Chapters (70)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Map
- Epigraph
- BEGINNINGS
- PART I
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- PART II
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- TRICKSTER
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Also by Susan Dennard
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Newsletter Sign-up
“There is nothing you can do,” Dysi says. “I must solve this myself.” She shuffles her gold-backed cards absently. “I will solve this myself. When next you come, I will have an answer. I swear on the Sleeping Giant.” Her silver eyes meet Stix’s, then each of the other Six in turn. Even the Rook, who squawks and ruffles his feathers.
“Good,” Stix says, lifting a warning hand at Bastien. He has become as harsh as the cyclones on the Windswept Plains, and Stix finds him harder and harder to manage. He loves her just as she loves him, but love is not a cure for what he has endured from the Exalted One called Lovats. Nor is revenge a cure, though Bastien won’t listen when she tells him that.
“We will leave first,” she tells the Six and Eridysi. “And we will see you in a sevenday.” Then she hooks her arm in Bastien’s and tows him toward the door.
A familiar orange tabby follows.
Like yesterday’s fight with the hawk, when the waves and the Ring and the barrage of the crowd punctured into Stix again, almost no time had passed. The sea foxes were coming for her; it was time to move.
Or time to whistle as the voices so clearly wanted her to do. Stix wet her lips, licking away salt and mud. Then she exhaled a weak burble of air while her heart thumped and her magic held the prisoners afloat.
The sea fox was still charging up from the depths. The crowd was now chanting—some had even started to boo. Why wasn’t the Water Brawler moving, they wanted to know? Why wasn’t she fighting back? “Ditch the bodies! Toss ’em down!”
Stix whistled again. Long. Clear. And loud enough for the crowd to notice.
They silenced instantly, and Stix had no doubt that if she could see their faces instead of just blurred streaks of skin, she would find a thousand wide eyes. A thousand horrified frowns. Superstition ran deep here, and Lady Baile’s poem was not to be crossed.
Stix whistled a third time, and it was the only sound to fill the Slaughter Ring. It carried over the rain, over lapping waves, and over the sea foxes still racing this way. But just as the crowds had heard the whistles, the sea foxes had heard them too—the one between Stix and the exit paused. Its face, silver-furred and sentient, eased into calm interest like a dog awaiting a command.
One of its massive eyes was damaged and milky.