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Back Witchshadow Save as PDF
Chapters (70)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Map
  5. Epigraph
  6. BEGINNINGS
  7. PART I
  8. ONE
  9. TWO
  10. THREE
  11. FOUR
  12. FIVE
  13. SIX
  14. SEVEN
  15. EIGHT
  16. NINE
  17. TEN
  18. ELEVEN
  19. TWELVE
  20. THIRTEEN
  21. FOURTEEN
  22. FIFTEEN
  23. SIXTEEN
  24. SEVENTEEN
  25. EIGHTEEN
  26. NINETEEN
  27. TWENTY
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. TWENTY-NINE
  37. THIRTY
  38. THIRTY-ONE
  39. THIRTY-TWO
  40. THIRTY-THREE
  41. THIRTY-FOUR
  42. THIRTY-FIVE
  43. THIRTY-SIX
  44. PART II
  45. THIRTY-SEVEN
  46. THIRTY-EIGHT
  47. THIRTY-NINE
  48. FORTY
  49. FORTY-ONE
  50. FORTY-TWO
  51. FORTY-THREE
  52. FORTY-FOUR
  53. FORTY-FIVE
  54. FORTY-SIX
  55. FORTY-SEVEN
  56. FORTY-EIGHT
  57. FORTY-NINE
  58. FIFTY
  59. FIFTY-ONE
  60. FIFTY-TWO
  61. FIFTY-THREE
  62. FIFTY-FOUR
  63. FIFTY-FIVE
  64. FIFTY-SIX
  65. FIFTY-SEVEN
  66. TRICKSTER
  67. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  68. Also by Susan Dennard
  69. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  70. Newsletter Sign-up

A shout ripped out, followed by Threads of shock and pain—and shadows too. Aeduan must have hit a claw-toothed bear trap. He was near enough, though, for Iseult to see the birds in his Threads, winging past Iseult’s eyes, mottling her vision. Spurring her faster despite her muscles’ shrieking. Her throat felt crushed. Her back ready to break. Then, when she truly did not know how she could climb another rung, the fog ended.

It was like the edge from before—one moment, pain and clouds and death in all directions. Then suddenly, a clear sky and the cliff’s end only fifteen rungs away.

A sob left Iseult’s throat, and even Owl seemed to take heart. Her Threads briefly flashed with blue relief.

However, Wicked Cousin and Trickster were not done yet with Iseult. As she pushed herself even faster, straining to reach the ladder’s end, a face appeared over the cliff’s edge. A young woman with a fringe of black hair and moon-pale skin. In her hand was a bow, aimed directly at Iseult. “No closer!” she barked in Nomatsi. “Or we will shoot.”

Iseult did not obey. “Please!” she shouted, continuing to climb, unable to stop with Aeduan so near. “I am Iseult det Midenzi. Please! We need your help!”

For another two muscle-burning rungs, there was no reply. However, Threads all along the cliff—Threads Iseult was only just now sensing—shifted into alarm. Only then did Iseult realize the woman above her had no Threads, or at least none that she could see.

And only when she reached the end of the ladder and hands had grabbed hold of her did Iseult finally see who had called down to her. It was, of all the people in the universe, the one girl Iseult would have preferred never to see again. The one girl she had spent her entire childhood hating and avoiding.

Her mother’s favorite apprentice: Alma det Midenzi.

TWENTY-NINE

Alma.

There were thousands of people Iseult would have been less surprised to see. She felt sick. Like the world was closing in and she might retch at any moment. She was certainly on all fours, her stomach rebelling. Owl had curled into a ball several paces away, shivering. Her Threads doused again in shock.

“Get them water,” Alma said, no inflection, only command. Threadwitches couldn’t see other Threadwitches’ Threads, so her emotions might have been anything. Rage, annoyance, shock, horror—Alma was so adept at stasis that Iseult had no way of knowing.

“Hunted,” Iseult croaked, finding Alma’s beautiful heart-shaped face beside her, with its ice-white skin and frozen undertones. “A Carawen monk … hunts us.”

Alma nodded, as if she’d already known this. “He will be dealt with by our—”