Leaving would be the proper thing to do. It would be what her mother expected, what everyone expected. Stasis, Iseult, stasis in your … The refrain trickled to a stop. She had abandoned stasis two weeks ago; she couldn’t let herself fall into it now. Besides, after Gretchya sounded so much more enticing than walking away. This fizzy chop in her chest, like a river churned by storm, wanted an outlet. It was accustomed to having an outlet after weeks on the road, weeks as a Voidwitch, weeks as the Puppeteer.

So she gave in, a small smile playing at the edge of her lips as she stalked after Gretchya. This must be how Safi always felt, letting emotions and fire rule.

“The healer’s tent is that one.” Gretchya pointed at one of the few tents still intact; weak smoke coiled from its heart.

“I don’t seek the healer’s tent. I seek you.” Iseult studied her mother’s profile. “How did you know something was wrong with the Bloodwitch?”

“The same way a healer senses rot within a wound. There are some things one simply recognizes as wrong.” She didn’t add, Like you, but the words drifted between them anyway.

And Iseult’s hunger for a fight ratcheted higher. “You may hate my magic, Mother, but you were the one who made me. I am of your blood, whether you like that truth or not.”

Gretchya conveniently did not reply. Instead, she said: “You will travel with us for a time, but because of the heretic’s collar, the child cannot stay.”

“You would abandon her? What a great hero you are.”

The hunters’ Threads winked with surprise and revulsion, tropical blue twined with taupe.

“She is only a child,” Iseult continued, “yet you would leave her behind to fend for herself?”

“Many people are under my protection, and Dirdra is a liability—”

“She is a child.” There was the laugh again, bursting free from Iseult’s chest. Shrill and hollow. The Threadwitch tent was only a few paces away, and soon her mother would enter. Soon their exchange would end. So Iseult added, loud enough for the hunters to clearly hear, “Fortunately, Mother, the child has me to protect her. We’ve made it this far without any help. We’ll continue on alone.”

She ground to a halt though her mother moved on. The hunters had heard this exchange; their Threads mashed with disgust and confusion.

This is your hero, Iseult thought at them as they marched past. Do you respect her still?

Gretchya paused at the tent’s black entrance, forcing the hunters to pause too. She was absolute stasis, no shame to trip up her tongue. No guilt to flush on her face.