Page 49 of Bloodwitch

Merik was not sure when he began running again. No one hunted him, no pain lashed through him. He just knew he had to move. He had to prove to himself he was not one of these Cleaved, he was not one of these puppets. He was not poisoned like Kullen. He could still think for himself and command his legs. All he had to do was get this collar off, then he could flee too—

Merik tripped over a root. He fell to the earth, wrists snapping in a graceless fall. It did not hurt, yet a sob choked out anyway. It rumbled up from powerless lungs, and no amount of gasping for air seemed to make it stop.

It was not until a shadow slithered over the ground before him that he finally broke off. His head snapped up to find a little girl with blond braids and eyes black as midnight. She was dressed like a Northman in furs and colorful felt.

“Why do you stop moving, Prince?” she asked, and Merik knew it was not the girl speaking to him. He knew who really uttered those words.

“Lost,” he croaked, and the little girl smiled—an eerie, unnatural thing that stretched her lips sideways.

“Just follow the puppets.” Before she had even finished proclaiming this, bodies lumbered into view. Out of fallen buildings they stepped, and from between the trees they trundled. All ages, sizes, races assembled into a long line that snaked into the city. As far as Merik could see.

Then as one, in a chorus of voices that scraped against his skin, they sang, “Follow, Prince Merik. Follow, follow until you find your way.”

Merik saw no other choice. He dragged himself back to his feet and followed.

Vivia and her Windwitches arrived home right as the nineteenth chimes were ringing. They landed at the Southern Wharf, where the main barracks and naval academy were.

“We can fly you to the palace!” the captain had roared atop her winds. “Drop you beside the gate!”

Vivia had refused, claiming she was not the one who’d drained all her energy in the flight. The truth, though, was that she had hoped to find Stix. As awkward as things were between them, Stix was the only person Vivia had to talk to. The only person Viviawantedto talk to.

Stix wasn’t at the school, though. Nor the barracks, nor anywhere along Hawk’s Way as Vivia and a flank of four new, freshly awake soldiers strode ever closer toward Queen’s Hill. She slowed on the street below Stix’s apartment, briefly wondering if she ought to walk up…

She decided against it. Vivia wanted to see her friend alone—not with this escort hounding her every move.

Soon, Vivia reached her bedroom in the royal wing of the palace, the familiar threadbare rugs and creaking floors so welcome after a day in that land of sandstone and white. A quarter clanging of the chimes after that, and she was down to her underclothes and sitting on the edge of her bed.

She stared at the Wordwitched paper. It had gotten flattened on the flight home, and now—as she unrolled it—six lines creased down the page.

Her words and Vaness’s still remained, as well as a new phrase at the bottom.

Did you arrive home safely?

Vivia wet her lips. Then pressed the page upon her lap and tried to smooth out the wrinkles. Her attempts failed completely, and she supposed after several minutes that she did not really care. Vaness did not need a reply.

Vivia rolled up the letter and stowed it on a low table beside her bed. Then after whispering to her lone Firewitched lamp, she settled beneath her iris blue blankets and tried to sleep.

An hour later, when sleep still eluded her, Vivia crawled from her bed. A pen and inkpot waited on her desk, and with only moonlight streaming through a warped window to light the page, Vivia once more unfurled the letter.

I made it home safely.

She paused here, wondering what more to say. Wondering why she wanted to say more. After several minutes, the perfect sentence came to mind. She scribbled it down, and this time, when Vivia crawled into bed, she fell asleep right away.

TWENTY-ONE

The half-galley skipped lightly over Lake Scarza. Spindrift misted the skin around Safi’s eyes. Nursemaid Rokesh had insisted she don an Adder shroud, and though the silk was surprisingly cool given how much it covered, it still stifled.

As did Habim’s words upon the map.

Do nothing. I have a plan.

Well, Safi had a plan too—and she wasn’t abandoning it just because Habim Fashayit had arrived. If she could actually make a Truthstone, then she could leave. No waiting necessary.

Waiting had never been one of her skills. Safi initiated; she did not complete.

And gods thrice-damn it, she wassickof being told what to do. At the very least, Habim could have given her more information. He had had an entire map with him, after all. How hard would it have been to offer details, so that she would not be—yet again—racing blindfolded into nothing?

Halfway through the return journey, the Tidewitches steering the ship changed course, aiming the half-galley for the main shore of Azmir instead of the Floating Palace. Safi had known this was coming. Unlike Habim, Vaness had actuallyinformedher of the evening’s plan.