Iseult And Aeduan Quotes

Mhe varujta. Trust me as if my soul were yours.

From the day she had stabbed Aeduan in the heart, that heart had become hers—and she would not let this be his end.

She stole his breath now, and he had no breath to spare.

His thumb moved, back up her palm toward her wrist. His skin was rough. His touch was not.

This young man had stalked Iseult through Veñaza City. Had smiled cruelly at her, his crystal eyes swirling red. Then he had saved her too, in Lejna. With a salamander cloak and a single phrase: Mhe varujta. Trust me as if my soul were yours.

He was younger than Iseult had imagined. No older than twenty, if she had to guess. Yet he felt old, with his voice so gruff. His language so formal. It was in the way he carried himself too, as if he’d walked for a thousand years and planned to walk a thousand more.

Her eyelids fluttered open. Aeduan was still observing the fireflies. “Did you make a wish?” she asked, and to her surprise, he nodded. A curt bounce of his head. “What did you wish for?” He flexed his hands. Then shrugged. “If it comes true, then maybe one day I will tell you.

Fireflies.” “What?” Iseult splashed upright. Chill bumps raced down her arms. “There.” Aeduan waved across the pond. “Fireflies. They’re good luck in Marstok, I’ve heard. And children make wishes on them.” There was something light to Aeduan’s voice, as if he … “Are you making a joke?” Iseult pushed to her feet. Water droplets splattered across the stone. “No.” Iseult didn’t believe him.

He wiped his face on his shoulder, then offered Iseult his hand. She clasped it tight, her fingers lacing between his. Together they ran.

And they fell. Together.

The air, the sky, the water—it was so much like their encounter two nights ago. Yet also nothing like it at all. Iseult and the Bloodwitch had been enemies then, bound only by coins. Tonight, they were allies bound by … Well, Iseult didn’t know precisely.

Iseult’s nostrils twitched. Her face hardened. The defiance, the determination—they were back, and against his will, Aeduan’s lips twitched upward.

Then the earth boomed beneath her. It crunched and rocked, lifting her like a mother carries a child. All the way out of the water. All the way back to shore. Then the stones dropped Iseult into Aeduan’s arms.

Iseult hated herself for that truth, but there it was. She wanted to go after Safi; she wanted Aeduan to lead the way; she wished this child would simply disappear. Monster, she told herself. You’re a monster.

Someone owed Aeduan a life-debt. It was … A first. A first that he didn’t know how to swallow. The Threadwitch Iseult was alive because he had made it so. She could breathe her current breaths and could taste the river’s water because he had saved her life. Though she had also, in a way, saved his. First, she had not killed him while he lay unconscious in the bear trap. And second, she had been the one to hook them to that stone before the Falls. But Aeduan decided not to mention any of this, for if the Threadwitch believed she owed him three lives, then that gave him an advantage. That, he could use. He didn’t know how, he didn’t know when, only that he absolutely would.

It was then—at that moment—that it hit Aeduan square in the chest. Iseult was here. Not hunting after the Truthwitch but here, standing tall in a land of smoking embers. Before he could speak, before he could ask her how she knew of the Red Sails, an inhuman shriek filled the air. Louder than the receding rain, louder than the cannons’ roar. It was the mountain bat, returned and plunging right for them. Aeduan barely yanked Iseult sideways before its talons crashed into the stones.

As Aeduan stalked through the oaks of the Contested Lands, his pocket felt light without the arrowhead. He hadn’t realized how accustomed he’d grown to its weight. To its iron presence. But now it was gone, and that was that. No dwelling on it. Simply moving forward.

No stopping, though. Only running onward through the weak rain. Men charged with blades, but swords were so easy for Iseult to evade with Aeduan at her side. Together, they arced, they lunged, they ducked, they rolled. A fluid combination of steps built on blood and Threads.

Iseult knew what she had to do. She knew what Safi would do in this position. What Habim or Mathew or her mother or anyone with a backbone would do. So why was she finding it so hard to summon any words?

A figure in white coalesced behind the Firewitch. She walked stiffly, her hands extended and her eyes rolled back in her head. The salamander cloak’s fire-flap covered half her face. Ash coated her brow. Aeduan didn’t know how the Threadwitch was here. He didn’t know why either. He only knew he couldn’t look away. The Threadwitch walked, each step evenly spaced, to the Firewitch. He was a monster fully cleaved now, yet when he wriggled and snarled at Iseult, she showed no fear. No reaction at all. Instead, she lowered the fire-flap on the salamander cloak, then with her mouth stretched wide … she snapped her teeth at the air. The Firewitch collapsed. Dead.

It was as Aeduan stared into her bloodshot eyes that a cannon boomed in the distance. South. Where the Threadwitch must now be. Without thought, Aeduan drew in a long, deep breath. His power stretched wide; his witchery latched on to the scent of his own silver taler, still dangling from her neck. Yes, she was south. Hurry, he thought, for clearly violence was breaking loose. It always did in the Contested Lands.