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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

As far as Stix was concerned, though, that didn’t matter because as far as she was concerned, the tools didn’t exist. If Ryber cared about them, then they were Ryber’s problem. Which was why, for weeks, Ryber had kept them close, wrapped in a brown salamander cloth she was careful to never let Stix see.

But clearly she was done playing that game, for she raised the subject three more times on their carriage ride back to the inn. Stix ignored her every time.

Death, death, the final end. Death on flapping wings.

FIFTEEN

Once, the monk named Evrane had been gentle with Iseult. She had saved her life on multiple occasions and had even been Iseult’s hero—and been the reason Iseult wanted to see the Carawen Monastery and become a monk.

Now, Evrane was a monster, possessed by shadowy Threads shaped like birds. And now, her fingers were rough, her eyes cruel.

“What do we have here?” Evrane pulled the stolen noose from Iseult’s pocket. She’d already claimed Iseult’s thigh knife, a small canteen at Iseult’s hip, and the Hell-Bard map from her pocket.

Iseult couldn’t answer. Her mouth was stuffed with pieces of her own wet cloak that Aeduan had shoved in after dragging her over the stepping-stones and binding her wrists with leather cord. All the while, Owl had watched from beside Evrane, eyes huge with silent tears.

The weasel was nowhere to be seen.

Evrane lifted the chain toward Aeduan. “This looks like his, no?”

Aeduan glanced over, Threads and expression bored. He’d already finished searching Owl and now he was preparing the horses by tossing away most of Iseult’s carefully chosen supplies.

“Yes,” he said without interest. “It’s what Portia’s cursed wear. The ones they call the Hell-Bards.”

“So why do you have it, I wonder?” Evrane stared at Iseult, her Threads keen with interest. “This Witchmark upon your hand is new too.”

Evrane dropped the noose into her pocket, seemingly unconcerned that Iseult could not answer her interrogation, and resumed her search, probing, groping, scrutinizing, until at last she reached Iseult’s neck and pulled back Iseult’s collar. A strange gleeful hunger widened in her eyes, smearing her Threads to purple. She expected to find something—was ready for it, even.

But when she stared into Iseult’s shirt, surprise brightened her Threads. “She does not have it.” She yanked Iseult closer, peering deeper into her tunic. Please don’t see the diary pages, Iseult prayed.

Somehow, Evrane did not. She released Iseult’s collar, and Iseult listed back. “Where is it, girl? Where is the stone?”

Of course, Iseult couldn’t answer—and now Evrane’s Threads were blood red with frustration. She yanked the wool from Iseult’s mouth. Iseult coughed.

“Where is it?” This time when Iseult did not answer, Evrane slapped her. A crack of flesh that sent Iseult’s head snapping sideways.