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Back Witchshadow Save as PDF
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

Soon enough, she was in the hut once more, before the table and before the diary pages. The weasel glared at her from her spot beside Owl. She’d wanted to join Iseult, but Iseult had made her stay behind to stand watch.

“I have a new plan,” Iseult told her as she sank onto the stool. Instantly the weasel’s glare melted. She scampered toward the table, shimmied up a wooden leg, and came to a stop beside the lantern. Her excitement was palpable. She was bright and bubbly, as she often had been in her human life.

Or maybe that was Iseult’s own excitement. Her heart hammered. Her hands, for some reason, trembled, and heat gathered on her back and in her face. This was going to work. She was certain of it.

The golden noose glittered on the table, winking in the lantern’s uneven glow. The hut had grown hot from the stove; Iseult peeled off her outer cloak. Comfort, Eridysi’s notes said, is critical. One must be able to relax the body, and relax the mind.

After draping the chain over her thigh and removing her gloves, Iseult repeated the steps she’d tried before. Breathing in, breathing out. Staring into the lantern’s flame, focusing on both the light and Safi’s face. Until finally, she placed her hands over her thighs, over the chain. Breathe in, out, in, out …

Cold crashed into her. Her lungs compressed. Her whole body sharpened, even as her hand seared. She did not let go. Hell-Bard ice could not stop her. Safi, Safi, Safi. In. Out. In. Out. Safi, Safi, Safi—

The world fell away.

It was the Dreaming. Iseult knew that right away—only in the Dreaming was there so much gray, so much empty space with nothing inside. But this was different from what Iseult had experienced before, when she’d first communicated with Esme. Or when she’d met the Rook King in her sleep. There was movement in this great expanse. Pulsing and writhing. She saw it, she felt it, like a riptide bearing down, gentle at first. Then rougher, harder, as each frozen breath passed.

The magic was working.

Safi, Safi, Safi. In. Out. In. Out.

Pressure increased around Iseult. Her ears popped. Her breath fogged. She felt brittle and thin, like she was being stretched out, her very soul pulled taut as a bowstring.

Safi, Safi, Safi. In. Out. In. Out.

That was when the voices began and the figures appeared. One moment, nothing spanned before her; the next, a stampede of shadows rammed into her.

They poked, they grabbed, they dug into her flesh and yanked her hair—all while they whispered in tongues she could not understand. She tried to ignore them at first, even as faces began to form, made of Aether and Threads, sparkling, bright, colorful. Yet also tainted by the shadow of Severed Threads.