Page 121 of Bloodwitch

Then they skittered past a final row of shelves, and the stone corner flickered before them. No archway, though, and no exit.

The floor quaked, and voices escalated from beyond the wall—voices of the insurgents. Iseult sensed Threads too, frantic and furious. The attack wasright there.

Leopold rounded wide eyes on Iseult. “What next? I see no escape.”

Iseult saw no escape either. And now Evrane was declaring from across the room, “It is not safe for you to roam the Monastery, Iseult. You are not well. You must come back to me so I may heal you.”

No, no,no.There had to be a way out of here. What had the Rook King shown her?Think, Iseult, think.She could follow the cool course of logic wherever it led, even without a pause or time to breathe.

A stone wall. Shelves. Sconces and a wooden chair. It looked exactly as it had in the Dreaming, except this was real. This was right before her.

Anotherboom!rattled through her knees. She and Leopold were surrounded on all sides.

“Iseult,” Leopold murmured, and now white panic shivered across his Threads. “Please say you know what you are doing.”

She ignored him. She ignored the approaching Threads and drumroll of feet, she ignored the Abbot bellowing about payments and bargains and tier tens betrayed. And she ignored the shockwaves raging through the foundation.

Iseult was stasis. Iseult was ice.

A stone wall. Shelves. Sconces and a wooden chair. Each item perfectly still. As calm as Iseult was amidst all this chaos.

But they should not be still.Everything else shook; they should be shaking with them.

Iseult dove forward, shoving past Leopold. She smacked her hands on stone. Cold, rough, real. But also frizzing with magic. This wall was a lie. This wall was not real. It was bewitched, like the sky-ferry, and all it needed was the right combination of taps.

Or three flicks of a feathery wrist.

Iseult knocked three frantic times, and in a whoosh of charged air, the entire corner disappeared. Before her yawned the arched doorway.

This time, Leopold was the one to grab Iseult by the cloak. Awe, relief, and explosive surprise shaking across his Threads. The verdant focus was back too. He bolted into the darkness, and Iseult flew just behind. Once on the other side, though, she paused long enough to angle back.

Three flicks of her wrist, and the wall reassembled. Then she and Leopold ran.

Thank the Moon Mother he still held the candle, for otherwise, they would have scrambled in total darkness, missing where to duck and twist and crawl around stalagmites. The insurgent attacks thundered through the rock, but Iseult heard no pursuit and felt no Threads chasing from behind.

Eventually, they reached an opening in the tunnel, where a small cavern spanned upward and the path split in two. One route angled sharply up. The other angled sharply down.

Leopold slowed to a stop, panting. The flame’s light sputtered, casting shadows on the dark walls.

Shadows that looked like wings. Shadows that sent chills trilling down Iseult’s spine. Where had the Rook King led them? She forced herself to look only at the prince, though. At his Threads, burning and vibrant and true.

“How,” he said between harsh gasps, “did you know about this?”

“You would not believe me if I told you.” She fought for rough breaths of her own. Too much time in bed without a proper meal had stolen her energy. “We need to keep going.”

He straightened, eyes thinning and Threads tanning with suspicion. “Why? Why did we need to leave, Iseult?”

Iseult didn’t answer. There was nothing she could say that he would believe.Evrane is possessed by darkness and imprisoning me in sleep. Oh, and the ghost of the Rook King showed me how to break free.Iseult hardly believed it herself.

“It wasn’t safe there,” she answered. “And since Safi cannot come, there is no reason to stay. You have to trust me.”

He chewed his lip, expression and Threads wary—though now sage consideration spooled around the tan. Then all at once, a sharp column of fern funneled through. He had come to a decision.

“I trust you,” he murmured. “But which way do we go?” Swinging the candle away from her, he peered first at the ascending path, then the other.

“Down,” Iseult said, and she plucked the candle from his grasp and took the lead. She had no idea ifdownwas actually the right way to go, but it seemed the logical choice. The valley was below them, so surely aiming that way would eventually take them where she wanted to go.

Or maybe it would lead them straight into hell-fire. Iseult really had no idea. The Rook King had only shown her the way out of the Monastery, not the mountain.