“It’s not my blood.”

“Thank the gods for that. Whose is it though?”

Iseult never answered. Not before the white collar at her neck burst into movement. It raced down her body and hit the snow.

It was an ermine. A weasel with its winter coat. And somehow, though it didn’t speak with actual words, it uttered a sentient chatter that reminded Safi of another creature—except that the weasel was the old crow’s opposite: white fur with black upon the tail versus black feathers with white around the beak.

The weasel squeaked, a frustrated sound that seemed to say, Just let them die and be done with it.

Iseult shook her head. Her bandaged hands trembled. “Not again. Not this time.”

The weasel’s tail flicked. She chattered and ran toward the nearest Windwitch. She twirled twice around his legs, but Iseult only shook her head harder. Her hands quaked. “I know I need a Loom, Esme, but there’s no time.”

Safi eyed the weasel with a frown. She knew the name Esme, and though her Truth-lens said nothing, her gut told her plenty: that animal had once been human. That animal had once been the Puppeteer. “Iseult,” she started to say at the same moment Iseult jerked her chin toward the sky.

“Corlant is coming.”

Safi looked south—Caden too, still kneeling with his face pinched tight. It pinched all the tighter once he spotted what Safi saw: a storm gusted their way. No snowstorm either, but a hurricane with black clouds and lightning.

Safi’s heel started bouncing. “The Cursewitch made that?” Iseult had told her of the priest who’d hunted her, but Safi didn’t understand how he could be here. Or for that matter, how he could be controlling such a storm.

“There’s more.” Iseult flexed and fisted her shaking hands. “Hell-Bards approach from the north. They march this way from the hunting lodge, and will be here any moment. We need to move.”

“Shit.” Caden towed in his legs again. “The Windwitches must have come from there. How close are they? I can walk.”

“Lie,” Safi spat as her lens murmured the same. And this time when she dropped to Caden’s side, he didn’t resist. He was much too cold to the touch, though sweat shone on his brow. She looped an arm behind him and helped him clumsily to his feet. “You’re … heavy,” she said, trying for a distraction.

“All muscle,” he wheezed. Then he leaned upon her, his chest billowing. The crash must’ve damaged a vital muscle. Possibly even broken a bone.

“Caden.” Iseult swallowed, a sign that her stutter was taking control. A sign that she was losing her Threadwitch calm. “We’re going to have to run. Their Th-Threads are … near.”

“I can manage,” he said, and though he believed his words and the Truth-lens stayed silent, Safi shook her head at Iseult. He definitely couldn’t make it.