“She’s lucky,” Evrane commented, still watching Owl from across the fire. “If not for that collar, I would have to put her to sleep.” Her smug smile slid to Iseult. “The dark-giver knows how much fun that can be.”

Aeduan grunted, but if in amusement or annoyance, Iseult could not say. His Threads were once more unreadable, once more masked by avian shadows. Evrane’s Threads, however, were easy to interpret. She enjoyed taunting Iseult, just as she had enjoyed keeping her bound by nightmares at the Monastery.

Iseult kept her face blank as she swallowed more stew. She was stasis on the outside. Cold enough to make even her mother proud, while inside, she burned. These usurpers had chosen the wrong targets. They had imprisoned the wrong girl. Iseult was not the weakling of old. She didn’t cower, she didn’t break.

And she didn’t forget.

When she’d finished her food, Aeduan reclaimed her bowl and Owl’s. Like Iseult, the child had spilled soup down her cheeks. Iseult moved to wipe Owl’s face, but Evrane knocked her arm aside before gripping Owl by the hair. She tipped back Owl’s head and moved to stuff the wool gag back in.

Owl screamed.

And just like that, Iseult’s outward stasis crumbled. The fire in her chest erupted. The rage of the road, the rage of the Puppeteer. “Stop.” She leaped to her feet, hands clawed even as her wrists were bound. She would take Evrane’s Threads and she would destroy them. She didn’t care whose body this was, didn’t care what damage she caused.

Aeduan grabbed her. A rough slinging of his arms around her torso before he wrenched her away from Evrane. Brutal, hard, but Iseult could be brutal and hard too. She turned her claws on his face, her fingernails on his flesh. But he was stronger than she, and in mere heartbeats, he had her pinned to a tree.

The tree she’d been tied to before, while at the campfire Owl wept, her tiny body dry-heaving against the wool. Evrane laughed and laughed.

“She’s choking.” Iseult grabbed at Aeduan’s chest. She didn’t fight him this time, didn’t resist the arm he pressed into her throat. Instead she simply begged. “Please, the child can’t breathe. Help her.”

“She’s fine,” Evrane spat, and she dragged Owl toward the ash tree. In moments, she had the girl tied up again. Still, Owl choked and cried.

Meanwhile, Aeduan simply watched. Simply waited. Only when the other monk was seated at the fire again did he show any reaction or make any move. Without releasing his hold on Iseult, he bent sideways and tugged at the wool in Owl’s mouth. He didn’t remove the gag entirely, but he pulled it far enough forward that Owl’s chest and throat relaxed.