But secondly, the part I can’t make my brain process is that Nephelesentthe Witch Collector for me. Told him my secret. Even if she overestimated me, she still revealed something we swore to never tell—to our greatest enemy, no less.
She left the village shortly after I learned I could see things through scrying. It had been a game, a joke, until the waters spoke to me. We didn’t truly understand such magick then, and I didn’t learn the rules for some time. She’s been gone for eight years, but has she changed so much that she would sell her sister’s soul to the Frost King?
I glare at the Witch Collector.“She wouldneverdo such a thing.”
But clearly she did, even if Sight isn’t so easily wielded as she made it seem.
The Witch Collector takes a long step in my direction. His torn linen tunic billows in the breeze, revealing a thick, corded arm and the flexing muscles covering his ribs where terrible stab wounds should exist. Instead, I glimpse perfect, sun-bronzed skin—thanks to me.
“With your gift,” he says, “we could’ve foreseen an attack. Maybe we could’ve found a way to stop the Eastlander army before they became a threat. Maybe we might’ve saved everyone in the vale. Nephele knew that and knew she had to tell us what you were capable of. She was only doing what anyone who loves their homeland would do. She was trying to protect it. Do not fault her.”
My flaring temper chills into a ball of ice as his words settle deep. The Eastlanders didn’t come to the vale to kill villagers and leave. It was never about us at all. We were only in the way. A deterrent to remove. A threat to silence.
“They want to reach Winterhold,”I sign.“Why?”
The muscles in the Witch Collector’s jaw tense, and his eyes turn hard as river-worn stones. “They want the king. They are on their way to capture him now. They breached the forest last night.”
Unsure which rising emotion to hold onto, I glance toward Frostwater Wood in the distance. In truth, I don’t care about the Frost King’s safety. But my sister? And all those Witch Walkers? They’re the strongest of the vale. Will their magick be enough against the Eastlanders? Or will they be cut down for protecting an unworthy king?
“There were so many,” the Witch Collector continues. “They obliterated Hampstead Loch. The elders and wardens at Penrith cut the Eastlanders’ numbers, but the enemy had only been reduced by half when they reached Silver Hollow. And not because they all fell to the blade. At Littledenn, the army divided. Many rode into the wood. The Witch Walkers patrolling the boundary were slaughtered.”
Again, I glance toward the forest and back to the Witch Collector. My pulse races and my palms dampen.
I take an angry step toward him, my mind on Nephele.“Why are wehere, then? We have to help them. The Eastlanders are so far ahead of us.”
A twinge of dizziness sets the world spinning.We.
I can’t believe the Witch Collector and I are on the same side. A day ago, I planned his end. Envisioned it. Tasted the sweetness of revenge and wondered if I was brave enough to take the life of a man who threatened all I hold dear. Now I stand here with the deaths of dozens painting my hands, speaking with one of the three people I hate most in this world, forced to be his ally because we share a common goal.
At least I think we do.
Though dizzy, I move to step past him, but he blocks me, his green eyes shimmering in the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. He’s so tall and broad, casting me in his shadow.
“Get out of my way,”I sign.
He narrows his eyes, though I swear I see a hint of delight on hisface, like some sick part of him enjoys a fight. “Not until you hear me out.”
Instinct sends my hand to my thigh, reaching for the knife I haven’t thought about until now. The God Knife isn’t there, and its absence hits me sharply. I can’t recall when I last held it. Images flip from one to another in my mind’s eye. They’re hazy, like my brain is blurring them from memory. I glance back at the cloak on the ground. Maybe it’s there.
“There are things you need to know,” he continues. “Like the fact that Nephele and the others were instructed to protect Winterhold.”
His green eyes dart suspiciously toward my hand, which is still pressed against my empty side. I let it fall, knowing I need to hear him out. He’s all the help I have right now, much as I wish I were with nearly anyone else.
My tense muscles relax a little.“Go on,”I sign.
“The king,” he says, “better known to me as Colden Moeshka, instructed his Witch Walkers to enchant the boundaries around his kingdom so that if anyone infiltrates those lines, a difficult journey to Winterhold is ensured. I don’t know what solution your sister and the others concocted, but I do know those Eastlanders are in trouble. They might have traveled through Frostwater Wood undeterred for a time, but at some point, they will meet with magick the likes of which they have never seen, and they will regret ever coming here.”
I cock my head and arch a brow.“You do not imagine those Eastlanders can unravel Witch Walker magick? Silver Hollow’s magick was no match for them. Clearly, neither was the magick protecting the other villages. Those warriors wiped us away like no more than an annoyance.”
I have to hope that, at the very least, the Eastlanders are now without their leader. Ididcut him with the God Knife.
“The Witch Walkers of Silver Hollow had no time to strengthen the magick around the village,” he replies. “I’m certain Nephele and the others have been singing and weavingvastmagick since last night at sundown. As I said, I don’t yet know what form that magick will take or how far-reaching it is, but I do know that I have every confidence in the king’s witches. I know their skill.”
Vastmagick? It’s one thing for elders waiting near the barrier tounweave a small portion of magick so the Witch Collector can pass and then braid the threads back together again. It’s another for witches to control a magick from many miles away. It’s why each village in the vale protected its own stretch of tree line. Vast magick is an arcane form of power. I’ve never seen it. There’s never been anyone in the vale skilled enough to teach it. Such ideas are legend—the stories of witches projecting their magick and will across space and time.
I don’t know how practiced the witches at Winterhold have become, obviously enough that they’ve learned inscrutable forms of magick, but if the lore is true, vast magick has limitations. The sheer magnitude of such an attempt limits control. Even beyond that concern, something Father used to say remains:With the right hands, most any magick can be undone.
“I am not as talented as my sister,”I confess,“but I have never heard of vast magick being selective. If the forest offers harrowing passage, then we will face the magick in the wood as well.”
