Page 9 of Bloodwitch

Soon, no sunlight penetrated. The darkness moved and shifted around them and Merik had never known there could be so many shades of gray. Then hoarfrost raced across the forest, a crackling that froze creatures as they fled.

Where are you, Merik? Where has my Heart-Thread taken you?

Merik couldn’t answer, even if he wanted to. The dregs of the glamour’s magic fought to disorient him…

Until he saw it: a haze of gray stone amidst the shadows. Hewn from the mountain itself, a chapel coalesced before them, its high doorway blocked by saplings and sedge.

Ryber slowed, releasing Cam and grabbing for the knife at her hip. There was no time to hack through the brush, though, so Merik thrust his winds straight at the overgrowth. Raging air ripped the plants up by the roots.

A dark doorway yawned before them.

In moments, they were inside, and what little light they’d had vanished entirely. The chaos followed, though. As did the bellowing of winds, charging ever faster their way.

“Ignite!” Ryber shouted, and a weak torch lit among the endless shadows.

Merik and Cam skidded to a stop. “Keep your hand elevated, Cam!” He didn’t know why holding Cam’s bloodied hand aloft seemed the most important thing when death chased from behind.

Ahead, Ryber’s hands slammed against a stone wall. “Why is this here?” she screamed. “Why are you closed to me? I am Ryber Fortiza, the last Sightwitch Sister—why have you closed to me?” She smacked her hands harder against the granite. “I’ve only been gone a year! Open up! Youmustopen up!”

Nothing happened, and she jerked back toward Cam and Merik. “This shouldn’t be closed. I’veneverseen it closed!” Her hands clutched at her heart, at her face. Then back to her heart again. “It must be because he follows—” She broke off as the hoarfrost slithered into the chapel’s space.

The pale lantern light guttered out.

The Fury had arrived.

Merik shoved Cam behind him. “Stay with Ryber,” he ordered, and to his vast relief, the boy actually obeyed. Then Merik stepped back through the door and advanced on the shadows.

“Let them go!” His voice sounded stretched, as if cold had sapped it of all dimension. “It’s me you want, isn’t it?”

“No.” The word whispered against Merik’s face, plucking at his skin. Then the Fury stepped from the shadows. A thousand dark ripples moved around him; the evergreens crashed and waved. Somehow, though, Kullen looked as he always had. Tall, pale haired, paler skinned. Only his eyes had changed: black with small lines radiating along the temples.

Black lines like Merik wore across his chest. The foul taint of the Cleaved.

A bolt of pity cut through Merik. Ryber loved Kullen as much as Merik did. But unlike Merik, she had not yet seen this monster Kullen had become, and he hoped she would never have to. He hoped she would not turn back this way.

As if following Merik’s thoughts, Kullen smiled—a taut, inhuman thing that stretched at his lips but did not reach his eyes. “I know my Heart-Thread is with you.” He sang the words, and his steps bounced closer, almost jaunty. “And is that also young Leeri I see following?” The smile spread wider. “He always was so loyal. Butno oneis as loyal as I am, Merik.”

Wind burst out, a wall to knock Merik back. He hit the ground. Pain tore through him and Kullen laughed and stalked closer.

But Merik drew in the Fury’s own winds, enough to attack, enough to distract. Then he charged upright, and as he flew, he swung out a leg and aimed for his Threadbrother’s knees.

Kullen was already skipping back by the time he reached him, but it was enough. They had moved away from the door, and Merik had—for a flicker of a moment—gained the advantage. He unsheathed his cutlass; he swung. No magic, just brute force. It was the one thing he had always done better than Kullen: swordplay. And though Kullen tried to sweep at Merik with magic, his attempts were dull. Halfhearted.

For of course, they were bound by cleaving magic and Threads. If Merik died, then Kullen died with him. And while Merik might not understand how, there was no denying that truth he had faced in Lovats two weeks before.

He was faced with it again now as Kullen skipped and slid, avoiding Merik’s blade yet scarcely fighting back. “You won’t kill me,” Kullen declared, spinning left.

“I will.” Merik darted, his blade aimed for Kullen’s neck. “I would gladly die if it meant saving the people you’ve abandoned.”

“Always so brave, our Prince Merik. Always soholy. But remember: the holiest have the farthest to fall.”

“SIR!” Cam shrieked, tinny and distant. “The door!”

Kullen heard those words too. As one, he and Merik turned. As one, they flew for the chapel. It was no different from the hundreds of races they’d held as children in Nihar, and just like in those days, Kullen was faster. Yet Merik had meant what he’d said: he would die to protect Cam and Ryber.

As the chapel zoomed in close, Merik swung one last time at Kullen. He missed Kullen’s neck, but not Kullen’s ear. The top sliced off. Kullen screamed, a sound that exploded in Merik’s brain. Mental fists that punched away all thought, all consciousness.

The shadows roared over Merik. He fell.