“Not taro,” she drawled. “But a duel. Me.” She splayed her fingers to her chest. “Versus you. No weapons. Just brains and brawn. Then, whoever comes out alive keeps the ship.”
“No.” Caden reached for Safi. “No.”
But he was too late. Safi was already agreeing, already nodding and marching for the gangway onto the ship.
Initiate, complete.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Aeduan couldn’t tear his eyes away from the Threadwitch. Smoke whispered up around her. Without the Firewitch to sustain the flames, only charred earth remained—and Aeduan could finally get his bearings.
He and Iseult were at the southernmost edge of the pillars, where the river smoothed out into ancient battlefields.
Aeduan sagged against a pillar and watched Iseult’s approach. She had cleaved that man. As easily as Aeduan stilled a person’s blood, she had cut the bonds that connected the Firewitch to life. He’d seen that magic before. Dark magic. Void magic like his own. But never—never in a thousand years of living—would he have guessed that the Threadwitch …
Was not a Threadwitch at all.
As he waited, the morning’s rhyme flickered through his mind. Dead grass is awakened by fire, dead earth is awakened by rain. That moment in the ruins felt like lifetimes ago. But it wasn’t. Iseult was still the same woman who’d sparred with him. Who’d raced him.
Who’d come back for him.
Rain began to fall, dowsing the Firewitched flames. Cannons continued to blast, and pistol shots popped. Voices charged in through the drizzle, a sign the battle had reached the gorge.
Iseult reached Aeduan. Ash ran down her cheeks, black rivers of rain, and for half a breath, she looked as corrupted as the man she’d just killed.
Then the illusion broke. Her fingers landed on Aeduan’s shoulder, and without a word, she angled him around. Not gently, but efficiently. She gripped the arrow lodged in his lungs and heart.
Aeduan knew what Iseult intended to do, and he knew that he should stop her. Now. Before he owed her any more life-debts.
He didn’t. Instead, he let her brace a foot against the pillar. He let her wrest the iron from his heart.
Pain washed over him, heavy as the smoke-choked rain. He sank forward against the stone. His chest gulped and heaved. Blood oozed.
“They have Owl,” Iseult said.
Aeduan nodded, his forehead scraping against the rock.
“She’s not merely a child,” Iseult forged on. “The Baedyeds and the Red Sails both want her. Whatever she is, she’s special.”
Again, he nodded. He’d guessed as much, though he’d yet to think through what it might mean.
“They’re coming for her, Aeduan.” Iseult’s voice was harder now. Louder than the dribbling rain.
Aeduan opened his eyes. Black droplets cut lines through the ancient striations of the pillar.
Two more arrows popped free from his flesh. One from his thigh, one from his shoulder. Instantly, his vision sharpened.
Another two arrows burrowed free, and Aeduan’s spine straightened to its full height. Three more arrows, and his magic expanded as well.
“People,” he said, turning back to Iseult. “Hundreds are coming this way.”
She showed no surprise. In fact, she was the one to nod now. “It’s the Red Sails from the river. They want Owl back, which is why we must find her first.”
It was then—at that moment—that it hit Aeduan square in the chest. Iseult was here. Not hunting after the Truthwitch but here, standing tall in a land of smoking embers. Before he could speak, before he could ask her how she knew of the Red Sails, an inhuman shriek filled the air. Louder than the receding rain, louder than the cannons’ roar.
It was the mountain bat, returned and plunging right for them.
Aeduan barely yanked Iseult sideways before its talons crashed into the stones.
* * *
Merik could not reach Vivia.
Kullen’s cyclone fought him on all sides, even as Merik tried to send winds to grab Vivia. Even as he tried to send himself breaking free.
It was as if Kullen sensed what Merik would do next. It was if he sensed the tiny, pitiful heart of Merik’s true power.
He and Kullen were bound. Their souls, their magics, which meant … No magic. Merik could not use his Windwitchery here.
It left his chest aching and his body limp, but Merik did it. He released the wind. He released the magic. He released the fury.
Then Merik fell, a nosedive straight down the storm’s heart. A free fall toward the water-bridge. He felt Kullen’s scream blast in his skull. The magic lanced through Merik’s belly, through his limbs. Use me, use me, use me.
Merik did not use it. He hurtled on, no self, only black seafire zooming in fast.
Then he was passing the water-bridge. Heat consumed him. Shadows raged. But below—below, green valley awaited.
Through the smoky, wind-raised tears, Merik saw his sister. With her hands and legs outstretched, water writhed to her in vast webs. Over and over they shattered as she plummeted through. Not strong enough to save her from the valley’s floor, but enough to slow her descent. Enough for Merik to catch up.
He squeezed his arms to his sides, pointed his toes.
Water sprayed his face; droplets lost from Vivia’s control.
Faster, faster. No magic to push him, only the power of Noden. The power of the fall. Move like the wind, move like the stream.
Merik reached her. Water crashed into him, a thousand cuts that sliced him apart. His arms tore around her. He held tight.
They spun. Around, around, no sight. No sound. Only water and wind and the feel of death rushing in fast.
But now—now Merik could fly. Now he could use the power that bound him to Kullen.
An eruption of wind. It snapped beneath their bodies, flipped them hard into a new spiral. More, more. Merik summoned more in a roar of heat that Kullen could not contain. Enough air to stop them. Enough wind to send the grass flattening outward. A vast circle above which Merik and Vivia slowed. Finally stopped.
They landed on their feet, legs crumpling beneath them. Merik’s hands sank into wet grass and soil. Such a bright, living smell after all the smoke and storm.
“Merry,” Vivia tried to say. Her shoulder was bleeding.
“Your arm,” Merik replied. He stood, shaky. Had there always been so much grass? Already it sprang back to its full height, as if Merik’s winds had never come.
“I’m fine.” Vivia stood beside him. “I can’t feel it. Merry, I need to tell you—”
A loud crack echoed through the valley. As if a mountain had fallen. As if the earth itself had split in two.
The dam was breaking.
* * *
Safi versus Kahina.
They fought on the cutter’s deck while the crews watched from the dock. No weapons, no shoes, and no one else on board. Just the two women and gulls circling overhead.
The rest of the world fell away. No more distant roar from the arena. Nor even the nearer creak of the ship’s planks. The world fell away because Safi made it fall away, just as Habim had taught her almost a decade ago. Her gaze hung chest level at Kahina, the better to see all of Kahina’s body. All of her twitches and twists. Then Safi planted her soles on the rough wood—the better to feel how the ship might pitch and yaw.
Kahina was shorter than Safi, but Safi wasn’t fool enough to think this was to her advantage. She could already tell Kahina was an experienced, comfortable fighter. It was in the way she bounced foot to foot, arms up and fists loose.
It was also in her ears: lumpy and swollen from decades of being pummeled—and from getting back up again.
What made Kahina especially formidable, though, was her freshness. She hadn’t spent her morning on the run from flames or Baedyeds or an arena gone mad. In fact, Safi’s greatest challenge would be in staying alert. Focused—
A fist swooped in. Safi swore. Kahina was already on the attack. Another
swing, then another. Safi could scarcely block in time. She had no choice but to skip back.
Too soon, she ran out of space. The bulwark loomed, which meant Safi had to move offensively or be caught in a corner. She kicked—just a feint to send Kahina’s hands dropping. It worked, and Safi’s fists connected in a double punch.
One set of knuckles hit Kahina’s nose. The other slammed into her chest—not for pain, but for power. For the distance it gained when Kahina stumbled back.
But the admiral was smiling, all her stained teeth bared, and though her eyes watered, Safi hadn’t broken her nose.
Kahina sniffed. “You know, girl, I do not know your name.” She stomped her left foot, catching Safi’s eyes, before darting in fast. A flat hand sliced against Safi’s throat. Next came a hooking punch to Safi’s nose—and Kahina did manage to break it. A final kick sent Safi windmilling back.
Blood spouted from Safi’s nostrils. Her eyes gushed tears. At least, though, the pain was a distant thing. She was used to getting hit; it didn’t slow her.
Though she was on the retreat again. Kahina was speaking again too. An intentional distraction.
“How delightful for me”—jab, cross, kick to the ribs—“that you like a wager as much as I do, girl.”
More blood. More pain. Don’t listen, don’t listen.
“Do you know what I like more than a wager, though?” Kahina ducked beneath Safi’s punch. Then hopped back before Safi’s foot could connect with her knee.
Safi kept charging. Snap kick, fingernails across the face, back fist. The harder she pushed, the less Kahina seemed able to block. Until soon, Safi was landing blow after blow, and she was close enough for a knee to the gut. An elbow to the chin—
Kahina flipped her.
One moment, Safi’s view was of wood and sailcloth and sky. Then the whole world turned to only sky.
Safi’s head cracked. Stars swept over her vision. Then pain erupted in her ribs. Kahina was kicking her. Once, twice.
Safi curled in, grabbing for a leg, a foot—anything. What she got was a fistful of Kahina’s pants. It was enough. She yanked down the pirate.
Or so she attempted. Instead, though, Kahina used the momentum to tow Safi upright—directly into a waiting fist.
Safi’s already broken nose crunched. Black rushed over her eyes. She swayed back, and once more, her skull slammed to the deck. Not that she felt it.
Blink. She was falling. Blink. She was down. Blink. Kahina was straddling her. Blink, blink. Kahina’s forearm braced against Safi’s windpipe. Except Kahina paused here—no force in her pinning hold. Just a gentle lean while her other hand braced beside Safi’s head.
“You didn’t answer me, girl. So I repeat: Do you know what I like more than a wager?” Kahina’s jade ring flashed sunbeams into Safi’s eyes.
“What?” Safi barely got out that word. Blood, blood. It fringed everything she saw. Every breath too.
“I like a good bargain.”
Safi had no response for that. There was no point in using her wits against Kahina—not when she’d already lost. If Kahina wanted to distract her with words, so be it.
Except that as Kahina uttered, “Tell me your name,” it occurred to Safi that maybe this wasn’t a distraction technique but rather a stalling one. More important than the words spoken, Mathew always taught, are those unsaid.
“You … want to lose.” Safi captured Kahina’s gaze. They were both using these moments to catch their breath. “Why?”
Kahina’s eyes thinned. No—they crinkled. She was grinning. “Because I do not need this ship. However, a favor from the future Empress of Cartorra. Why, imagine what I could do with that, Safiya fon Hasstrel.”
Dread, bleak and booming, filled Safi’s lungs. Of course Kahina would have learned who she was. The information wasn’t exactly secret, and at least Kahina didn’t seem to realize Safi was a Truthwitch. That still remained private.
“Here is my bargain, girl.” Ever so slightly, Kahina bore down her weight—and ever so slightly, darkness woozed in. “I will let you win this fight, and my crew and I will depart. In return, though, you will owe me. Anything I want, I will one day collect from you.” Kahina’s words were laden with truth. “Do we have a deal?”
Safi writhed. Safi fishtailed. Safi strained. But there was no breath here to sustain her, and grappling had never been a skill she’d bothered learning. The sky, Kahina’s face, the ship—it all wavered in and out. Leaving Safi with no choice. She had to agree.
Though she still choked, “Two … conditions.” It was inaudible—no air!—but Kahina understood and eased up enough for Safi to squeak out: “I will kill no one for you, and I … will not give my own life.”
Kahina’s smile spread. “Then we have a deal.” As she spoke those words, a hiss of magic brushed over Safi’s skin. A glow flashed in the corners of her eyes.
Kahina’s jade ring, humming with magic inside.
“Now flip me, girl, and start punching until I beg for—”
Safi flipped her, a bucking of her hips that actually worked this time. Distantly, she was aware of cheers from the dock. The Hell-Bards. The Cartorran crew.
False, false, false. Kahina’s back hit the deck, and Safi piled on. False, false. More cheers, more blood—and more wrongness to scrape against her magic. Lies of her own making. Lies to set them free.
“Stop,” Kahina groaned. “Stop.” Her eyes were sinking back in her skull. “Enough, girl, enough!”
Safi stopped. Then dragged herself off the stronger, smaller, wiser woman. “We claim,” Safi panted, loud enough for the crews to hear, “this ship. Take your men and go.” False, false, false.
Kahina only sighed, sinking back against the deck in mock defeat. Her face was pulp. But lies—all of it lies. “I will go. The ship is yours once more.”
And that was the end of it. The duel was done, the deal was final.
Safi did not watch the admiral leave, though. Nor did she observe the Cartorran crew marching on board, nor the Hell-Bards and Vaness arguing on the dock. Safi simply hauled her broken body to the stern and looked out at the murky bay. Behind her, a growing war thundered across Saldonica.
Yet while Safi’s eyes stayed locked on the soft lull of Saldonican waves—blood drip-dripping from her nose, her cheeks, her mouth—her thoughts were stuck elsewhere.
For resting on Safi’s palm was her Threadstone. It flickered and shone, a sign that Iseult was in danger yet again. A sign that Safi could do absolutely nothing to help her except stand here and pray to whatever gods might be listening.
THIRTY-NINE
A mountain bat. The mountain bat from earlier. Iseult didn’t know why she was so surprised to see one. After all, they were creatures of carnage, and a battle raged here.
Time seemed frozen as she held her ground beside Aeduan, taking in the monster. A shudder moved down the beast, rippling through its dark fur. Rain sloughed off.
Then it lunged for Iseult’s head, teeth bared and jaws wide.
Her instincts took over. She twirled sideways, ripping her cutlass free. Strong. She felt stronger than she’d ever felt before. And she couldn’t help but wonder—a smattering of thought between breaths—if it was because …
Because of the Firewitch.
Her speed was still nothing compared to Aeduan’s. His sword was already there, slicing roughly. He connected with the mountain bat’s fur, and mossy brown tufts fell with the rain.
Its silver Threads shone brighter. Iseult didn’t think she could cleave those Threads—and the fact that she wanted to, desperately, sent sickened heat punching up her throat.
But now was not the time for guilt. Nor revulsion. Nor regret. Iseult had to use this new strength to get herself and Aeduan away.
As if on command, Aeduan charged low, but the bat was rolling down in a blur of shrieking forest shades. Aeduan careened directly toward its fangs.
Iseult charged, a war cry building in her throat. “Me!” she screamed. “Come f
or me!”
A half second—maybe Aeduan gained that much from Iseult’s distraction, but it was enough. He shot for the nearest pillar, and in three steps, ascended.
Then he dove out, ready to impale the beast from behind. Positioned as the mountain bat was, with its wings outstretched for leverage, the creature couldn’t possibly twist around in time.
Aeduan’s sword slung up, ready to drive all strength and magic into his blow …
Iseult saw it, then: the silver Threads shimmered with a new color. One that made no sense—one that Iseult hadn’t known possible. Yet there it was, sunset pink braiding and twining within the silver.
The Threads that bind.
Aeduan’s blade met flesh and fur. The tip of a pointed ear—a chunk of meat as large as Iseult’s head—splattered to the rain-soaked earth.
The mountain bat roared, its breath rushing over Iseult and knocking her back. Then it heaved its enormous serpentine form around, wings crashing outward. Each step set the earth to shaking.
Four more haggard steps, and it took flight.
Sunset Threads flared more brightly, wisping off toward the waterfall. Toward a faint, distant smattering of terrified, broken Threads. Familiar Threads.
Owl. The mountain bat was bound to Owl.
Aeduan staggered to Iseult, blade and body coated in bat blood. His cheeks were scarlet, his eyes swirling red.
“The … Falls,” Iseult panted. “Owl is at the Falls. And the bat … is bound to her.”
A blink of confusion. Two shuddering breaths. Then understanding braced through him. “That must be why the pirates want her. A child who can control … a mountain bat.” He wiped his face on his shoulder, then offered Iseult his hand.
She clasped it tight, her fingers lacing between his. Together they ran.
The world blurred into striated stone and smoky rain. All Iseult saw was the scree underfoot and the pillars ahead. Her white cloak flapped around her, and Aeduan’s grip never loosened.
Just as the mountain’s bat screams never subsided. Its diving attacks resumed. Silver Threads galvanized by pink, they spun in closer. Closer. But now Iseult knew they were aimless. It attacked without reason because Owl was trapped without reason.