Page 76 of Bloodwitch

Her eyes found Habim’s, certain she would find the same horrorshe felt reflected back at her. But all she found was flint-eyed determination.

Her stomach bottomed out.He already knew. Somehow, he already knew, yet he hadn’t bothered to inform Safi. Nothing, nothing—he had given hernothing, since his arrival.

Before her ire could fully ignite, though, before screams could rip from her throat, Habim’s fingers tightened around her biceps. A firm, reassuring touch that brought her back to her childhood. To the countless times he had towed her from a card game or dice match or yet another screaming match with Uncle Eron.

Uncle Eron, who had been arrested for treason.

Uncle Eron, who would hang within the week.

Habim led Safi to the cell’s exit, six paces away—giving them six paces during which he could whisper without the Adder to overhear.

“Be ready,” he said. “At the party, we will make our move. Be ready.” Then he released her into the hall, to where her earlier assembly of Adders still stood.

The cell door clanged shut behind her.

THIRTY-THREE

It amazed Iseult how much a landscape could change in a day.

Last night, there had been rowan and fir trees, nettle and grass. By dawn, evergreens had replaced the hardwoods, and the tufted grass had given way to sedge. The paths grew narrower and narrower too, until eventually they had to leave the horses behind.

“Go home,” Leopold told the gelding, after removing what few supplies they had from his saddle. To Iseult’s astonishment, Rolf actually seemed to understand. He turned away, and quickly vanished within the stunted pines, followed obediently by the stolen mare.

“Isn’t your home far?” Iseult asked, eyeing Blueberry warily. He flew high above them, and though Owl had promised he would not eat the horses, Iseult wasn’t entirely convinced.

“Quite far.” Leopold smiled, his Threads flickering with matching shades of mischief. “I told you, he’s averywell-trained horse.”

Without their steeds, the group’s pace slowed. Owl could not walk quickly, and the terrain grew steeper by the hour. By midmorning, snow and ice clung to everything—to the miniature trees, to the granite rock, to old travelers’ huts long forgotten. The sun glared down, melting the frosted gravel to slick scree.

Twice, Iseult fell. Twice Leopold fell. Owl, however, never fell. Thelittle Earthwitch always knew where to place her feet. Or perhaps she simply commanded the stones to remain intact, and they dutifully obeyed.

Eventually even the dwarf evergreens trickled away. They had trekked above the tree line, where only rock and snow held court. Iseult had never seen so much snow, and she decided she didn’t much like it.

It was cold, it was wet, and there never seemed to be an end to it.

She had also never been so high in her life. She hadn’t known—could never haveguessed—how vast and gaping the sky would feel at this altitude. So huge, so blue, so empty. Especially when they reached the end of their path and nothing waited beyond save a sheer cliff and a very long drop to a river.

With her back against the granite mountain, Iseult stared at the cliff ten paces away. In the last few moments, gusting winds had risen, rolling fog across the ledge like waves upon a seashore. Somehow, not seeing the precipice and thousand-foot drop only made the height seem that much more terrifying.

Owl clung to Iseult’s side, little fingers fisted into Iseult’s cloak and terror spiraling through her Threads, and though Iseult knew she was the second choice—Blueberry coasted on airstreams too high to see—it left a strange feeling in her chest. A warmth that wasn’t quite pleasure, and certainly not love, butsomething.

Something nice that made her nose wiggle. Something nice that made her think of Aeduan, because she was, it seemed, no better than Owl for the hoping.

Leopold, meanwhile, searched the cliff for a “sky-ferry” he’d insisted would be waiting for them. Every few moments, he leaned dangerously over the edge, which made Iseult feel like vomiting and made Owl wince and whimper.

After six such instances, Leopold’s Threads finally flushed with triumph and he threw a perfect grin Iseult’s way. “I found it. I told you I would!”

True to his word, the prince had worn only honest emotions since last night. And despite what he’d claimed, it had not disarmed himat all. If anything, he wasmorecharming when his face and feelings were in tune.

The “it” that Leopold had found turned out to be a round, flat stone that had been covered by a hundred pebbles, and after kicking the pebbles into the mist-filled canyon—which also made Iseult feel ill—Leopold began tapping a complicated rhythm with his toe.A lock-spell,she thought at first, until halfway through, the ferry began to appear. Inch by inch, tap by tap, it coalesced amidst the haze.

A glamour-spell. Awe washed over Iseult. Shaped like a wide river barge, the ferry was affixed to a long, rusted chain that ran diagonally up and vanished into the clouds. At the center of the ferry’s deck was a steel-toothed pulley over which the chain ran.

Leopold opened his arms wide. “Did I not promise an easy route? This does all the climbing for us.”

Owl was the first to speak. She tapped at Iseult’s leg. “Dead,” she whispered, pointing at the ferry. Tan confusion clustered in her Threads.

At Leopold’s own confused Threads, Iseult translated: “She says it’s dead.”