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Chapters (70)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Map
  5. Epigraph
  6. BEGINNINGS
  7. PART I
  8. ONE
  9. TWO
  10. THREE
  11. FOUR
  12. FIVE
  13. SIX
  14. SEVEN
  15. EIGHT
  16. NINE
  17. TEN
  18. ELEVEN
  19. TWELVE
  20. THIRTEEN
  21. FOURTEEN
  22. FIFTEEN
  23. SIXTEEN
  24. SEVENTEEN
  25. EIGHTEEN
  26. NINETEEN
  27. TWENTY
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. TWENTY-NINE
  37. THIRTY
  38. THIRTY-ONE
  39. THIRTY-TWO
  40. THIRTY-THREE
  41. THIRTY-FOUR
  42. THIRTY-FIVE
  43. THIRTY-SIX
  44. PART II
  45. THIRTY-SEVEN
  46. THIRTY-EIGHT
  47. THIRTY-NINE
  48. FORTY
  49. FORTY-ONE
  50. FORTY-TWO
  51. FORTY-THREE
  52. FORTY-FOUR
  53. FORTY-FIVE
  54. FORTY-SIX
  55. FORTY-SEVEN
  56. FORTY-EIGHT
  57. FORTY-NINE
  58. FIFTY
  59. FIFTY-ONE
  60. FIFTY-TWO
  61. FIFTY-THREE
  62. FIFTY-FOUR
  63. FIFTY-FIVE
  64. FIFTY-SIX
  65. FIFTY-SEVEN
  66. TRICKSTER
  67. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  68. Also by Susan Dennard
  69. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  70. Newsletter Sign-up

And it is wrong for her to leave him without a reply. So Iseult twists back to face him, dappled once again in shadow and dressed in Trickster’s favorite silvery gray. Three long strides and she closes the distance between them. He stands one step below her, so their faces are the same height.

He swallows. “Please, Iseult—”

“No.” She shakes her head. “You don’t love me.” She cups his face, a gentle gesture. One she is not accustomed to making, but that, in this moment, feels right.

After all, a thousand years is such a long time to be alone.

“You love me no more than I love you.”

“But I do, Iseult—”

“No, Rook King.” She drops her hands. “You’ve simply forgotten what it feels like to be seen.”

Then, before he can protest any further, Iseult turns away, gathers Owl to her, and steps into the cold Pragan night.

PART II

Witch Shadows

THIRTY-SEVEN

The dark-giver lay upon a pallet before Aeduan. A small stove warmed the tent, and Evrane, who had first undressed Iseult and cleaned her various wounds, had not come in hours. She’d had duties elsewhere, duties assigned by Corlant.

None dared disobey him—though it was not fear that compelled them. Quite the opposite. The Purists wanted his approval, his nods of pleasure, his promises that Midne would bless them.

It reminded Aeduan of someone who had died all those centuries ago. And sometimes he wondered if perhaps Corlant was not the one he said he was … Aeduan had no proof, though, and when he had told Evrane, she had only laughed at him. Impossible, she’d declared. Portia was the first of us to go. We saw her die inside that mountain.

Aeduan did not remember, but he also saw no reason to argue—just as there was no reason to pursue his suspicions. Corlant had, at the time, wanted what Aeduan and Evrane had wanted. Now, Aeduan was not so sure that held true. He had helped Iseult, even if Corlant and Evrane had not yet realized.

And even if he himself had not fully accepted it.

No, he could not deny the first Aeduan still lived inside him, prodding and hinting and rising to the surface whenever he let down his guard. That soul was proving stronger than he’d anticipated.

It was not entirely unwelcome, though. There were angles and depths in this body that only the first soul understood. And there were angles and depths in the dark-giver too. Ones he did not hate as he ought to. Ones he found himself drawn to, just as he’d once been drawn to Her.

You always were the weakest of us. Maybe that was true.