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  Chapter Nine

  Sounds accosted Isadora all at once.

  A crowd of witches surrounded her in a rolling cacophony. Scrounging, mangy dogs slinked amongst the chaos, feasting on the innards of dead, discarded fish. The ocean, wide and tangy and smelling of brine, stretched all the way to the horizon. Her mouth dropped open.

  “Egads,” she murmured, straightening. “It worked.”

  Not only had she made it in one piece, but she was standing at the ocean. The sapphire blue waters expanded endlessly, fading into the horizon. Sera’s frantic shriek drew Isadora back to the present. She whirled around to find the lean girl standing in front of an oblong boat near a rickety, ocean-drenched pier. Two East Guard sailors stood in front of her while she yelled at the top of her lungs.

  “Can’t go!” she screamed in Ilese, stomping a foot. Isadora could just make out the words. “My friend is coming. She needs the job, she—”

  “Too late!”

  They grabbed Sera by the arm and shoved her back. Sera stumbled to her knees on the wooden dock with a bellow.

  “You cannot leave!”

  “Ceasa!” Isadora shouted as she shoved through the close press of bodies. White shirts, oilskin boots, and salt-stained pants brushed past her as she moved. “Stop!”

  On the boat, a thickset woman with ruddy, round cheeks and thin, graying hair tied into a limp braid caught Isadora’s gaze. She stood at the front, hands folded in front of her, observing the commotion. Sera attempted to stand, but the East Guards shoved her back down.

  “Leave her alone,” Isadora said in halting Ilese. “She’s a … a harmless young girl.”

  “They’re leaving!” Sera whispered in the common language as Isadora crouched next to her, a reassuring hand on her back. “They won’t be coming back for another six weeks.”

  Isadora straightened. “You can’t leave yet. Our, ah, friend just needs a few more minutes before she … ah … arrives.”

  “I can leave,” a sailor barked. “And I will.”

  “Five minutes?”

  “No.”

  “Four?”

  Isadora’s mind raced to translate the words he rattled off as he waved a hand through the air. Maximillion’s relentless grilling her Ilese knowledge had helped, but these witches possessed supremely thick accents she hadn’t expected. Not to mention the blur of quickly spoken words.

  “It won’t work. No more suchransa. We leave! You’ve delayed us long enough. One more word and—”

  “La Torra needs her!” Isadora blurted out. “They have no, ah, lavandoor worker. Cecelia will, er, not be pleased.”

  The woman on the boat lifted one eyebrow.

  Sera pressed her lips in a tight line. “Lavanda,” she hissed. “And she is called The Great One.”

  “Er … right. I mean lavanda.”

  The chatter on the wharf quieted when the sailors looked at the quiet woman on the boat. Her brow had furrowed. She murmured a reply Isadora couldn’t make out. For a time, no one spoke.

  “You,” she called to Isadora. “You know Marguerite?”

  Seconds passed while Isadora worked through the woman’s lilting accent. She hesitated. No, she didn’t. But the question bought them time.

  Come on, Marguerite, she silently pleaded. Please arrive!

  “Ah, yes. We are … good friends.”

  “Is she coming?”

  “Certainly.”

  “And if she doesn’t, can you guarantee her?”

  Isadora paused. Had she conjugated that word correctly? Guarantee. Yes. Maybe. If Maximillion had assigned this Marguerite to a mission, she would show. Isadora had never heard of anyone in the Advocacy not coming through, and with so important a mission? Guaranteed, yes.

  Isadora pulled her shoulders back.

  “Yes.”

  The woman glanced at the sailors, speaking just low enough that Isadora had to strain to hear. She patched the words together phrases at a time.

  “Ten minutes … girl will find this woman … milady would not be pleased …”

  One of the sailors turned to Sera, barking something Isadora didn’t catch. Sera disappeared with a squeak.

  “Ten minutes,” he muttered. “And we leave.”

  The sailors stared at Isadora with unrelenting annoyance. She ignored their unwavering gaze. Silence filled the dock. Isadora kept her arms hanging at her sides—another thing Maximillion demanded—in order not to betray her nerves. She tried to act bored, but kept her eyes on the ocean. The massive, enchanting ocean that seemed to never end.

  A thought struck her, sending terror through her body.

  She was in the Eastern Network. That was a ship to La Torra. One of these sailors could be a Defender in disguise. She clamped down on her powers, wondering if she’d already betrayed herself accidentally. The magic often moved within her on its own when she wasn’t paying attention to it. In the rush to help, she hadn’t considered what she might be getting herself into.

  She could be caught. Or locked up with Lucey. Maximillion would froth at the mouth if she inadvertently caused her own demise. Or maybe he’d laugh and say it was inevitable. Either way, he wouldn’t appreciate her dying after he’d sunk time into training her.

  How would her family react?

  No.

  She couldn’t think that way.

  Isadora swallowed hard as another minute ticked by. Where was Sera? What did it mean to guarantee someone, anyway? Dozens of possibilities whirled through her mind. Before she could settle on one, the sailor called out, “We go!”

  The sailors scrambled onto the boat.

  “Wait!” Isadora called.

  One sailor with dark brown skin grabbed her by the neck and shoved her onto the boat. She kicked, hitting him in the knee with her boot. He leapt back with a cry, fire in his bright, umber eyes. Another sailor grabbed her arm and jerked her forward.

  Her shoe slipped on the wet floor when she attempted to fight back. The woman inside grabbed her by the arm before she pitched into the water and then stood between her and the sailor. The scowling sailor backed away from her hot glare.

  “Come,” the woman said to Isadora. “The time has passed, and you have guaranteed her. You will work in her place now.”

  Shock froze Isadora like a winter icicle.

  “What?”

  Sera reappeared—alone—just as the sailors shoved away from the dock with a grunt. A silent scream filled her eyes.

  “Miss!” she called. “I cannot find her!”

  Isadora’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. Sera mouthed, I’m so sorry and disappeared. Hopefully to tell Maximillion.

  By sheer willpower, Isadora kept herself from transporting away or hurling herself into the water. She’d only draw more attention if she made a bigger mess out of this already-sticky situation.

  The wharf grew smaller, then disappeared into the coastline as they lurched away on choppy water. In the distance, on the edge of the horizon, lingered a foamy slate cloud. The robust woman sat next to Isadora, face turned to the sea breeze and eyes closed.

  “This goes to La Torra?” Isadora asked.

  “Yes,” the woman said. “You are the new lavanda maid.”

  Watcher or not, Isadora was going to live with Cecelia.

  There was no going back now.

  Sanna lay on her stomach on the branch of a young tree—although it still stood as tall as Luteis—with her limbs splayed out on either side. She studied the forest floor with relentless determination. Her vision kept blurring from the intense scrutiny, so she shifted her gaze to another spot. More mulchy loam, thick with leaves that hadn’t broken down from last season. Little sunlight reached the forest floor here, casting shadows that seemed to play tricks on her. A bump in the log burrowed into her ribs. She readjusted, sliding to the right.

  Luteis hid on the forest floor beneath her, in the shadows. If she hadn’t known he was there, she would never have seen him. In a tree forty paces away, Elis hunkered on a br
anch at the same level as Sanna. The shadows hid Jesse from sight where he watched from another tree. All of them waited, listening.

  I hear something in the trees, Luteis said. A faint rustling.

  Let’s hope it’s something, Sanna said. “Come on, poacher,” she sang under her breath. “I’ll have my revenge.”

  Last night’s vigil had been all but useless—except for the excuse to lay in her trees, sleep during the day, and use the cover of darkness to stay awake with her thoughts. Still, she persisted. Elliot said nothing, but his clamped lips seemed to suggest he thought it a waste of her time. Sanna frowned and dismissed the thought.

  This hillside here and thick, clotted brambles along the floor, would naturally funnel witches along the paths below. Given the thickness of the forest, anyone would mistake it for dragon territory.

  Luteis luxuriated in the strange new routine that kept them up all night. Though tired, Sanna didn’t fight her desire to sleep all day. Daid’s death drained her of all sense of energy and normalcy. And Mam didn’t notice—she’d moved in with Babs and had been sleeping or weeping ever since. Sanna left her to it and tried not to feel rage toward Isadora, from whom they still had no word.

  I hear it again, Luteis said.

  At first, Sanna heard nothing except the low shuffle of forest life. Then a subtle shift from the right caught her ear. She tried to sink into the tree limb. Leaves shifted on a sapling far to her right. Something was walking below. Could be a burrowing gnome family—or a witch.

  A shadow crept along the ground, shifting from tree to tree with blithe, easy steps. A willowy figure. Witch, for sure. Most likely a female with shoulders that slender. Sanna’s chest burned. By sheer willpower, she forced herself to remain on the tree branch when she saw a swatch of blonde hair and dark skin.

  You are calmer than I expected, Luteis said.

  Sanna gripped the trunk tighter.

  By necessity.

  The witch crept ever closer, this time with slower steps. More than a shadow now.

  Sanna could make out just enough to see that she was the same witch as before. Blonde hair around her shoulders. Dark skin the color of the forest floor—rich as umber. The witch paused for at least a minute between her movements. She’d clearly practiced stealth. Only the bright color of her almost-white hair gave her away.

  What is your plan? Luteis asked. Or should I ask whether you even have one?

  Drop on her.

  You may kill her before you can gain any information. She’s of more use to us alive. I have already planned several ways we could question her.

  Sanna scowled. Of course, he’d planned it. She should have anticipated that. I’ll drop next to her, then tackle, she conceded.

  Better. Your planning skills continue to improve, although they remain meager.

  The witch’s gaze focused on a spot closer to Elis, ahead of them on the trail. From what Sanna could tell, the witch never looked up. Her first mistake. Forest lions always dropped from the canopy.

  She hasn’t looked away from that spot for a while, Sanna said. Can you see anything there?

  No. A faint movement of trees, perhaps.

  Do you hear anything?

  He paused. Nothing we weren’t hearing before.

  Smell

  No.

  Another ten minutes passed while the witch approached Sanna’s tree, her gaze still intent on whatever lay beyond. For a witch who survived in Letum Wood, stalked with utmost patience, and had managed to kill Daid and Rubeis, she certainly didn’t seem self-aware.

  She’s not using magic to hide, Sanna said to Luteis. Do you think that means something? Isadora said all the witches in the Network use magic.

  She said all the witches in the world use magic. And yes, I do think it means something.

  The last thing she wanted to think about was magic.

  But what does it mean that she isn’t using it?

  Another mystery to discuss later. She approaches.

  A snort in the distant bushes made Sanna’s stomach catch. The witch had slipped behind the tree Sanna waited in, her back pressed to it. Although it was painfully clear she was stalking something, Sanna couldn’t imagine what. Nothing lingered in this part of the forest. Luteis straightened, as silent and imperceptible as a shadow. Sanna slowly stood.

  Now, she said. I have to go now.

  Before he could protest, Sanna grabbed a vine, clenched her knife in her teeth, and stepped off the branch. Something hot woke in her chest, spreading through her shoulders, crawling into her arms.

  The tips of her fingertips prickled as she plummeted toward the ground. The brush of wind across her face sent a thrill through her. In mere seconds, she landed on her feet two paces away from the witch, just as she’d planned. A pair of deep-brown eyes rimmed with shock met hers. Sanna grabbed the knife, thrusting it into the gap between them.

  “Don’t run, or you’ll die, you murderous troll. I have excellent aim.”

  They stared at each other for one heartbeat.

  The witch swallowed.

  Sanna lunged.

  The witch dodged just as a scream issued from the copse of trees the witch had been stalking. Sanna threw herself at the woman. Her hands closed around a scrap of fabric—the edge of the witch’s sleeve. She wrenched the witch back. The witch braced herself at the last second, swayed slightly, and darted under Sanna’s arms. Sanna tackled her, and they toppled to the forest floor, knife knocked aside by a swift kick to Sanna’s wrist. Her knife tumbled away. Another scream came from the forest, this time closer.

  For several breathless moments, Sanna grappled with the witch in the undergrowth. Roots burrowed into her spine. The witch gasped as Sanna rolled off her back and slammed her into the ground. They struggled, equal in strength, until the ground shook. A roar of fire bellowed overhead, illuminating the darkness with sharp lines of yellow-and-orange light.

  Cease! Luteis hissed to Elis. Something is out there. Something—

  You deal with out there! Sanna replied. I’m a little occupied down here.

  I cannot help, Luteis said calmly. Not without hurting you.

  This fight is mine.

  Another scream pealed through the air.

  “Let me go!” the witch cried. “I wasn’t here to hunt you. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

  Sanna barely maintained her grip, rendered almost speechless. The strange witch with the tattoo across her neck spoke her language, although an accent thickened the words. For two breaths, they stared at each other.

  The witch panted, shoulders heaving, then slammed an elbow into Sanna’s ribs. Sanna grunted, strengthened her grip, swung the witch around, and rammed her shoulder into the tree trunk. The witch shouted.

  “Surrender,” Sanna hissed. “You murderer.”

  Another roar came from not far away, just over Sanna’s left shoulder. The witch paused, muttered something under her breath, and reached for her waist. A braided whip came away in her hands. Words flowed out of her lips in a strange, foreign tongue. A shriek followed, cut short by a burst of bright light. In her shock, Sanna released the witch.

  The witch darted around the tree, nearly disappearing. Seconds later, the crack of the whip broke the air.

  Sanna followed and skidded to a stop with a cry. The witch held out an arm, forcing her back. “Don’t ruin this,” the witch cried. “I’ve been hunting him for ages.”

  Sanna sucked in a sharp breath. At the end of the whip was a dragon—the likes of which she’d never seen before.

  The dragon snarled, revealing two rows of bloodstained teeth on the lower half of his jaw. He was half Luteis’s size, with no forelegs. His arms stretched out into wings that were longer and thicker than those of a forest dragon, though smaller in overall size. His scales were a deep slate, almost charcoal, and seemed to change to lighter gray as he moved. Something green and sizzling filled the air. Acid? It foamed with a silvery smoke from his mouth, coiling from his nostrils.

  The
witch chanted something under her breath. She held an arrow filled with silver in her left hand. The other hand grasped the braided whip that had latched around the dragon’s neck. The dragon writhed, shrieking, but couldn’t break free. Tense muscles strained in the witch’s arms and shoulders, but she didn’t break her grip.

  “Stay back,” the witch commanded. “It can still break free.”

  Sanna swallowed hard, and for the moment, obeyed. The almost unbearable heat in her body seemed to fade, cooling slightly. “Mori,” she muttered.

  What is this, Luteis?

  I have never seen or heard of such a creature.

  With a tug of her hand, the whip yanked on the dragon’s neck. He twisted onto his back with a shriek, spewing fluid onto the trunk of a nearby tree. The bark burned and sizzled, dropping to the ground in chunks. Acid thickened the air. Sanna recoiled, her throat burning at the back.

  The witch darted forward, dodged one of the dragon’s flailing wings, and slammed the arrow into the middle of its chest. The dragon screamed and snapped, but she disappeared and then reappeared behind him. She freed the whip with another tug. It snaked back, following her into the trees.

  Sanna threw her hands over her ears when the dragon shrieked again, but its limbs stopped flailing, and its neck drooped. Pinpoint eyes turned, staring right at Sanna, before it screeched one last time and then fell limp on the ground.

  A heavy shadow moved behind her. Luteis. She backed up until her spine touched his face. He sniffed at the dragon, growling deep in his cavernous chest.

  A dragon, Luteis said.

  Not one of ours, she replied. A flicker of movement came from overhead. Elis descended slowly, wings outstretched, with a wide-eyed Jesse on his back.

  “This was an unexpected twist,” Jesse murmured.

  Sanna said nothing. The witch appeared again and shoved the arrow farther inside the dragon. His wings lay limp on the ground, fanned like veiny paper. Blood flowed out of his chest. Her eyes seemed sorrowful but wary when she looked at them.

  “It’s dead?” Sanna asked.

  “Lucky for you.” The witch climbed on top of the dragon, then crossed over it and dropped to the other side in front of Sanna. “There are thousands of others where he came from, and all of them just as motivated to kill you.”