With a quick headshake, Safi shuffled to the campfire. “We can still reach Lejna before the Marstoks.” She kicked dust and ash over any remaining embers. “Then we can flee north.”

“Mount up, then,” Evrane ordered.

“Safi, you can ride with me—”

“No. You each get a horse.” Evrane shrugged on her cloak, fastening the buckle with efficient, mechanical movements. “I will wait here and stop Aeduan.”

A taut pause. Then Iseult: “Please don’t do that, Monk Evrane.”

“Please,” Safi agreed. “We’ll outrun him—”

“Except you cannot,” Evrane interrupted, cutting her voice over Safi’s. “Aeduan is as fast as any horse, and he will catch up to you no matter where you go. I can find a defensible point in the path, though, and do my best to slow him.”

“Slow,” Iseult repeated. “Not stop?”

“Aeduan cannot be stopped, yet he can be reasoned with. Or, if necessary, these”—she patted her only two remaining knives; the buckles clanked—“are not just for show.”

“You’ll get yourself killed,” Safi argued. The demand for speed breathed down her neck, yet she couldn’t let Evrane do something so profoundly stupid. “Please, just do as Merik ordered and come with us.”

Evrane’s face stilled, and when she spoke, her tone was knifed with impatience. With offense. “Merik forgets that I am a monk trained for battle. I will face Aeduan myself and you two will ride to Lejna. Now, mount up.” She offered a stiff hand to Safi, and though Safi hardly needed it, she accepted.

After helping Iseult mount as well, Evrane stepped purposefully to the gelding’s saddlebag and rifled out the quartz alert-stone. It glimmered gray, like the predawn sky above, and as she murmured “Alert,” a brilliant blue light flared within.

“Now Merik will find you.” She offered the stone to Safi. “Keep it out whenever your path goes by the sea.”

Safi stared at Evrane, her silver hair rippled in the dawn breeze and flickered with sapphire from the stone. Safi unfurled her fingers to accept the heavy quartz.

Evrane gave a mollified nod. Then she removed her sword belt. “Iseult, take Merik’s cutlass. It’s strapped to the roan’s saddle. And Safi, you take this.” She laid her sheathed blade over Safi’s lap. “Carawen steel is the best, after all.”

Safi gulped. That small attempt at a joke had reeled her back to the moment—back to the heavy truth that many people were risking their lives to ensure Safi got to Lejna and that Merik got his trade agreement.

Safi would not let them down.

“Iseult,” she said, drawing the words from her core—from the very center of her witchery, “we’re going to Lejna now. We won’t stop, and we won’t slow.”

Iseult met Safi’s gaze, her hazel eyes a vivid green in the alert-stone’s flare. The fierceness was there—the one that always made Safi feel stronger—as she lifted her chin and said, “Lead the way, Safi. You know I’ll always follow.”

At those words, Evrane’s lips twisted up. “You have no idea how long I have waited to hear those words. To see the two of you, astride. Alive.” There was an odd gleam in her eyes. “I know my words mean nothing to you now, but they will soon.

“After I face Aeduan—after I show him what he stands for—I will find both of you in Lejna. Thank…” Evrane choked on the word, and more laughter sputtered in her chest. “Thank you for giving me hope, girls. After all these centuries, Eridysi’s Lament is finally coming true; I have found the Cahr Awen and you have awoken the Water Well. So now, as my vow demands, I will protect you with everything I have.” She bowed, a somber movement that set Safi’s magic to singing with the truth behind it.

Then Evrane Nihar turned and marched away.

“Moon Mother protect us,” Iseult whispered. “Wh-wh … what was that?”

Safi swung her gaze to Iseult, who had regained her Threadwitch mask, though not complete control of her tongue. “I don’t know, Iz. Does she think we’re the…”

“Cahr Awen,” Iseult finished. “I … I think she does.”

“Gods below, I can’t handle anymore surprises today.” Safi reined the horse toward the sunrise, punching down her confusion and doubt—deep, deep, out of reach.

And, as she guided her horse to the trail, she was pleased to see the mare drag at the bit. The horses were ready for speed, Iseult was ready for speed, and Safi was ready to end this.

Digging her heels into the mare’s ribs, Safi launched into a scudding gallop and set off for Lejna of the Hundred Isles.

THIRTY-SIX

The Jana was in an uproar when Merik finally touched down on the main deck. They sailed west now, the rising sun an angry thing behind the ship.

When Merik squinted at the tiller—right into the sun—he found Kullen. A hunched, wheezing shape who somehow kept a wind hauling in the sails. Kullen. Merik pushed off across the deck, thunder rolling over the wind-drum’s boom.

An entourage streamed behind.

“Admiral,” Ryber called.

Merik waved her off. “Hermin,” he panted, trying to jog, speak, and catch his breath. If he was already tired, he could only imagine Kullen’s exhaustion. “What’s happening?”

Hermin hobbled alongside Merik. “Yoris found Prince Leopold unconscious by the Origin Well. Apparently the Bloodwitch attacked and betrayed him.”