thank you, accepting it isn’t River that has my nerves bundled so tightly. Heeding her advice, I shove a few clean sets of clothes into a satchel. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone, but if the number of days is more than the number of outfits I bring, Sin can deal with the smell.

Exhaustion seeps into my bones, and I slip into bed without drinking the tea.

Rapid pounding on the bedchamber door sends my pulse leaping from my neck and my legs tumbling out of bed.

Fuck.I rub my hand across my nape, rolling my shoulders forward and back, having strained it during my violent jolt awake.

“Be outside in five. Make it six, and I’m throwing you over my shoulder again and hauling your ass out of there.”

“Uh-huh,” I call just loud enough for Sin to hear the annoyance in my tone.

I pull on a tunic the color of a cream dipped persimmon and off-white leggings, and secure a tan leather bodice over my clothing. My fingers make haste to secure my hair into its mohawk braid, and a quick glance at my reflection confirms I look as exhausted as I feel. The nightly terrors plaguing my sleep are taking its toll on my body—the undersides of my eyes darkened with iris shadows like day old cosmetics.

Slinging my satchel over my shoulder, I trudge downstairs and plow through the heavy set of double doors at the castle’s entrance. Two ebony horses saddled and ready for riders fidget at the bottom of the stairs, while the Black Art tsks softly to the one nearest him, scratching the underside of its chin.

I stuff my satchel into one of the saddle bags and ignore Sin’s outstretched hand as I grip the horn of the saddle and heave my leg over the horse. Sin mounts the other with impressive speed, and we make our way past the watchtowers that I note are as heavily guarded in this hour as they are during times of peak traffic.

We ride through Blackreach and find ourselves on the single road that leads to the bridge. Neither of us speaks until we’re nearly at the Malachite, him apparently accepting I am not going to be the one to initiate conversation after the ridiculous stunt he pulled a few days prior.

“You aren’t going to ask where we’re going?” he prods, breaking the silence.

Not missing a beat, I say, “I didn’t think afilthy bloodwitchwould have the right to know.”

Sin shoots me a lingering glance. “Still mad about that, are you?”

I don’t bother turning my head to look at him and instead, ignore him entirely. I see him purse his lips in my periphery, obviously deliberating with himself, and then his shoulders rise and fall in a quick shrug as if he answered some unspoken question he had asked himself.

“I spoke ill of you to rile you up, and surely you know that. Now whether you’re too stubborn to admit it or not, my plandidwork. You demonstrated great capacity for control. Think about that, Wren. You could wipe out every one of those pricks that imprisoned you with half a thought if you let yourself have it.”

I shift in my saddle and sweep my eyes to his. “Careful, or you’ll make an argument against yourself, Blackheart.”

If he’s right and I truly possess enough control to wield my magic and render Legion extinct, what is to stop me from blowing the kingdom to smithereens when I’m done?

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I don’t know how bloodwitches do it, but in thecivilizedworld, we don’t thank our allies by killing them.”

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