Bloodwitch~Witchlands Series by Susan Dennard

Author:Susan Dennard [Dennard, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781447288848
Amazon: 144728884X
Publisher: Tor
Published: 2019-02-21T00:00:00+00:00

THIRTY-THREE

It amazed Iseult how much a landscape could change in a day.

Last night, there had been rowan and fir trees, nettle and grass. By dawn, evergreens had replaced the hardwoods, and the tufted grass had given way to sedge. The paths grew narrower and narrower too, until eventually they had to leave the horses behind.

“Go home,” Leopold told the gelding, after removing what few supplies they had from his saddle. To Iseult’s astonishment, Rolf actually seemed to understand. He turned away, and quickly vanished within the stunted pines, followed obediently by the stolen mare.

“Isn’t your home far?” Iseult asked, eyeing Blueberry warily. He flew high above them, and though Owl had promised he would not eat the horses, Iseult wasn’t entirely convinced.

“Quite far.” Leopold smiled, his Threads flickering with matching shades of mischief. “I told you, he’s a very well-trained horse.”

Without their steeds, the group’s pace slowed. Owl could not walk quickly, and the terrain grew steeper by the hour. By midmorning, snow and ice clung to everything—to the miniature trees, to the granite rock, to old travelers’ huts long forgotten. The sun glared down, melting the frosted gravel to slick scree.

Twice, Iseult fell. Twice Leopold fell. Owl, however, never fell. The little Earthwitch always knew where to place her feet. Or perhaps she simply commanded the stones to remain intact, and they dutifully obeyed.

Eventually even the dwarf evergreens trickled away. They had trekked above the tree line, where only rock and snow held court. Iseult had never seen so much snow, and she decided she didn’t much like it.

It was cold, it was wet, and there never seemed to be an end to it.

She had also never been so high in her life. She hadn’t known—could never have guessed—how vast and gaping the sky would feel at this altitude. So huge, so blue, so empty. Especially when they reached the end of their path and nothing waited beyond save a sheer cliff and a very long drop to a river.

With her back against the granite mountain, Iseult stared at the cliff ten paces away. In the last few moments, gusting winds had risen, rolling fog across the ledge like waves upon a seashore. Somehow, not seeing the precipice and thousand-foot drop only made the height seem that much more terrifying.

Owl clung to Iseult’s side, little fingers fisted into Iseult’s cloak and terror spiraling through her Threads, and though Iseult knew she was the second choice—Blueberry coasted on airstreams too high to see—it left a strange feeling in her chest. A warmth that wasn’t quite pleasure, and certainly not love, but something.

Something nice that made her nose wiggle. Something nice that made her think of Aeduan, because she was, it seemed, no better than Owl for the hoping.

Leopold, meanwhile, searched the cliff for a “sky-ferry” he’d insisted would be waiting for them. Every few moments, he leaned dangerously over the edge, which made Iseult feel like vomiting and made Owl wince and whimper.

After six such instances, Leopold’s Threads finally flushed with triumph and he threw a perfect grin Iseult’s way.

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