only response was a deep, rumbling chuckle.
A knotted root caught her foot and brought her crashing down to the dirt, one hand scraped bloody on a patch of brambles. She grunted and shoved herself to her feet, looking up as merry laughter rang down from the treetops. Up above, a woman in the mask of a shrike danced from branch to naked branch, as graceful as flying.
Gazelle ran. Tears blurred her vision as she thundered through the forest, her lungs sore and calves burning. I can make it , she told herself. I can make it —
Then a branch whistled toward her, swinging like a bat, and cracked against her right kneecap. She slammed to the ground face-first as her vision exploded in scarlet. She clutched her knee, taking hissing breaths through her clenched teeth.
Gazelle looked up, and her blood ran cold.
Three figures stood before her. The young woman with an innocent, heart-shaped face, casually leaning on the branch she’d just hit her with. The hard-eyed knight with a rat’s nest of tangled blond hair, clad in armor of black leather and nightingale blue, twin sickles dangling from her belt. And the woman standing between them, prim and precise, smiling down with eyes wide behind her big, round wire-rimmed glasses. One hand bare and the other curiously small and twisted, concealed under a sapphire glove of crushed velvet.
“Running,” Nessa Fieri observed, “is a sure sign of a guilty conscience.”
Vassili strolled up from behind, running a finger along the edge of his knife, while his sister swooped down from a branch overhead. Despina landed in a crouch, her eyes keen and eager.
“Please,” Gazelle said, “Owl, M-Mistress Owl—”
“ Don’t ,” Nessa snapped, her smile vanishing as she pointed a condemning finger. “Don’t you dare. The time to address me properly was at the coven glade, when I and mine stood against the old Dire. Your submission would have meant something then. It would have cost you something. Loyalty offered under duress is a cheap excuse for true devotion. Now what did I say when I addressed you and the other loyalists, Gazelle? Remind me.”
Gazelle shook her head, locking the words behind pursed, wind-burnt lips. Nessa looked over to Vassili.
“If she doesn’t answer me in the next five seconds, take hold of her ankle and slice her tendon. We’ll see how well she runs after that.”
“Wait,” Gazelle stammered. “You…you said we were frauds. That we didn’t deserve to be called witches.”
“Very good. And then?”
“You said that…you were the true Dire Mother, and that if anyone didn’t stand with you, you’d…hunt us down. And…”
Her voice trailed off. Nessa leaned closer. “And?”
“And…exterminate us, one by one. Like the embarrassing vermin we were.”
Nessa crouched down in the loam. She reached out, taking hold of Gazelle’s hair—then gave her head a vicious yank backward, forcing her to look in Nessa’s eyes.
“And do you believe me now?” she asked.
Gazelle swallowed hard. “Yes,” she whimpered, almost too soft to hear.
Nessa let go of her hair. She patted the woman’s cheek and rose, standing over her.
“Want to hear something funny? We weren’t even hunting for you, or the rest of the stragglers we didn’t kill in Winter’s Reach. Didn’t have time. We were just on our merry way, bound for Lerautia, more important matters to deal with. And then you go and take a room at the same inn as us? Two doors down? There’s bad luck, and then there’s your bad luck. I almost suspect the universe wants you dead.”
Nessa paused, as if she’d been thrown off her train of thought. One of her eyelids shivered, a momentary tic.
“Mistress?” Despina said. “Are you all right?”
“I’m…being called.”
Hedy shook her head. “Who could be calling you? We’re all right here.”
Nessa’s momentary distraction gave way to a faint, playful smile.
“I think I know. Excuse me a moment, I have to deal with this. Could
A knotted root caught her foot and brought her crashing down to the dirt, one hand scraped bloody on a patch of brambles. She grunted and shoved herself to her feet, looking up as merry laughter rang down from the treetops. Up above, a woman in the mask of a shrike danced from branch to naked branch, as graceful as flying.
Gazelle ran. Tears blurred her vision as she thundered through the forest, her lungs sore and calves burning. I can make it , she told herself. I can make it —
Then a branch whistled toward her, swinging like a bat, and cracked against her right kneecap. She slammed to the ground face-first as her vision exploded in scarlet. She clutched her knee, taking hissing breaths through her clenched teeth.
Gazelle looked up, and her blood ran cold.
Three figures stood before her. The young woman with an innocent, heart-shaped face, casually leaning on the branch she’d just hit her with. The hard-eyed knight with a rat’s nest of tangled blond hair, clad in armor of black leather and nightingale blue, twin sickles dangling from her belt. And the woman standing between them, prim and precise, smiling down with eyes wide behind her big, round wire-rimmed glasses. One hand bare and the other curiously small and twisted, concealed under a sapphire glove of crushed velvet.
“Running,” Nessa Fieri observed, “is a sure sign of a guilty conscience.”
Vassili strolled up from behind, running a finger along the edge of his knife, while his sister swooped down from a branch overhead. Despina landed in a crouch, her eyes keen and eager.
“Please,” Gazelle said, “Owl, M-Mistress Owl—”
“ Don’t ,” Nessa snapped, her smile vanishing as she pointed a condemning finger. “Don’t you dare. The time to address me properly was at the coven glade, when I and mine stood against the old Dire. Your submission would have meant something then. It would have cost you something. Loyalty offered under duress is a cheap excuse for true devotion. Now what did I say when I addressed you and the other loyalists, Gazelle? Remind me.”
Gazelle shook her head, locking the words behind pursed, wind-burnt lips. Nessa looked over to Vassili.
“If she doesn’t answer me in the next five seconds, take hold of her ankle and slice her tendon. We’ll see how well she runs after that.”
“Wait,” Gazelle stammered. “You…you said we were frauds. That we didn’t deserve to be called witches.”
“Very good. And then?”
“You said that…you were the true Dire Mother, and that if anyone didn’t stand with you, you’d…hunt us down. And…”
Her voice trailed off. Nessa leaned closer. “And?”
“And…exterminate us, one by one. Like the embarrassing vermin we were.”
Nessa crouched down in the loam. She reached out, taking hold of Gazelle’s hair—then gave her head a vicious yank backward, forcing her to look in Nessa’s eyes.
“And do you believe me now?” she asked.
Gazelle swallowed hard. “Yes,” she whimpered, almost too soft to hear.
Nessa let go of her hair. She patted the woman’s cheek and rose, standing over her.
“Want to hear something funny? We weren’t even hunting for you, or the rest of the stragglers we didn’t kill in Winter’s Reach. Didn’t have time. We were just on our merry way, bound for Lerautia, more important matters to deal with. And then you go and take a room at the same inn as us? Two doors down? There’s bad luck, and then there’s your bad luck. I almost suspect the universe wants you dead.”
Nessa paused, as if she’d been thrown off her train of thought. One of her eyelids shivered, a momentary tic.
“Mistress?” Despina said. “Are you all right?”
“I’m…being called.”
Hedy shook her head. “Who could be calling you? We’re all right here.”
Nessa’s momentary distraction gave way to a faint, playful smile.
“I think I know. Excuse me a moment, I have to deal with this. Could
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