Truthwitch (The Witchlands 1)

Safi froze, her vision crossing from lack of air and the scarred back of Habim’s right hand blurring. She couldn’t believe Iseult had simply walked away without a fight. Without Safi …

It made no sense, yet Safi’s magic shouted in her rib cage that it was true.

So she nodded, Habim released her, and she straggled into her seat. Habim had always been the more tightly keyed of her mentors. A chime-piece wound faster than the rest of the world, and it left him without patience for Safi’s impulsiveness.

“I know this holdup was your doing, Safi.” Habim’s soft voice somehow filled every space of the carriage. “Only you would be so reckless, and then Iseult followed you as she always does.”

Safi didn’t argue with that—it was undeniably true. The card game might have been Iseult’s idea, yet every single bad decision since could be laid at Safi’s doorstep.

“This mistake,” Habim continued, “has complicated—possibly ruined—twenty years of planning. Now, with Eron here, we’re doing what we can to salvage the situation.”

Safi stiffened. “Uncle Eron,” she repeated. “Here?”

As Habim offered up some story about Henrick summoning all the Cartorran nobility for a grand announcement, Safi forced herself to mimic Habim. To settle back and relax. She needed to think through everything like Iseult always did. She needed to analyze her opponents and her terrain …

But analyzing and strategy weren’t her strengths. Every time she tried to organize the pieces of her day, they swung apart and were that much harder to reassemble. The only thought she could keep pinned down was Uncle Eron is here. In Veñaza City. She hadn’t seen him in two years; she’d hoped she would never have to again. Simply thinking of Eron reminded her that, for all that she’d built a life in Veñaza City, there was a different one waiting for her back in Hasstrel.

Safi needed Iseult right now. She relied on Iseult to keep her mind focused and clear. Acting and running and fighting—those were the only things Safi did well.

Her fingers itched for the door. Her toes curled in anticipation as she reached with aching slowness for the latch.

“Don’t touch that,” Habim intoned. “What would you do anyway, Safi? Run away?”

“Find Iseult,” she said quietly, her fingers still hovering. “And then run away.”

“Which would allow the Bloodwitch to find you,” he retorted. “As long as you stay with your uncle, you’ll be safe.”

“Because he did such a good job protecting my parents.” The words snarled out before Safi could stop them. Yet where she’d expected a swift retaliation from Habim, she got only silence.

Then a stony, “Hell-Bards protect their family, yes, but the empire must come first. In that instance, eighteen years ago, the empire came first.”

“Which is why Emperor Henrick dishonorably discharged him, is it? He gave Uncle Eron the shameful task of being my regent and nursemaid out of gratitude?”

Habim didn’t engage. In fact, his expression didn’t waver at all. This was hardly the first time Safi had pressed Habim on her uncle’s past, and it wasn’t the first time she’d gotten cold silence either.

“You’re going home, to Guildmaster Alix’s,” Habim said eventually, tipping back the edge of the curtain and squinting outside. “You should have gone to him in the first place—he can keep you safe from the Bloodwitch.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Safi finally withdrew her fingers from the latch and sat up to her full height. “I thought I was doing the right thing by not bringing trouble to Alix’s door.”

“How very considerate of you. Next time, though, try trusting the men charged with your safety.”

“Iseult keeps me safe too,” Safi said. “Yet notice that you’ve sent her away.”

Again, Habim ignored Safi’s bait. Instead, he dipped his chin to watch her from the tops of his eyes. “Speaking of Iseult, she requests that you please not slit my throat. She also apologizes for leaving and asks that you not lose her book.”

“Iseult … apologized?” That wasn’t like Iseult—at least not when this was so clearly Safi’s fault.

Which meant there was a hidden message here.

It was a game the girls had played over the years. One Mathew had taught them—Say one thing, but mean another—and it had been wildly fun during the more dull hours of Mathew’s history lessons.

It wasn’t fun now.

Don’t slit Habim’s throat—that meant to wait. To do as Habim ordered. Fine. Safi would obey for now. But the book … She couldn’t riddle out that part of the message.

“Iseult’s and my things,” Safi said slowly, “are in a sack at the harbor.”

“I already grabbed it. The driver’s holding it.” Another furtive glance behind the curtain before Habim pounded the roof.

The carriage clattered to a stop, and Habim offered Safi an inflectionless, “Stay out of trouble, please.” Then he swept through the door and melted into the cacophony of afternoon traffic.

With her fists never feeling as if they were squeezed tightly enough, Safi stepped into the city. Horses’ hooves, carriage wheels, and fancy boot heels drowned out her frustrated teeth grinding. Alix’s home was a many-columned mansion surrounded by a jungle of roses and jasmine. Like all the Dalmotti Guildmasters, he lived in the wealthiest corner of the city: the Eastern Canal District.