And two Hell-Bards turn on Iseult. They reach her in three strides, and she cannot evade. Cannot fight when they slap her too—a bright ignition of pain. It sparks in her left cheek, then erupts through her whole skull. Briefly, the world goes dark, before they stuff her mouth with scarlet and yank a sack over her head.

Now the world is truly dark.

She chokes, she fights, she writhes, but she can do nothing against the restraints on her wrists. The Emperor and his Hell-Bards have won. Through the sack, though, she can still sense Safi’s Threads, still hear Safi’s gagged pleas.

But she cannot see what the Emperor does to her, and she certainly cannot stop it.

One moment, Safi’s Threads are white to their very core. Then Iseult hears a muffled shriek, high-pitched and pure, before Safi’s Threads turn to shadow.

It is done.

She is a Hell-Bard.

And now it is Iseult’s turn. They drag her toward the marble table. Safi’s Threads pulse in more closely. It is all Iseult can see: Threads. Safi’s, Henrick’s, and the Hell-Bards’ with shadows at their core.

Safi’s has a shadow now too, and muffled sobs slither into Iseult’s ears. It is enough to make her weep. Enough to make her scream inside the sack: “I will kill you, I will kill you, I will KILL YOU.”

Now Safi’s Threads are moving away. A body being dragged, as Iseult is bent onto the table. They do not sprawl her out as they did with Safi. She is simply forced down, her face and chest smashed against stone while shaded Threads crowd in.

In front of her is the Emperor. He must be the one whose hands now reach around her neck while cold stabs into her. It is pain she has never known that steals everything. She feels sucked dry yet stuffed full of frostbite. She is going to explode, to erupt, to collapse inward like broken ice on a stream.

Yet somehow, through the agony, a distant part of her still reigns. A cold, logical, Threadwitch part with a cold, logical voice that says, “You are cleaving.”

It is not cleaving like she does—of that much, she is certain. That cleaving is hot, that cleaving is fire. But the principle is the same, which means the mechanics are the same …

Which means she can control this.

The Witchmark on her hand is not mere adornment. She is a Weaverwitch with the power of the Void inside her and just enough of Eridysi’s old knowledge to guide her. Iseult has cleaved a man before, and she will cleave again because though they bind her and shroud her eyes, they cannot hide their Threads.

They cannot stop her magic.