Iseult had never wanted to shame Moon Mother, she had never wanted to shame Gretchya. Not then, not now, not ever. It was inescapable, though, for she couldn’t be the block of stone her mother wanted.

Yet she also couldn’t be the effusive, expressive human everyone else expected. Only Safi had ever understood that, only Safi had ever really cared.

Sensing Iseult had no reply, Gretchya turned away.

“Wait.”

Gretchya paused.

“D-do not hurt him, Mother. The Bloodwitch, I mean.”

“I will not, Iseult, because Threadwitches do not cause pain. That is only for the Void. Only for people like you.”

Aeduan knew the Threadwitch before him. Not well, but he had seen her at Corlant’s side in the caravan out of the east. Her blood smelled of lavender and lullabies, of cold earth and colder gemstones. He had always believed her an odd companion for the priest, but a willing one.

Now, as he stared at her in the light of a brazier’s glow, he realized he’d read her wrong. How else to explain this makeshift camp in the middle of a world of fog? He did not know if he should be impressed or annoyed.

Annoyed most likely, since he was now bound by chains to a column at the tent’s center. He had tried to break free as soon as the two women who’d captured him had fastened his shackles and left, but his efforts had proven useless. More than wood kept this column staked within the earth.

“Why do you hunt Iseult?” the Threadwitch asked in thickly accented Arithuanian, her voice detached. Intractable. Iseult watched from a nearby shadow, and Aeduan’s eyes cut to her as he said, “You know why. Just as you know you cannot escape him. He will find you here, exactly as he has always found you before.”

If the words bothered the Threadwitch, she gave no indication. She merely stared up her nose at the monk. It was a distinctive nose, snubbed and small. Iseult’s looked nothing like it.

“How many people follow you?” Gretchya asked, and Aeduan shrugged languidly. “I do not know.”

“How far behind is Corlant?”

Again, he shrugged. Again, he murmured: “I do not know.” But then he dipped his head toward Iseult and grinned. “She did real damage to him, so I doubt he will catch up anytime soon.”

The younger woman shifted her weight. Then shoved out of the shadow. “What is the creature that hunts me?” she demanded.

And Aeduan lifted his eyebrows.

“With silver Threads.” She strode closer, impatience in her movements though not upon her face. “Some monster. Ancient and huge.”

He laughed. Just a scoff at first, but then a full chuckle. “You tell too many stories.”

She blinked, her face betraying open surprise. It lasted only a heartbeat before she pursed her lips into nothingness. “How did you follow Owl and me?”

“I smelled you.”