by Katie Cross
“Show me Cecelia.”
A wisp of Cecelia bubbled up, a simple recreation of the calculating, flamboyant witch who Isadora so dreaded. Haughty. Lips pressed in a thin line. Gaze pointed down. The expression on her face indicated pain. Isadora waited for the wind to stir, for the magic to whisper a word about Cecelia.
Nothing.
Isadora stared at her in disappointment. She’d expected something like ruthless or murderer.
“Remove her. Show me the Defenders.”
Ten shadows populated in place of Cecelia. They seemed to slam into the space all at once. Her magic tugged, strained. She pressed into it, feeling relief from allowing it to flow, unrestrained. It drained out of her, moving as fast as lightning while the shadows attempted to expand.
Whispers assaulted her on all sides. They grew to a crescendo. Shouts. Distant wails. She understood none of it. Heaviness pressed in on her. Letum Wood darkened. Yet, somehow, the light itself brightened, racing from the trees to the ground at her feet. Dark shadows sprouted nearby, sweeping in with an oppressive weight. Silhouettes crept over the ground, branching off Isadora’s own path, to spiral into the forest. The light countered, radiating brighter than ever, as if a battle waged between the two.
Isadora reared back, blinded. “Wait!” she cried. “No!”
More whispers came, as if tripping over themselves. The power continued to tug at her, as if … as if she were pulling the Defenders into the paths.
No.
Not possible.
Weariness rushed over her. The strange forms began to coalesce. A face. A beard. A hint of blonde hair. They weren’t wisps—but they weren’t yet solid, either. As if they were trapped in some in-between.
“Stop!” Isadora cried.
The smoky images slammed to the ground, vanishing with a curl of smoke.
The darkness ebbed. The light gained more ground, outshining the shadows as they slipped away. The oppressive air retreated.
Isadora dropped to her knees with a gasp, feeling as if her body had just been entirely emptied, heart and soul. An eerie silence hung in the forest.
Something cold tugged on her, overcoming her in a suffocating wave. Isadora closed the magic and woke back on the beach, choking on seawater. She shot out of the sand as a second wave crashed over her.
A Guardian shouted from La Torra.
“Oy!”
Isadora stumbled to her feet, nostrils on fire. Water drained from her mouth as she coughed. Two Guardians stood on the islet, their arms crossed.
“Stupid girl!” one of them called. “What are you doing? Drowning? Come, now. Whatever you’re upset about can’t be that bad.”
They snickered.
Isadora drew in a deep draught of air as she crawled up the shore. They laughed when she shoved the hair out of her face.
“All right, then?”
“Lavanda maids.” One shook his head, clucking. “Not very intelligenta.”
Ignoring their cackles, Isadora swam back to La Torra and stumbled her way toward the lavanda. Her body tingled. The risk of attempting such a foolish thing had been too great. Had she just called the Defenders back? Had she ruined everything?
Although she couldn’t explain it, something strange had happened.
Something terrifying.
Isadora sat on the edge of her bed and drummed her fingers along her cheek. A fire crackled in the hearth, sending out sporadic waves of heat to warm the wet air. She blinked, entranced by the flickering flames before she forced herself to look away. At this rate, she’d fall into a relaxation so deep it would take her back into the paths.
Her gaze darted to the clock.
“Any minute now, Max,” she murmured.
I’ll arrive at eight, his letter had said. If I’m not back from the Eastern Network’s High Priest’s Ball by then, consider me dead. Transport back to the Central Network.
Four minutes left.
Isadora’s legs already ached from pacing—on top of a full day of laundry and suppressing the urge to wander the castle again. She’d need to lay low for a bit after the strange event in the paths last night. Since then, the island had been oddly quiet. The Defenders had returned from their raid surly and empty-handed. She’d heard nothing more about it.
She leapt back to her feet to pace, and then her door opened.
“Maximillion?”
A thin, twiggy man scowled at her, clad in an elegant black coat, ironed to perfection, with coattails hanging halfway to his knobby knees. His eyes were ocean green tonight, his hair blond and subdued. She recognized a few features—Maximillion often maintained his strong brows and thin lips when he transformed.
“You were supposed to be gone by now,” he muttered, dusting pieces of fluff off his shoulders, as if he’d rolled in a bath of feathers.
Her gaze flickered to the clock. “You were only one minute over. Why such a strange message?”
The color bloomed again in his face. Pale skin gave way to something infinitely healthier, with a sharper jawline and fuller cheeks. Something heavy clenched in her chest when she realized she was drinking him in, like a starving witch who hadn’t eaten in days.
The good gods. Had she missed him?
“I was in a perilous situation,” he said, drawing her back to the moment.
She waited. When no other explanation was forthcoming, she tried not to roll her eyes. “And?”
“And nothing. It was a ball. I was spying on Cecelia.”
“Why?”
“Because it was an opportunity,” he snapped. “Since when do you question me?”
“I’ve always questioned you.”
His expression darkened. He didn’t dispute her. “Waste of time. The blasted Eastern Network leaders think they’re so important. Cecelia didn’t even look at Dante once all night long, which makes it difficult to prove my theory that they’re having an affair.”
“She seems far more discreet than that.”
“Perhaps, but she left before I did. No answers, whatsoever.”
“But did she really leave?”
“She’s returned here, if that’s what you wanted to know.”
Disappointment overcame her. Not only had she hoped for more from the event, but Cecelia’s arrival meant the tension would return to La Torra. The lighthearted environment amongst the staff would be sorely missed. Even if they didn’t let her participate in it.
“I see.”
He eyed her briefly over his shoulder while he stood with his hands extended toward the fire. She couldn’t imagine why he would have been cold at a ball.
“Have you noticed anything unusual?” he asked.
“Like?”
“The Defenders. Have they been acting strangely?”
“Not that I can tell.”
He frowned. “Odd. The raid they had last night … something happened in the middle of it. They … I don’t know.”
Isadora gulped. “Oh?”
Maximillion fell into thought, then shook his head. “Never mind. Your powers. How are you handling them?”
“Ah …”
His head snapped up, eyes narrowed, the moment he sensed her hesitation.
“Ah, they’re fine,” she said, adding in a mumble, “sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ve found a safe place to use them.”
“Nowhere in the East is safe!” he hissed. “Or have you forgotten how it felt to watch that other Watcher die? Are you mad?”
“I wasn’t in the Eastern Network. At least … not really.”
His gaze tapered. “Where in the name of the good gods were you?”
“The … ocean.”
When she explained the almost deadly encounter with Cecelia in the dining room and her unexpected release of magic, his nostrils flared.
“When did you first try such a foolish thing?”
“An inconsequential detail.”
He turned his back to her and stared at the wall. Isadora bit her
bottom lip. He appeared downright irascible now—which meant it certainly wasn’t the right time to tell him about the other side of her powers. The idea that she could see witches—personality traits too, it appeared—possibly pull other witches into the paths infinitely complicated … everything.
When he faced her again, all signs of annoyance had cleared. Instead, he seemed strangely neutral. Was he trying to hide something?
“Have you seen any Defenders in the paths?” he asked.
“Ah … sort of.”
“Cecelia?”
She thought back to the shadows. Cecelia’s strange form. She’d seen her but hadn’t gotten any kind of glimpse into who she was. It seemed something about Cecelia, perhaps La Torra, complicated the magic.
“Not exactly. Anyone in La Torra is vague, undetailed.”
“It shouldn’t be possible to conjure a Defender in any form with our magic.”
“I didn’t see her well. At least, not as completely as I see others.”
“It’s still not possible.”
“I did it.”
He scowled again, but fell into thought. He turned back to the fire. “Well … stop trying. I don’t know what the repercussions are.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s possible a Defender could know when you’re attempting to see them.”
Isadora cast about for a reply but found none. He had a point. They knew little about the Defenders’ magic. About their own magic, even.
Maximillion’s hair had returned to its usual dark mass by now, as rumpled as ever. They sat there, lost in the silence. Then his shoulders softened, and he seemed a bit more at ease. Light flickered across his skin as he stared into the flames. Isadora turned away before she too deeply appreciated the handsome, sculpted angles of his cheekbones.
“Any updates on the Central Network?” she asked.
“Nothing noteworthy.”
“I would like to know—”
“No word from your family.”
Her heart sank, but she hid it. Nestled amongst all her other worries were Sanna and Mam and the other Dragonmasters. What were they doing? Were they safe? Was the gradual onset of spring easing their hunger? She committed herself to writing another letter that night and sending the ten she’d already written to Sanna with him.
“I’ll check again when I return,” he grudgingly muttered.
“Thank you. I have some updates and observations.”
With a weary nod, he motioned for her to continue. For the next twenty minutes, Isadora relayed everything she’d seen. From the number of Defenders, to how often they did—or didn’t—practice, to the sheer quantity of storms whipping past the castle. She couldn’t imagine how that meant anything, but told him anyway. He listened without interruption, but she knew he was filing the information in his head.
“That,” she said, “is all I have right now.”
He stood. She tilted her head back, wishing she could ask him to stay. The nights were so quiet here—so long and barren without the noises of the forest or the city or Pearl snoring. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again.
“I’ll check on you at some point.” He reached for the door, then paused with his hand on the knob. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes,” he snapped. “There’s another raid, and I thought you’d like to know how it pans out.”
Before she could manage a reply, he transported away, leaving nothing but a lonely whistle of air in his wake.
Chapter Nineteen
Weak hints of sunlight filtered slowly through the canopy early the next morning.
Sanna woke before anyone else stirred in the camp. Moments after opening her eyes, she began to climb again. Luteis flanked her without a word, using his talons to dig into the bark. Even though the vines, moss, and fallen branches made navigating slow, Sanna climbed until her chest and legs burned. By the time she made it to the top, sweat trickled down her spine, and moss stained her toes.
Luteis peered over the treetops and launched into the sky alone. Sanna appreciated the elegant angles of his form. A broad wing span. Orange scales glinting in the sunlight.
He dove into the treetops, reemerging from their emerald depths seconds later. Something hung from his jaws. He snapped it in half in mid-air, then proceeded to devour it as he flew.
Sanna rolled her eyes.
Show off.
After they’d returned, he’d spent hours hunting for Cara and the hatchlings, only providing food for the other dragons if they attempted to hunt themselves. When he returned, bright-red blood glistened on the delicate scales around his jaw. She put a hand over her eyes to shield them from the bright sunlight.
I desire a long flight, Luteis said, curling his head to meet her gaze. Perhaps to find Finn.
“Finn?”
We must warn them. They can’t be that far away by now.
She shifted uneasily. He was right, but confronting Finn wouldn’t be easy. Although, a ride on Luteis would get her away from Jesse and his happy family and the ghost of Daid and Isadora.
“All right.”
She climbed onto his back, feeling the magic shift within her like a sigh. He sprang from the branch, his powerful talons carving imprints in the tree. Instead of flying away from the sun, Luteis turned north.
You think Finn went too close to the border and got the attention of the mountain dragons, don’t you? she asked.
I think it’s possible.
The implications were staggering. Would that place the blame for this mountain-dragon debacle on Finn? Hadn’t she warned him not to leave? Her shoulders slumped. No. This wasn’t Finn’s fault.
It was Deasylva’s.
Or Selsay’s.
Sanna’s braids flapped behind her as they soared over Letum Wood. An hour passed. She lay back, legs draped over his shoulders, her body kept warm by the friendly burn of his scales along her spine.
The sun continued to climb, but the cool air made it difficult to feel it. Her thoughts spun out, and for the first time since they’d returned, Sanna felt free to think. Luteis hung low in the sky, skimming the treetops, his nose constantly assessing. They canvassed several areas for almost an hour.
No water here, he said.
“The canopy is too sparse, too.” She gazed down on a patch infested by strickenine moss. “They certainly couldn’t live there.”
Luteis grunted and flew on.
Another hour passed. They scouted water sources, then flew along the streams, searching for signs of life. Sanna stood up, stretching her arms. Luteis slowed, nostrils wide. I smell something familiar.
His nose lifted in the air.
Only the whistle of wind echoed in her ears. But what were the chances that she would hear anything while flying? Then the sound of a shriek jerked her out of her reverie. Sanna whipped around, held firm on Luteis’s back by the magic. His head turned to the right.
Did you hear that? he asked.
Sanna leaned forward to gaze over his wing. Letum Wood stretched in an eternal expanse of green, except for a few dimpled, purple mountains in the distance. They were certainly further north here. She swallowed hard.
I did. Could be a screaming gnome.
Another cry came, this one familiar.
Down there, he said, head ducked to study the trees. I see flashes of color. Fire, perhaps.
Go.
They dove. The roar of the wind in her ears drowned out all sound. What felt like an eternity later, Luteis slid into the canopy. His descent slowed as he spread his wings, navigating around the sprawling trunks, knots of vines, and fallen branches with impressive dexterity.
I must stop, he said. I cannot navigate this safely.
I can. Meet me down there. Stay unnoticed if you can. Let me see what’s happening first before you announce yourself.
Sanna leapt off his back and grabbed a vine. Bursts of fire and screams came from beneath them. Her hands burned as she loosened her grip and
plummeted down. Screams rose up to meet her. A familiar, tangy burn lingered on the air. Mountain-dragon acid, for certain. Sanna crashed into the ground and pulled her knife at the same time.
Fire exploded across her chest, tearing down her arms. Above her, Luteis screamed, his fire so hot she felt the curls of it on the back of her neck.
“Get back!” she screamed.
All movement stopped. Five mountain dragons loomed in the trees, staring at her with narrowed eyes. One of them thrashed, caught up in a mess of vines that had suspended it several lengths off the ground. Soft sobs sounded behind her. Sanna shifted back, opening the space between her and the dragons. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw several familiar lumps on the ground.
Witches.
Dead dragons.
“Where’s Pemba?” she barked. “I want to talk to him.”
The mountain dragons shrank back, glancing at each other. One of them hissed, his tongue flickering out. The leader of this group, no doubt, for the others kept looking to him.
Another feinted toward her. She threw her knife, piercing it in the chest. It reared back and howled. Blood spurted around the handle, hitting the ground with boiling blue bubbles. A third reared back on its hind legs.
Luteis dropped from the trees.
With a reverberating thud, he crushed the standing mountain dragon beneath him. Sanna ran and yanked her knife out of the gurgling mountain dragon. The leader shot acid at Luteis, but Luteis grabbed the dead dragon beneath him by the throat and threw it. Its body slammed into the leader, toppling him into the trees. Sanna whirled around, skin prickling from an inferno that raged beneath her skin. Three witches stood huddled near a tree, holding a bleeding, unresponsive body.
Finn.
“Run!” she yelled. Something hit her from behind, sending her into the ground. She slammed into the dirt with an oomph. The muscles in her chest froze, paralyzed. Acid thickened the air, burning her skin. She ducked her head and tried to gasp. A dragon leg stepped a few paces to the right of her head.
She whipped onto her back and shoved her knife up.
The mountain dragon above her screamed, then reared back. Sizzling blood dropped on the ground next to her. He stumbled away as Sanna regained her breath with a heady gasp, scrambled for her knife, and found her feet again. Luteis, still recovering from the acid, roared fire. Finn’s children disappeared into the trees.
