later, I fell to the ground, the hilt slick with blood still protruding from my side.
Without Baccha, there was no one with a gift for skilled healing. Sylban, one of the fey members of the guard, sewed up the wound and stopped the bleeding with rough combat healing. The wound was still tender, and likely would be for weeks more. Some part of me was glad it had happened. Falun’s arrow had proven the Entwining’s effectiveness: no hand but mine could kill Isa.
And Isa had proven she was not as driven to kill me as she once seemed.
During the week we spent on the Silversong, the river cutter Anali hired to sail up the coast, I’d healed enough to ride. And had asked Isadore half a dozen times why she broke her promise and why she hadn’t killed me when she had the chance, but she refused to speak to anyone but Aketo.
When he reported that Isa hadn’t intended to break her oath, only to see how far she could get if she really wanted to escape, I’d nearly given up on my plan. She was still lying and playing games with me, even as my prisoner. I might as well forget a truce between us. I had no way to convince her, and nothing she really wanted. Even if she did agree, I could never trust her.
And still I wanted to trust her and be trusted by her again.
My gaze drifted to the bandage peeking out from her collar, covering the puncture wound from Falun’s first arrow. I hoped it pained her as much as mine pained me. I prayed it reminded her. Our destruction was mutually assured now. If she killed me, the spell that kept that arrow from piercing her neck would unravel the moment my heart stopped beating.
And then my guard would be free to kill her.
Beside me now, Isa stared at the sea of yellow grass, eyes narrowed.
“Planning your next attempt?” I asked.
Her eyes flitted to mine and just as quickly darted away.
“You’d only need to run a hundred fifty miles west to reach the coast,” I continued.
I stumbled as laughter sprang from her lips. “Yes, you have me well and truly trapped here. You must be so pleased with yourself.”
Before I could reply, she went on. “Though that does not make you any less a fool.”
Gritting my teeth with the effort of maintaining a civil expression, I inclined my head. We might as well have been at Court, performing for each other. “Go on, then. Tell me.”
Isa arched a blond brow. Pretty as a painting and silent as one.
“Oh no, don’t stop now. You’ve resisted criticizing me for weeks. I know you must long to inform me of my inadequacies.” How else could she bask in her superiority? “You always do.”
“Why,” Isa snapped, “should I bother to open my mouth when you already know that I’m right? To come to Papa’s home.” She chuckled. “Why bother escaping? The army will catch up with us soon enough. Mother has likely already dispatched them to this place.”
“If they have as hard a time finding this place as we did, I think we’re safe for a while. And I thought you said Lei wasn’t your father,” I whispered. I could barely breathe around the knot of anger in my chest.
She waved a hand, brow furrowing with annoyance. “Did I? Well, if Lei is not my father, then I have none. So I think I shall keep him, liar that he was.”
“And what of Mother, who has lied to the Queendom since you were born?”
Isa frowned and the scent of caramel began to waft from her skin. The air around her shimmered, the color of her hair flickering back and forth between Mother’s pale blond and her own dark gold.
I sucked in a breath, grasping the long-handled dagger hanging from my belt. Isa often lost control of her magick because of her temper, but the fact that she could still summon any of the persuasive magick she used to change her appearance while wearing those shackles was chilling. The runes etched into the shackles flared with silvery lavender light.
“Isa,” I warned, “control your magick.”
She glared at me, shivering violently, before her appearance finally stabilized. “Mother did what she had to do.”
“And so did Papa.” By the set of her jaw, Isa did not agree, but she didn’t argue. A few minutes passed in silence before I spoke again. “What would you do in my stead?”
“Flee north—to the Roune