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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

It was a mother. It did understand, and unlike Gretchya, it hadn’t been there to save its child when death had come closing in. Now it wanted to protect Iseult.

And spooling atop the sunset was another shade—one she’d seen on Owl. One she hadn’t appreciated, though that color was the source of everything.

Three lines upon her Threadwitch gown. Three lines to represent the world of Threads: Threads that break, Threads that bind, and Threads that build. Iseult had lived so long with the gray, lived so long craving pink, she had forgotten entirely about the green.

Forever reaching, forever trying to forge and grow and become the bond this wyrm now offered her simply because it understood what it meant to love. Simply because even a monster could feel empathy and pain.

Iseult began to cry. Unbidden and unstoppable, the tears swelled in her chest. Her mouth hinged wide, and a hiccuping, sobbing scream tore free. It broke her more than Corlant’s storm had, and she welcomed it.

Because she had lived so long without seeing.

Even after she’d crossed a continent to save her Threadsister, even after Gretchya had chosen her, and even after Alma had died because of her inaction, Iseult still had not seen that true power had never been in death or in control. Cleaving was something she could do, but just as Alma had told her: it didn’t have to be that way.

She wasn’t merely the dark-giver. She was the shadow-ender too, and the Hell-Bards were not her tools.

“Thank you,” she said to the wyrm. A sound lost to the earth’s shaking and the storm still punching around them. “Thank you.”

At those words, the shadow wyrm gave a rumbling purr—more feeling than sound—and slithered its shielding body away. The storm instantly pummeled in. The earth’s shadows instantly grasped for Iseult again. But she was prepared; she already had exactly what she needed clutched in her hand.

The noose she’d taken a lifetime ago off a man she should never have slain.

She opened the cloth around it and placed her bare palm atop it. Then the world around her disappeared.

FIFTY-ONE

Vivia could not stop the drills. Vaness had crafted them for speed, and even she with her Ironwitchery could not stop the spell before the damage was done. No, Vivia wanted to scream. This warship wasn’t supposed to sink here. The Iris crew wasn’t supposed to still be in chains. The hunters weren’t supposed to still be in dinghies bouncing toward shore.

Now the plan was ruined. There was nothing for Vivia to do but fight and try to save as many Nubrevnans as she could.

Kadossi leaped into action. He opened his mouth, and pure fire poured forth, a stream targeted directly at Vivia. And this was exactly what she hadn’t wanted to do: face him directly.