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Back Witchshadow
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

Trust me, Iseult thought at her. I will fix this.

She pushed weakly to her feet, her bandages stained entirely to red, and looked square in Corlant’s face. “Reanimation was in the diary. How did Portia do it? You told me you remembered everything.”

A hint of shock in his Threads, a hint of the lines upon his forehead. Then Corlant tipped back his head and laughed. A full-throated howl at a cloud-clotted sky. No moonlight now. Nor sun nor even flame. Only shadow.

“Reanimation is one thing you and I will never do.” Corlant’s face thrust in, so close. The rotting bandages, the skin sallow and slick. “That was only ever his power, no matter how much Portia tried. The Aether decides where souls rest, Iseult; we simply rule their bodies. But.” He leaned in closer, his breath as fetid as his wound. “Why do you care if this girl dies? Why do you want to bring back the reward that could have been yours?

“I gave you a chance to claim power. I gave you a chance to become the dark-giver at my side, yet still you fight it. Why? You are my daughter, and there is only one way you can ever be.”

“You’re wrong.” Iseult spoke so quietly, he had to dip in all the nearer to hear her. And she smiled at him, a real smile borne on real emotion now flooding out fast. “Because you’ve forgotten one thing, Father.” She thrust up a blade. The blade she’d pulled from Alma’s body and so easily hidden within her bloodied bandages. “I am my mother’s daughter too.”

Iseult shoved the knife into Corlant’s other eye.

Blood sprayed, hot and foul, and Corlant’s Threads tore wide as a cyclone. His screams did too. He didn’t die because he’d stolen too much power from the Nomatsi prisoners to go that easily.

But he hurt—oh, he hurt, his Threads white and frantic. His shrieks beating into her.

Iseult dove for her mother and grabbed Gretchya’s arm with her ruined hands. Together, they sprinted for the nearest copse of trees.

FORTY-FIVE

“I’m going to fix this,” Iseult panted as she and Gretchya raced through a forest doused in snow. They’d left behind bloody tracks—Alma’s blood and so, so much of it. “I swear … Mother. I can fix this.”

These were words Iseult had uttered a thousand times since Praga. Words that had been an empty vow with no true power behind them because she’d lacked a magic vast enough to do what needed doing. She’d lacked the knowledge too.

Now she had clarity. Now she understood.

Gretchya didn’t ask how Iseult would fix everything. Her breaths were labored and already her pace was lagging. Purists had chased them ever since they’d left Corlant, who’d been screeching and bleeding and only temporarily maimed.