“I’m her mother!”
“Sacra, please, you—” Senna recognized Coyel’s voice.
“I will not! You’ve no right to keep her here.”
“It’s not safe for her to leave,” Chavis said.
“And staying here is?” her mother growled. “Someone attacked her!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Prenny’s old-sounding voice answered. “We’ve brought in over twenty Guardians. She’s perfectly safe. Besides, she needs to learn.”
“I’ll teach her,” Sacra said.
Prenny snorted. “Like you taught her before.”
There was a brief silence. “That was a mistake. I won’t repeat it.”
In her scratchy voice, Drenelle asked, “What does Senna want? Has anyone bothered to ask her?”
Senna was surprised to hear words of concern from Drenelle.
“What she needs is more important than what she wants,” her mother said.
Senna gripped her boots so tight the leather squeaked in protest.
“The answer is still no.” Then Coyel’s voice softened. “She’s nearly a woman, Sacra. You can’t force her to leave.”
“And if the past repeats itself?” her mother asked so quietly Senna had to strain to hear. When no one answered, her mother’s voice gained strength. “All of Haven couldn’t stop what happened then. But perhaps, far away from everything, I could—
“Oh, this is absolutely ridiculous,” Prenny said. “Sacra, you’re two henn extracts short of a trible potion.”
“By the Creators, what’s that supposed to mean?” Chavis asked.
“It means your argument is like a three-legged horse. A two-legged dog. A one-legged man.”
“Stop,” Coyel commanded. “I’m sorry, Sacra, but the answer is no. You may not take Senna from Haven.”
“Even if she wishes to go?” Her mother’s voice sounded broken.
The Heads murmured.
“Even then,” Coyel said above them.
Those words sent Senna scurrying down the stairs. In the parlor, she thrust her feet into her boots and shoved the laces inside the tongue. Boots clomping, she bolted through the door just as footsteps started down the stairs.
At the path, she tried to act normally as Coyel’s muffled voice leaked through the closed door. “Mistin? Oh, where is that girl! Every time I need a messenger, she just up and—”
The door groaned as it opened. Her mother’s voice overrode the Head’s. “Brusenna?”
Schooling her expression, Senna turned.
Her mother shut the door firmly behind her. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m on my way to meet Joshen for lunch.”
Her mother pursed her lips. “Where were you this morning?”
“I left early for the library.” Senna was surprised at how easily the lies rolled past her lips.
Sacra pulled her a little way off the path. “I need to speak with you.”
“About?”
“Brusenna, are you…happy here?”
Senna crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes.”
Her mother smoothed back Senna’s hair. “You don’t seem happy?”
A pang stabbed through Senna’s heart at her mother’s touch. She had the sudden urge to tell her mother that everywhere she went, the other Witches stared at her. Every time she fell short of anyone’s expectations, she let down those who believed in her and validated those who didn’t. Sometimes she felt like the Heads had set her up to fail. “I’m happier than I’ve ever been anywhere else.” That was more than she could say of their isolated, persecuted existence in Gonstower.
Senna gave a tight smile, pushed past her mother, and started toward the Guardian quarter. After a bit of searching, she found Joshen in the midst of sparring practice. Senna settled down on one of the enormous roots of the tree houses then pulled out her lunch of salt fish, buttered bread, and an apple. She placed the fish between the folded bread and took a bite.
Joshen’s chest was broad, his body hard and slick with sweat. He was tan, but whiter skin peaked beneath his trousers. Despite everything, the sight made her feel heady and her mouth go suddenly dry. She struggled to swallow, the remainder of her lunch forgotten.
From the Witches’ quarter of the island, a man approached them. Joshen and the other Guardian—a dark-skinned man with beads clinking on the ends of his hair—broke apart. The three spoke and the other two left together. Joshen trotted over to her.
She nodded toward the two men. “Who were they?”
Sitting beside her, Joshen glanced in the direction she’d indicated. “I was sparring with Collum. The one that came up after is Tempnee. He’s tailing you today, and he’s not too happy about you breaking the Head’s rules by coming here.”
Senna tucked her hair behind her ears.
Joshen laughed. “Don’t worry. Reden has given you access. Just don’t tell the Heads.”
She pulled her arms in tight. “I thought it was just you and Reden following me.”
Joshen reached over and took a bite of her lunch. “Mmm, fish.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “I have to get my training in, and Reden’s hands were full. Tempnee spells us.”
He stared ravenously at her meal. With a sigh, she broke off half and handed it to him. “Anyone else I should know about?”
Joshen tore into the hunk of fish and spoke through his chewing, “Collum, too.” At the look on her face, he swallowed abruptly. “They’re good men, Senna. Reden and I can’t be there all day every day.”
She picked at her crust. “It’s just…unsettling.”
Joshen licked butter off the corner of his mouth. “If it makes you feel any better, they both worship you. Most men do, especially after they hear you sing.”
She picked crumbs off her bandages. “That doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”
He grunted ambiguously. “They know their place.” He watched her picking at her bandage. “How’s your hand?”
“It itches.”
“That means it’s healing.” He finished off the rest of his food. “Hear you had a row with your Mom.”
She eyed him. “How do you know that?”
He shrugged. “The island’s not that big.”
“Timpnee?” Senna guessed. Movement caught her gaze. She looked down to see a spider skittering across her dress and starting up her arm. Shrieking, she jumped to her feet and shook her arm like a madwoman. Her lunch went flying.
Joshen darted to his feet. “What? What?”
“Spider!”
He gaped at her before bursting into laughter.
She lifted a shaking hand to point to where it was quickly escaping. “Kill it! Quick! Before it comes back!”
Still snorting with laughter, he stomped on it. Then he held out a forestalling hand to the other Guardians, who had stopped what they were doing to watch with concerned expressions. “It was just a spider.”
She smacked his arm. “Just? It was at least as big as an upice coin.”
She eyed the roots she’d been sitting on and decided standing was safer. Joshen picked up their food and brushed it off. He tipped his canteen and washed the dirt off her apple, then handed it back to her. She took the apple, but refused the rest of the bread and fish.
With a shrug, he polished them off. “Come on, I know you’re hiding something. Out with it.”
She groaned. “Mother tried to persuade the Heads to force me off the island to go into hiding again.”
He gaped at her. “And will you?”
“Of course not.”
He breathed out. “I agree with Coyel. At least here we don’t have to worry about mobs and lynchings.”
She nodded. “Joshen, I want to go to Tarten and try to lift the curse.”
He turned abruptly away from her, his fists clenched. “Senna, before, we didn’t have a choice, but we do now. Besides, there’s nothing one Witch can do.”
It was obvious he was avoiding the topic. She watched him warily. “You don’
t know what it’s like. I can feel Tarten’s pain, and I want to do something about it.”
Joshen dropped his head. “I know a little about feeling helpless—watching the person you love go through something when you can’t make it better.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but emptiness rushed in. She closed it and tried again. “I’m sorry, Joshen. I didn’t mean—”
Joshen gave a halfhearted smile and offered her his hand. “I know. Come with me.” She followed him away from the sparring field.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m doing my best to help you. You keep running off and taking these unnecessary risks.” Joshen’s jaw was set. “Senna, you’re one Witch. It would take all of them to lift the curse.”
Senna was so tired. “But I’m so much stronger now. I think I can lift at least some of it.”
“And then Haven would just reinstate it and you would be banished,” he said gently.
She dropped her head.
He sighed. “Just let it go for now. All right?”
Not wanting to argue, she nodded.
They stepped into a triangle of sunshine not far from Haven’s cliffs, which rose up before them, higher than even Haven’s tallest trees and impossibly circular. In a few places, part of the carved face had collapsed, leaving cones of scree butting up against the black rock. Senna saw occasional pieces of carvings—an eye here, part of a sun, even a bit of a foot. In the center of these shattered pieces of Witch history were straw targets.
There were a few muskets resting against a nearby tree’s roots. Joshen picked one up and started loading it. “I want you to practice until loading and firing comes as naturally as walking.”
Her heart pounding irregularly, Senna’s gaze darted between the musket and Joshen. Her hand closed around the puckered scar on her upper arm, a gift from the Witch Hunter, Wardof, and his musket.
Joshen’s mouth tightened at her reaction.
Senna took a step back, her heart hammering in her throat. “I–maybe another time. I have another class.”
“Not for nearly an hour, you don’t. And it’s only singing practice, which you often skip.”
There were disadvantages to Joshen knowing her schedule so well.
He pulled a pistol from his holster. “Try with this. It’ll be better for you anyway. More discreet. Easier to pack.”
“Joshen…”
“My job is to keep you safe, but that’s your job too. You should know how to protect yourself.” He nodded toward her seed belt. “And I want you to carry a knife from now on. I know you have one.”
Her mouth set, she took the pistol. It was heavier than she thought it’d be. Gripping it with her injured hand pulled uncomfortably at her stitches. She was glad she hadn’t picked up the musket. They were heavy.
She’d watched her Guardians load enough guns to have the basics down.
Joshen helped her measure the powder and gave gentle nudges, showing her how to stand. How to aim down the barrel and line up her target between the little notch on the end. How to let her breath out and hold still as stone. How to squeeze the trigger in one gentle pull.
They practiced until her arm was numb, her ears rang, and her hands were sooty with black powder.
Joshen nodded. “That’ll do for today.” He pushed the loaded pistol into one of the extra loops on her seed belt and handed her a horn of black powder and a pouch of balls. “You’ll have to fill the pan before it will fire.”
He watched her reaction carefully. “You need to be ready to use it, Senna. You need to make the decision that if someone tries to hurt you or someone else, you’ll do whatever you must to stop them. If you’re not, you’ll hesitate. And hesitation will kill you.”
She felt the weight of the gun on her hip and imagined a person between the notch at the end of the barrel, gently squeezing the trigger the way Joshen had shown her. And just like that, someone would be dead or dying.
“Can you do it?” Joshen asked her.
It was an enormous decision to resolve to kill someone—to come to the conclusion your life had more value than theirs. A hard choice, but easy, too. Hard because she valued life. All life. Easy because that included her own. “I can.”
8. Earth Tremor
The next morning, Senna received a summons to meet Coyel at her home. The Head answered the door on the first knock. “Let’s meet outside, shall we?” Coyel said. “It’s such a lovely day.”
They circled around the tree and entered a beautiful garden, thick with the smell of herbs and flowers. The Head of Sunlight settled onto her tree’s tangled knot of roots and gestured for Senna to sit beside her. A bit of sun leaked through the leaves. Coyel tilted her face toward it, seeming to soak it in like she was a plant herself.
Senna took a deep breath. “What’s happening to me? Why am I changing? Why am I in danger?”
Coyel’s eyes snapped open. She was silent for a time. “You need to trust me, Senna. Trust me when I tell you there is a time for everything. And this is not yet the time.”
Senna ground her teeth. “But—”
“It’s better this way. Let it go.”
Why didn’t they just tell her? Knowing arguing wouldn’t do her any good, Senna swallowed her questions and fears. They settled heavily in her belly.
Coyel took a deep breath. “Have you chosen your Discipline?”
Senna slumped against the tree. After she’d defeated Espen, the Discipline Heads had honored her by immediately elevating her to an Apprentice. So she hadn’t been forced to choose a discipline as was custom. The problem was, Senna loved them all. “It won’t be Plants,” she finally said, if for no other reason than to keep her distance from Prenny.
Coyel smiled as if guessing Senna’s true motivation, but said diplomatically, “No wish to spend your life in a garden or over a burner?”
Senna didn’t really mind either. “I wouldn’t want to be a healer.” Another of Plant’s specialties. All Witches were required to know healing potions and a few simple procedures, such as stitching a wound or setting a break. But blood always turned Senna’s innards into a quivering mess and made her wish someone else—anyone else—would take over.
“Nor will it be Earth.” She would never willingly sign up for endless days of “communing with the earth” in Drenelle’s company.
Coyel sighed. “So that leaves Water and Sunlight.” She lifted her palm, holding the sunbeams as if they were tangible. “You know, Sunlight is more than just learning politics or controlling the wind. It’s also about power.”
Senna frowned. “Power?”
The Head straightened and suddenly all traces of languidness were gone. She pulled a little pouch out of her dress pocket then untied it and reached inside. Her hands came out clutching a white powder. “Chalk.”
Coyel pinned her with her imperial stare. “Do you know why I hold more sway among the Discipline Heads?”
Senna slowly shook her head. “Only that in a group of four, someone has to hold the sway vote.”
Coyel tossed the powder into the air. Then she sang soft and low. Slowly, the wind stirred. It moved faster and tightened, catching the powder and sweeping it inward until the chalk churned into a shape like a spinning top. Coyel stopped singing. The wind eventually lost interest and moved on. The powder drifted to the ground.
The Head watched it fall. “Sunlight has always been the first among equals because of the nature of our Discipline. We’re leaders, diplomats. But it’s more than that. It’s the natural order of things. The heat from the sun causes the temperature changes that control the wind and sea, which in turn affect the plants and earth.” Coyel dusted the chalk from her hands. “It’s natural for Witches to gravitate toward Disciplines that enhance their talents.”
Shame heated Senna’s cheeks. “Which is why I haven’t chosen one of the other two. I haven’t the stomach for war or the ability to lead anyone.”
Coyel tipped her head to study Senna. “No one has all the qua
lities they need at the start.” She shrugged. “Power, remember? The power to change things. The power to make decisions. The power to affect how the Witches operate. Sunlight controls the wind. And what does the wind do? It changes things.”
Coyel must know how desperately Senna longed to revolutionize Haven’s structure. And she was obviously using that knowledge to manipulate Senna.
“I believe you should choose Sunlight as your discipline.”
Senna’s chest tightened. “But I’m terrified of big groups of people.” Any more than two and her head emptied of thoughts, her tongue turned to a useless lump of rawhide, and her body broke out in a cold sweat.
Coyel brushed her hands off in dew-coated grass. “Just because you are shy doesn’t mean you’re not a natural-born leader. Because you are. You have the ability to see what needs to be done and the initiative to follow it through.” The Head took a deep breath. “Besides, experience is the mediator of many of our faults. Every few years, I pick one exceptional student to be my Apprentice. Eventually, one of those girls will replace me as Discipline Head.”
Senna went rigid with shock. “But Arianis is your Apprentice. You’ve worked with her for years.” Everyone knew Arianis would someday be the next Head of Sunlight.
Coyel pursed her lips. “I’m meeting with her after we’re done here. Mirrus can finish her training for me.” At the expression on Senna’s face, Coyel pursed her lips. “Arianis is a fine Witch. One of the best. But a Head is always chosen because she’s the strongest in her Discipline. Drenelle has the strongest earth sense. Prenny is the best at potions. Chavis is an unparalleled tactician. The Head of Sunlight has always been the best singer. Your song is stronger than Arianis’.”
Senna’s heart sank. This was about the strength of her song? “But my song is only a part of me, only one kind of strength.” Didn’t anyone ever look beyond a Witch’s song?
“It’s the way things are, Senna. The way they have always been,” Coyel said gently.
“Well, maybe it’s time we started doing the right thing instead of following tradition. A Head should be chosen based on her abilities to lead, not her power.”