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  Her ease of movement, so strangely self-assured, set the hair on the back of Sanna’s neck on edge. Luteis growled deep in his throat. The witch ignored him.

  “Come,” she said, striding past them. “Now that is done, we have much to speak about and not much time to do it. Selsay is not going to be pleased that I killed her spy.”

  “They call me Tashi.”

  The witch sat across from Sanna, features illuminated by the warm glow of a fire. Luteis and Elis hovered close by. Jesse kept glancing at Tashi, then looking away. Only Tashi seemed at ease as she turned a spit with a dead marmot on it, her long, brown legs draped in front of her. The light shone off her skin.

  Elis growled low in his throat but remained in the shadows. Tashi stared at the spot where he lingered with a deep, steady gaze, as if she were curious about something. Whatever she thought remained hidden. She glanced away, elbows propped on the wood, and stared into the flames. The flickering firelight gave Sanna the opportunity to study her in greater depth. A necklace of lumpy, white objects hung around her neck in a perfect circle, a sharp contrast to her dark skin.

  “You’ve never seen any of my people, have you?” Tashi asked, startling Sanna out of her thoughts. She jumped and blushed, embarrassed to be caught staring. She’d never met anyone outside of Anguis.

  “No.”

  Tashi touched her own skin, as if amused by the difference between them. “Bet you didn’t know witches could be brown instead of pale.”

  Sanna shook her head.

  Tashi laughed again, then turned the spit. “Well, now you know.”

  “How do I know you’re not here to kill us?” Sanna asked.

  Tashi laughed. “Would I have killed that dragon? He was about to kill you, you know. You were so focused on me that you forgot to watch for other dangers.”

  That dragon wasn’t there. I would have smelled him. Luteis snorted a burst of fire and shuffling his wings.

  “He wasn’t there before,” Sanna said.

  “He wasn’t. He had just transported there. It’s long been a favorite place of his because it’s so hidden in brambles.”

  Sanna’s eyebrows rose. Transported. That’s what Isadora did—it gave her free rein to travel as she wished with ease. But a dragon doing magic? Absurd. And … spying? Her questions seemed to double at every word that came from Tashi’s mouth. Tashi readjusted the roasting critter. Beads of fat rolled down its side and dripped onto the fire with a bright sizzle.

  “What do you mean he transported?” she finally asked.

  Tashi’s level gaze met hers. “You heard me.”

  “Dragons can’t do magic.”

  “Forest dragons can’t.”

  “What was he?”

  “A mountain dragon.”

  Sanna rolled that idea around in her head. Mountain dragon. “There are others?”

  “Many, many others. If you didn’t know that, you have lived a sheltered life. Thanks to Deasylva, no doubt.”

  To Sanna’s surprise, Tashi maintained a surprisingly neutral tone.

  “How would we have known?” Sanna snapped. “We live in the forest, not the mountains.”

  “One doesn’t have to see the sea to know that monsters live there.”

  Sanna felt a shudder down her spine. Hadn’t Isadora alluded to something like that on her last visit? Insinuating that they knew less simply because they didn’t know the whole world? Sanna didn’t need to go to the rest of the Network to know she wanted nothing to do with it.

  “Who are you?” Jesse asked. He’d been quiet for so long that hearing his voice was a shock.

  “An emissary,” Tashi said, leaning back against a fallen trunk. “I came to kill Selsay’s scout and bring you to Yushi.”

  “Who is Yushi?”

  Tashi’s hooded gaze sent a chill down Sanna’s back. “You’ll find out soon enough,” she said after a long pause. “It’s not in my agreement to tell you.”

  “So, you won’t?”

  She shook her head in an easy back-and-forth. Sanna rolled her eyes.

  “I’m only supposed to kill the scout, Thranall, and deliver the leader of the forest dragons to Yushi. That is you, isn’t it?”

  Sanna hesitated.

  “It’s her,” Jesse said.

  Sanna scowled at him.

  Tashi lifted one eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

  “Let’s just say there’s been differing opinions on that,” Sanna muttered. If all the dragons followed Finn, but Sanna once spoke directly to all of them, who was the leader?

  “Who communicates with Deasylva?” Tashi asked.

  “I do—when she’ll speak.”

  “Then that’s the extent of it. You’re the leader. We leave tonight.”

  “If I refuse to go?”

  Tashi motioned with a tilt of her head toward the dead mountain dragon.

  “Then you may want to prepare for their invasion. And good luck doing it alone.”

  Tashi pulled the marmot off the fire and dug her fingers into it. She pulled away with a little hiss and then used her teeth to tear into one of the back legs. Sanna’s stomach grumbled, but the memory of the mountain dragon’s smell made it churn again. She’d smelled that sulfurous stench before—when Daid died.

  “Did that mountain dragon kill my daid?” Sanna asked.

  Tashi paused.

  “The witch and the red dragon?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded once. “Aye. Tried to stop it, but they’re buggers when they transport. Faster than a witch. And their scales blend into their surroundings. They’re almost impossible to detect, except for their smell.”

  “I thought you were a poacher,” Sanna said. “I never dreamed …”

  An invasion of mountain dragons had far-reaching implications beyond the obvious fact that Sanna didn’t know everything. Thanks to Talis, she really knew nothing.

  “I’m not a poacher,” Tashi said. She stood up, roasted animal in hand. “I’m here to stop the real problems. Besides, you want to know why your father died, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you must follow me. Poachers are the least of your worries. C’mon. Let’s ride as far as we can before first light. We have a couple days’ flight ahead of us.”

  Chapter Ten

  “I’m Fiona.”

  That much Isadora understood, despite the woman’s thick accent and the splash of the ship cutting through the water. Isadora forced a smile that felt more like a grimace.

  “Isadora.”

  Fiona nodded, then turned her face back to the wind.

  The white-capped waves hissed, rousing Isadora from her shock. Cold sea spray, intermingled with tangy, warm air, woke her powers. They shifted in the back of her mind. She imagined clamping a hand on their bright forms, tucking them into a box and setting it aside in a hidden drawer, in a dark corner of her mind.

  Sleep, she said.

  Their restless power faded, giving way to a thousand questions. What would she do now? Would Maximillion find her? Would she have to meet Cecelia? What was a lavanda, anyway?

  She was on the ocean.

  Alone.

  In a new world that, by all accounts, would destroy her the moment they found out the truth.

  She folded her trembling fingers and set them in her lap. Aside from the crates, corded piles of firewood, and a prowling, mangy cat, only Fiona and Isadora waited at the front of the boat. Fiona nudged her with a meaty elbow, pulling her back from her thoughts.

  “Nervous?” Fiona asked, thin eyebrows raised high.

  Isadora managed a wan smile and nodded, managing to stutter out the words for a little before she realized she’d accidentally said a lot. With a sigh, she let it go.

  Fiona rattled off a few more sentences, speaking so quickly Isadora only caught a word or two here and there. When Fiona stopped and peered at her expectantly, Isadora realized she’d asked a question. She frantically worked back. Had she said seta or pita?

  “
Ah …”

  “You don’t speak Ilese?”

  Isadora held up two fingers close together. “A little?”

  Fiona’s words slowed, her enunciation growing more precise.

  “Where are you from?”

  When lying, Maximillion always told her, stick to the truth or nothing like it. There is no safe middle ground.

  “I’m from the Central Network.”

  “How do you know Marguerite?”

  “Distant cousins.”

  Her gaze tapered. “You said friends.”

  “Ah … better friends than family.”

  “Marguerite has no family. She has worked for me before.”

  Isadora cleared her throat with a sheepish smile. “They don’t claim me. A bit too … free-spirited for their taste.”

  “Is that why you are in the East instead of your Network?”

  “Yes.”

  Fiona seemed to think that over, then nodded. Rogue witches traveling across borders wasn’t unheard of these days, although all the skirmishes at the Network boundaries had caused a lot of travel to slow. “You’ve heard of La Torra?”

  “A little.”

  Fiona tilted her head to the side. “It’s … odd.”

  Isadora held her breath, waiting for more of an explanation or to be called out as an imposter, but Fiona fell quiet. What felt like an eternity passed in silence.

  Overhead, a distant screech caught her ear. Isadora craned her head back. A bird of prey with broad, pearl-like wings, speckled a deep umber, swooped past them. The unfurled wings were twice as long as she was. She’d heard of them, the aquila. Sharp, intelligent predators. Not unlike dragons, in some respects, though these reminded her more of magnificent, enormous eagles.

  The aquila plummeted into the white-capped waves, talons extended, then burst away with a silvery fish in its grasp. It turned, headed for the horizon, and disappeared into the sky.

  Isadora shuddered.

  “Frightening birds,” Fiona said, watching it disappear. “They can use a little magic and become smaller or bigger and fool their prey. One never knows what an aquila will do. They love La Torra. It’s quiet.”

  “Ah,” Isadora said, unable to fathom how an aquila would need to be any bigger.

  Sailors chattered in the background, providing a soft backdrop of noise against the crashing waves. Isadora used the quiet stretch to translate in her head, recognizing delivery and schedule and The Great One. They hadn’t come far, but the distant storm seemed to have tripled in size. Fiona pointed to the water. In the distance, the edges of a castle were barely distinguishable from the rolling waves.

  “La Torra. We’ll arrive soon.” A rueful smile swept her blocky face. “Goddes mother Prana willing.”

  Isadora gulped as she glanced at the broiling clouds, which seemed to race over each other. They’d left the shore probably thirty minutes before, which meant the island wasn’t far from land.

  Something in the water caught her eye. She leaned forward. A flash of light glinting off scales turned into a fathomless darkness. Whatever she saw had been deep red, almost burgundy. She shook her head. Almost like …

  A dragon.

  “How long have you … ah … worked here?” Isadora asked Fiona.

  “Twenty years.”

  “A long time.”

  Fiona shrugged.

  “Do you like it?” Isadora asked.

  Fiona hesitated, a flicker of something moving in her gaze. “Yes. It’s … mine.”

  “Yours?”

  She pressed a palm to her chest. “It lives here. It’s tethered to me.”

  “Oh.”

  Fiona gestured back to the water. “My husband is out there.”

  “The water?”

  “A sailor. Sometimes, when La Torra seems so small, as if the ocean will eat me, I … feel him closer. It’s why I sleep on our boat.”

  She gestured to a boat bobbing in the thick waves on the other side of the now-visible island.

  “Oh.”

  La Torra was a little thing. Anguis, before it burned to ashes, had been greater in size than the whole island. In the middle stood the red-bricked castle she’d seen painted on the map. The main body of the castle was a wide circle seven floors high and at least as wide. Spindly trees with only high branches ringed it, stark against the pale, sandy beach. The windows were tapered to points at the bottom and the top, and colors stained individual glass panes, which sparkled despite the approaching storm. The castle walls had warmth. The stones were a lovely, reddish hue laced with veins of butter yellow. Windows dotted every floor except for the top two levels, which were a solid ring of dirty stone, as if they’d rotted from the inside out.

  “It’s … lovely,” Isadora said.

  Fiona shrugged. “Made for vagabonds. You will fit.”

  Isadora let that go.

  Three Guardians stood on a short, wooden pier when the boat pulled in. Fiona cut a sharp glance to Isadora.

  “No flirting, speaking, or looking at the Guardians.”

  Fiona stood, and Isadora hastily followed. They stepped onto the island together. The Guardians gazed past her, as if she didn’t exist. Overhead, an aquila soared, calling out. Fiona marched down the pier with a determined stride.

  “Come,” she called over her shoulder. “Much to do. First, I will show you to the lavanda.”

  Several wooden crates dropped to the pier. The three Guardians stepped toward them, chatting with the sailors unloading armfuls of firewood bound by twine. Barrels of liquid sloshed on the back of the boat. The word vino was painted across most of the barrels, and the others read acqua. Wine and water.

  Fiona led Isadora through a side door. Open windows spilled sunshine into the hallway, casting puddles of light on a well-worn stone floor lined with rugs. Isadora fought the urge to cringe. She hadn’t even worn her best shoes. She didn’t have clothes to wear or her hairbrush. Did witches dress up here? Where would she sleep?

  They swept down a long hallway circling the outer wall. Windows and paintings and a thick, busy wallpaper decorated the space. Isadora stared at it in fascination. Paper on walls?

  “Cecelia’s maids work upstairs,” Fiona said, “on the third floor. You’ll know them by their cuff links. Don’t speak with them. They should not leave their floor, and you shall stay in the lavanda. If you see them, act as if you don’t, then report them to me immediately.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t question the rules.”

  Fiona plucked at Isadora’s sleeve, pulling her out of the hallway and into another room.

  “Here’s the lavanda.”

  Piles of clothes, sheets, dresses, aprons, and what appeared to be uniforms covered the floor. The square room boasted more cabinets than floor space, and two glass doors against the far wall opened onto a courtyard stretched with ropes. Aside from the sheer number of clothes, not much was here. Fiona sorted through a few cupboards. She spoke slowly.

  “Everything you’ll need is here.” She cast her gaze around the seemingly endless piles of laundry. “If I were you, I’d start now.”

  Laundry was scattered like the dirt piles of burrowing gnomes. Isadora lost count at fifteen, with one pile as high as her head. With this much laundry, weeks might pass before she could venture out to find Lucey.

  “So much?”

  Fiona scowled. “The previous lavanda maid drank too much vino, and the resupply was late. We’re out of linens.” Fiona gestured to the empty cupboards. “It’s why I had you guarantee your friend. The Great One would have gone pazzo if no one caught it up soon, and the last maid couldn’t keep up. No one was sad when she fell ill.”

  “Can no one else do it?”

  Fiona scoffed. “We know our place. None would stoop so low again. Your room is up those stairs.” She pointed to a set of spiral stairs outside in the courtyard. “Dinner is at 7:30 every evening, breakfast at 5:00. See that little bell on the wall? It will ring when we’re ready for you. Your lunches are br
ought here. Don’t wander the castle, don’t speak with any Guardians, and don’t use magic.”

  Isadora choked. “What?”

  Fiona jabbed a finger at her. “No. Magic. The Great One forbids you to use it. Break the rule, and you’ll drown.”

  “But … why?”

  “The Great One’s rules. This book may help.”

  How many rules could Cecelia have? Fiona reached into a nearby cupboard, extracting an old tome with brittle paper and a flaking exterior. Like most books in the Eastern Network, the title was an entire sentence.

  The Book of the World’s Greatest Laundry Secrets and Other Things You Never Knew About Silk.

  “May Prana be with you.”

  Fiona left, skirt swaying. Isadora stared at the door with a surreal sense of disbelief. Her eyes grazed the piles of laundry. She tipped her head back and groaned.

  What had she gotten into now?

  Sanna tossed her only other piece of clothing into a blanket, tied it in a roll, and slung it over her back. Jesse did the same. She gave him a quick nod, and he returned the gesture. Some of the tightness in her chest relaxed. If she was making the wrong decision to leave Letum Wood and go with Tashi, at least she was making it with Jesse.

  Tashi wore a narrow object on a strip of leather around her neck. It was as long and thin as Sanna’s pinky, with holes down the side. Pearlescent, too thin to be wood but too thick to be paper. Sanna could only guess at what it was. Tashi pressed her lips to it and blew. No sound issued.

  Then another dragon glided down from the sky.

  Dusty brown wings and a small body—compared to Luteis and Elis—landed gracefully on the ground. Standing straight up, he barely reached the top of Luteis’s leg, possibly only two or three times taller than Sanna. Broad shoulders and wide wingspan with a short torso made this dragon seem ideal for speed. Beady black eyes and a longer snout, tapering to a point, locked gazes with her. It shrieked and pranced back, surprisingly lithe on its feet. She almost swallowed her tongue.

  “There’s more?” she cried.

  “Halloa, Tenzin.” Tashi turned to Sanna. “This is Tenzin, my escort back to the West. He’s a desert dragon. I’ll explain later. We shouldn’t stay here long. Yushi awaits.”