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
This diary was her destiny. This diary was her path. All she lacked were two things. Then she and Owl could brave the Solfatarra once more.
“Esme?” she whispered to the forest.
It took a moment for a response to come. But when it did, it was strong—overwhelming in its power. A warm sunset inside Iseult’s mind. If Esme had still been herself, she would have been smiling, one dimple carving in deep.
There was something else there, though. Something deep and anxious.
Where are you? Iseult thought. We won’t leave without you.
Another quaver of sunset warmth, and then branches rustled on the other side of the stream. Moments later, a streak of white slithered from the shadows.
Iseult shot to her feet, delight sparking in her muscles. The weasel reached her and scuttled up her leg with a familiar scratch of claws. “Where have you been?” she asked as Esme wound around her neck.
Hiding, the weasel replied, sharing an image of forest, forest, and more forest steeped in white.
Then came the image of Aeduan, his eyes ablaze and nose sniffing. Snow gathered on his shoulders and hair. Near, Esme said. He is coming.
THIRTY-FOUR
The shadow birds reached Iseult and Owl first, carried on Threads of green determination. What Iseult didn’t know was what Aeduan might be determined to do. His face offered no hint as he pushed beneath the spruce branches, carrying snow and winter air with him. He moved as he always did, feral and caged. Not so different from the true Aeduan, yet marked by just enough discomfort that Iseult would never mistake them.
Iseult sat beside Owl, and to her relief, the Painstone’s power thrummed on. Owl was neither surprised nor scared nor even particularly interested that Aeduan had arrived. The weasel was tucked out of sight on a branch.
A single step and he reached them. Red whorled over his eyes and his nostrils widened, a sign he used his magic.
“You figured it out.” Iseult patted at the taler once more twined around her neck. Her breath puffed.
He did not answer. Instead he drew a small Nomatsi hunting knife and aimed it toward Iseult. Owl’s Threads flickered with gray fear, but only momentarily before the Painstone’s power cleaned them away. “You wanted me free. Why?”
“Help me.”
“I think not.”
Iseult’s gaze flitted to the blade. Then back to him. He wouldn’t use it. “You owe me, Old One.”
A sniff. The knife held steady. Amusement and curiosity wove across his Threads. “Do I?”
“I need to find Corlant.”
“And I need to deliver you to him.”
“You don’t trust him, though,” Iseult replied. “He says he’ll give you my body, but you know that isn’t true.”
“And will you give it to me?”
She shook her head. “You don’t want it.”