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
Vivia ignored him and turned her gaze on the assassin. “Why does the Doge want us? Why did he send you here?”
The man held his groggy silence. His blood had gathered on the pale earth, and if the hunters released him, Vivia feared he would collapse and be gone for good.
A hand slid onto her shoulder. The Empress moved near. “Their crossbows all have iron.” She spoke in Lusquan—a language Vivia had not used or practiced in almost a decade. So strange was it, so unexpected, that it took her several moments to unravel Vaness’s words.
“And their blades are made of steel. I could end every one of them in a heartbeat, Your Majesty.”
“I … do not want bloodshed.”
A tightening across Vaness’s face, still damp from the Well. “Then I will shackle them.”
Vivia nodded ever so slightly. That she could live with.
“Simply give me the signal—”
“Enough chatter,” Yoris barked. “Come with us now and protect Noden’s Gift. It is the least a good princess would do.”
“Oh yes,” Vivia replied. She straightened, letting her magic rise within her. The river was far, but the Well had enhanced her. She could reach it. She could use it. “Perhaps it is what a good princess would do, Yoris.” She smiled at him. “But I am not a princess, you see? I’m a queen.”
She lifted her arms toward the sky, and in perfect sync, Vaness lifted hers.
Arrows loosed, though not toward Vivia or Vaness. They sprang wildly from their bows, melting as they moved while cutlasses flattened and flung. The hunters yelped. Some tried to run, some tried to charge. But it was no use. A fully healed Vaness was unstoppable—and a fully healed Vivia was too.
In seconds, the hunters were pinned to trees, to the earth, to each other while water gushed in, a spout of power that cocooned Vivia and Vaness in an impenetrable curtain. No one could see them nor stop them.
And this time, as they spun to flee, they grabbed each other’s hands and threw themselves into the first glimpse of sunrise.
THIRTY-ONE
Iseult would not be dismissed so easily. After ensuring Owl was willing to follow Alma to the healer, she shot off after Gretchya—already fifty paces away. The two hunters who flanked Gretchya allowed Iseult to get near, and when Iseult barked, “Give us space,” they actually obeyed.
Gretchya of course did not slow her loping pace across the tribe. Already, people collapsed tents, their Threads taut, bright with anxiety.
Your fault, Iseult’s brain declared. They have to run because of you.
“Why are you here, Mother?” She hurried into step beside Gretchya. It was easier to fling out accusations than face the ones flinging in. “What happened to going to Saldonica?”
“Corlant happened.” Gretchya did not slow, did not even look Iseult’s way. “He caught us before we could leave Dalmotti.”