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
“The child is a witch?” she asked.
“An Earthwitch.”
“What type?”
“No type. She is a full Earthwitch.”
“Oh?” The faintest twitch hit Alma’s eyes. Surprise, Iseult recognized—and the young woman hadn’t managed to hide it. Perhaps she is not so perfect after all.
Iseult’s delight was short-lived, for Alma didn’t seem to care that she had shown emotion. She seemed to relax into it, her melodic voice shifting to almost conversational. “I didn’t know full Earthwitches existed anymore.” She tapped a finger against her thigh. “No wonder Corlant wants her.”
“Or maybe Corlant wants her because of who she used to be.” Iseult scrutinized Alma’s face as she said this, hoping for some reaction. Hoping for some clue that the Threadwitch might know more than she let on. But Alma offered nothing. She only shook her head and glanced Iseult’s way.
“Used to be? What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” Iseult pushed away from the flap before Alma might press for more. In five long strides, she’d reached Owl’s side. The healer’s work was finished, and a tiny Painstone winked against the girl’s chest. Gone was any sign of steel pain in her Threads. Now there was only hostility and exhaustion.
Which of course Alma could see. Iseult’s molars ground in her ears, and though she knew she ought to start with gentle words—perhaps even ask how the child was feeling—all that came out was a curt “We must move on now, Owl.”
“Move on?” Stubborn gray wefted up her Threads. “Why? I don’t want to.” She looked at Alma, and strands of green Threads reached, reached. The Threads that build, looking for a connection. Looking for someone to listen and care.
But Alma didn’t care. Not really. She would leave Owl behind just as Gretchya would, and pretending otherwise would help no one. Least of all this little girl with a magic everyone hunted and a past that was not her own.
“They do not want us here,” Iseult answered simply. “And so it is time we leave.” She offered Owl her hand. The child didn’t take it. Instead, she stared at Alma, those green tendrils still straining for humanity of any kind.
Iseult hated how familiar it was.
All she had ever wanted in life was a place to call her own. A home, true and steady, where she would never be afraid. Where she would never feel unwelcome. But she did not belong here, with her Severed Threads and her Void magic, any more than she had in the Midenzi settlement, tucked away from the world with a magic that could never be what her mother wanted. She had not belonged in Veñaza City. She had not belonged in Praga.