An image burst into Iseult’s mind from the weasel. A small gap in the fog. A wishbone-shaped stick shoved into the mud.

Iseult gasped. A Nomatsi trail was right here, and for once Iseult knew exactly what to do. Even better, Aeduan would not. The old Aeduan hadn’t been able to read such trails; this new one should fare no better.

He wouldn’t understand this innocently placed vine Iseult now saw meant a trail waited ahead. He wouldn’t recognize that stick ahead pointed toward a near-invisible gap in the fog. He would have to rely entirely on his Bloodwitchery to follow instead of whatever other tracking tools he’d used to get here—and with Owl completely covered in salamander fibers, surely Iseult and Owl could gain ground.

The weasel cut left to where a small slip of clear air was winding into the fog. Easily mistaken for a trick of the wind.

Iseult quickly covered Owl’s face with the salamander hood’s fire-flap and to made sure all the girl’s limbs were covered too. Then she wrapped her own face in the remaining strip of salamander fibers, and together, she and Owl dove into the world of the Solfatarra.

Fog rushed around them, tendrils reaching and gusts rolling. Several times, acid blew into Iseult’s face, forcing her to shut her eyes. Forcing her to wait and pray and suck in breaths. But the moments always passed; their forward progress always resumed.

Unfortunately, although Aeduan’s Threads had slowed, the silver Threads still hunted too—always, always.

“Hurry,” Iseult said, voice muffled by cloth and fog. “We must go faster.” She freed her right hand—it was already scalded anyway—and grabbed Owl’s shoulder.

Then she pulled and pushed and prayed to whatever god might listen.

And once again, her prayers were somehow answered. Forty paces later, they reached a craggy, yellow shore with two narrow canoes thrust upon it. Rickety vessels, but still intact despite the acid in the air, the acid in the waters.

Iseult hurried Owl to the stronger of the two vessels, and after bodily lifting the girl and dropping her inside, she raced to the other boat.

With a grunt and bolts of pain—acid in her eyes, acid on her hands—Iseult thrust the boat into the water. It bobbed away from shore, slower than she would have liked, but she could hardly splash out to help it now.

Right as she returned to the other boat, footsteps crunched on damp stones. She did not look back. Aeduan must have found a gap in the fog. Too quickly, too easily. Iseult grunted and heaved at the second boat, even kicking out two paces into the water. Acid splashed her bare hands and ate into her boots. Then she was far enough from shore to vault.