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
“He is not what he seems.” Gretchya uttered this as a statement, her eyes fixed on Iseult’s face. Waiting for some emotion to cross, no doubt, so she could scold. Or perhaps waiting on the inevitable stammer to take hold of Iseult’s tongue.
She would be disappointed, though. Iseult’s mouth felt clear. The parasite had tucked back into its hole; stasis wrapped firmly around her bones. “I know.” She met Gretchya’s gaze, almost half a head below her own. “He is possessed. That is what the shadow birds mean.”
“Shadow birds?” Gretchya’s head cocked sideways, and Iseult realized in an instant that her mother hadn’t seen them. Like the Severed Threads of the Cleaved, those shadows were only for the Void. Yet how had Gretchya known something was wrong with him? What had her Aether-bound Threadwitchery sensed?
“Did you do that to him?” Gretchya asked. “Did you possess him?”
For a fraction of a heartbeat, Iseult had no answer. Then it bubbled up against her will: she laughed. A real laugh with a real smile, and she didn’t care if it wasn’t very Threadwitch of her. She didn’t care if her mother disapproved. “Of course I didn’t possess him.” She shook her head, eyes sweeping around the collapsing camp and the Threads blending and braiding nearby.
She opened her arms toward them all. “Monster though you think I am, Mother, I do not possess people. And I don’t hurt them simply to hurt them. But why argue?” Her arms fell. “You will never believe me?”
Gretchya offered no reply. Arrguing was not something Threadwitches did—and certainly not where everyone could see. The two hunters had perked up at Iseult’s laugh, and though they hid their interest behind stiff masks, they couldn’t hide their curious, listening Threads.
Gretchya noticed the audience too, and with a lift of her chin, she strode away.
Iseult debated following. Part of her itched to keep their conversation going. To force her mother to talk to her—to admit her disgust, her disdain, her disappointment for the first time in her miserable life.
Another part of her wanted to twist around and stalk the other way. Flee while she could, find a quiet corner, and study Eridysi’s diary, still hanging heavy in her pocket. She had fought Corlant to get it, and more importantly, she’d meant what she’d said to the false Aeduan: she would free him soon. Te librahje ma-in.