Page 63 of Bloodwitch

“We must catch them first. Then we can worry about luring them back.”

“Oh, we will catch them. Have no fear.” Leopold strolled on, a confidence to his step. An ease, as if they merely walked the halls of a palace, not the moonlit corners of a mountain forest. “Rolf is a well-trained beast, and the mare will follow his lead.”

“Then tell Rolf to go to the bridge, so the mare will follow his lead.”

“He is notthatwell trained.” A laugh—again, at odds with their surroundings. And this time, contradicting Leopold’s Threads as well. Instead of pink amusement, they glimmered with fear. “Even the greatwhite bears of the Sleeping Lands would not be stupid enough to approach a mountain bat.”

“You’re scared of him.”

“You are not?”

“No,” Iseult replied, and she realized it was true. In all the chaos of the Contested Lands, there had been no time to be afraid. Blueberry had attacked men who wanted to kill her, and that had made him an ally. “He will not hurt us.”

“Really? Do mountain bats dislike the taste of princes?”

Before she could explain to him that Blueberry only hurt those that hurt Owl, Leopold drew up short. Iseult almost ran into him. Then she saw why: they had reached a rocky clearing, no underbrush left for the horses to trample.

“Our trail has run cold.” Leopold twirled toward Iseult, Threads and expression briefly in alliance: he was frustrated. His cheeks twitched. “Any chance you can sense their Threads?”

“Animals do not have Threads.” She circled around him.

“Animals do not have them,” he asked, following several paces behind, “or you cannot sense them?”

Iseult wished he would shut up. “Does it matter? My magic will not help us, either way.” She squinted down at the earth, turned gray beneath the moon, but even with its light, it was too dark to spot hoof prints. However, a sound bubbled against her ears. Running water. Another mountain creek.

If she were a horse who had run for an hour, she would be thirsty. And if she were thirsty, she would go to a stream free of mountain bats. In a rush of silent speed, Iseult set off across the clearing. She stepped over long shadows, then into the trees that cast them, and soon enough, Iseult found the horses. They had indeed followed the water into the forest.

“Rolf,” Leopold said, delight in both his tone and his flushed Threads. Yet before he could cross to his gelding, Iseult drew her cutlass.

He halted mid-step. “This again?”

“This again,” she replied. “At the bridge, you offered to explain everything from the start. You will do that now.”

“No ‘please’?” A smile on his face. Frustration in his Threads. “I am royalty, you know.”

“And I am the one holding the sword.”

“Ah.” He huffed a chuckle, and pink amusement returned. He had liked her response, it would seem, and without another word of protest, Leopold the Fourth, imperial heir of Cartorra, began his tale.

He had a musical way of speaking. His words rolled against Iseult’s skin, a perfect rhythm of sound and pause. A perfect complement to the frozen night air as he explained how he’d been working with Safi’s uncle. Their aim had been to prevent Safi from marryinghisuncle, Emperor Henrick. Then Leopold described how he had hired Aeduan under the pretense of capturing Safi, but how he had then intentionally sabotaged all travel by taking stops and even misdirecting Aeduan—all so Safi could reach safety before Aeduan caught up.

Or wasmeantto reach safety, until the Empress of Marstok had interfered.

Iseult said nothing throughout his story, carefully chewing over each assertion. They fit what she knew from Safi—and what she knew from Aeduan too—yet rather than trust Leopold more, she found she trusted him less. Throughout his declaration, he had kept a tired half smile upon his face, as if this entire situation were a game. As if he thought Iseult a pitiful child who needed his indulgence.

“Andthen,” he finished with a spin of his right hand, like a minstrel taking a bow, “I stole the monk’s coins and had my Hell-Bards transport them to Lejna. For you. All quite straightforward, if you think about it.”

Hardly, Iseult thought. Aloud, she said: “I was in Lejna. I did not see any Hell-Bards.”

“Because they were under orders not to remain, and when I arrived later, you had already moved on. I have been searching for you ever since. I was—and still am—meant to deliver you to the Carawen Monastery.”

Iseult blinked. This was easily the last place she expected him tosay. Back to Lejna? All right. To Veñaza City? Sure. Even all the way to Cartorra would have made sense to her. But a Monastery in the middle of the mountains was as baffling as…

As having an imperial prince come find her in Tirla.

“Why there?” she asked.

“Because the monks will keep you safe.” Leopold said this as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And they will protect Safiya too, when she arrives.”