Windwitch (The Witchlands 2)

“Good enough.” Caden moved no more quickly, no more slowly than before. Just his usual cautious concentration, and the usual steady swipes of pain.

“We will reach Marstoki shores in the morning, Safi. As an expression of my gratitude for all you have done since we left Nubrevna, I wish to give you a choice.

“You may either remain in the care of the Hell-Bards and return to your homeland, or you may go with me to Azmir. Once you have helped me purge my court, you will be free to leave. And I…” She paused here, and for a fraction of a breath, the cool mask faltered. Earnest hope shone through. “I will gift you with enough funds to travel wherever you wish. To start a new life somewhere.”

The statement—the offer—settled through the cabin like a sheet billows atop a mattress before it finally sinks down. Before it finally connects.

“A … choice,” Safi repeated, and there was no missing how Caden’s careful movements did slow now.

With her left hand, Safi gripped her Threadstone. Her bruised, cracked knuckles brushed against the steel chain Vaness had first looped there seventeen days ago.

So much had happened in that time. With Vaness. With the Hell-Bards. Neither were her enemies any longer.

True, true. Safi’s throat pinched tight at that thought, and chills raced down her torn flesh. If she went to Cartorra, she would lose her freedom, and then Iseult might never find her again, never see her again. Safi would be trapped as the emperor’s bride, trapped as the emperor’s Truthwitch, and trapped in a cold castle she could never escape.

But in Marstok … In Azmir … Safi stood a chance. Once she was done weeding out corruption in the court, she could leave. Better yet, she could leave with money to sustain her, and she and Iseult could finally—finally—start their lives somewhere new.

What of the Hell Bards, though? To return to Cartorra without Safi was a death sentence—Caden had just revealed as much. And Safi hadn’t saved their wretched skins just so Henrick could kill them off.

She had already lost Merik Nihar. She would not lose more people if she could help it.

“I will go with you to Azmir,” Safi said, trying to pump authority into her words, “and the Hell-Bards will go with me. As my personal guards.”

The words echoed in the small cabin. Vaness looked puzzled, while Caden stopped stitching. He regarded Safi with wide eyes, something almost like a frown playing on his lips.

The silence dragged on for several heartbeats. Until at last, Vaness sniffed. “I accept your terms, Safi. And…” She bowed her head, her face relaxing into real, honest serenity. “Thank you for staying by my side.”

The Empress of Marstok strode out exactly as she had come in. It wasn’t until the door had clicked shut and the ship had swayed—left, right—four times that Caden finally spoke.

For some reason, heat flamed up Safi’s cheeks as he did so.

“Why do you want us with you?” His voice was so low. “You know that ultimately we must take you back to Cartorra.”

“I know.” Safi bounced her left shoulder and tried to look casual as her grip finally fell from her Threadstone. “But you know the old saying, Though we are safe with our friends near…”

“I see.” He snorted. The needle lifted. Copper flashed. “Though we are safe with our friends near, we are safest with our enemies nearer.”

“No.” Safi tensed, waiting for the needle’s bite to come. “Just the friends part, Hell-Bard. Not enemies. Not anymore.” She smiled, if strained, and he smiled back.

Then he stabbed her with the needle. Once. Twice. The final beats of pain before her wound was patched up.

* * *

Iseult waited until the sun had set and the stars had risen before she made her move.

They’d found a clearing, uphill and beside a creek that burbled down to the pond. It was wildly indefensible to Iseult’s eyes, and Aeduan’s—for he’d said as much when Owl had led them up here. The trees groaned too loudly, and the water trickling past wouldn’t deter a flea.

Yet here the girl had sat, cross-legged and stubborn. Then here the mountain bat had lumbered, before heaving its massive body down behind Owl. Its silver Threads had dimmed then, as if sleepiness muted its ferocity, and soon it was snoring.

It ought to be incredible, Iseult thought—exactly the sort of tale she’d want to tell Safi once they were together again. Except that the bat stank, and flies buzzed across its thick fur. It ruined some of the wonderment.

Not that Owl seemed to notice the stench or care, for as soon as the beast had curled into a ball on the rocky shore, Owl had hunkered beside it and fallen asleep.

Leaving Iseult to finally, finally claim a moment of peace to herself.

“Where are you going?” Aeduan asked as she skirted past him, heading back toward the pond.

“Not far.” She motioned vaguely ahead. “I need … a drink from the pond. I’ll be back soon.”

He frowned, and though he didn’t argue, it was also clear he didn’t approve—and heat flushed in Iseult’s cheeks. They had come far in this odd partnership to now be holding to each other accountable.

Iseult reached the pond, breathing heavier than she ought. But at least there was no one to disturb her. No one to hear her creep to the pond’s edge and crouch above the water.

Her reflection stretched across the surface. It wobbled ever so slightly at the edges, as if it didn’t know who it was.