He wants to take me to Winterhold, and I want to go, but what must we endure to get there?
The Witch Collector rests his big hands on his narrow hips. “True enough. But know this: I will let no harm come to you. And the wood will let us pass. The Witch Walkers’ magick knows me, especially Nephele’s.” His face darkens, and a gloomy shadow drifts across his pupils. “I can’t say it will be easy or fast, but a way will make itself clear. Your sister is more capable than you give her credit for.”
Irritation roils inside me. The Witch Collector has a bond with my sister, the kind of bond I once had, but that has since faded.
Because she wasstolenfrom me.
Shoving my loathing down deep, I focus on Nephele and the need to save the only family I have left.
“Move,”I sign. When he doesn’t step aside, I skirt around him. I’m not sure what I plan to do—steal his beast and flee into an enchanted wood?
I don’t get far. The dizziness from before returns and overwhelms me. My head suddenly feels fuzzy, made of clouds, and my vision tunnels, making the Witch Collector’s horse seem a million miles away.
The world tilts, right as my knees buckle mid-step, but the WitchCollector catches me before I fall, his strong arms folding around my waist. He turns me to face him, holding me flush against his body. The movement makes me even more lightheaded, and instinctively, I grab hold of his tunic.
He stares down at me, the knot in his throat moving on a hard swallow as he studies my face intently, like when someone tries to recall a memory. When he speaks, his voice falls from his lips with softer edges.
“I’m afraid we aren’t going anywhere until you can craft magick again. We can’t get inside Frostwater Wood without it.”
I shake my head, not understanding.
“I tried to enter the wood after we left the village,” he says, clearly reading the confusion on my face. “The Eastlanders threaded a wall along the perimeter. They were clearly worried about someone coming after them. There’s no following unless one of us can summon enough power to break through their construct, and unfortunately, that means the task is yours. Somehow, I don’t believe you’re up for such a fight just yet, much as you would probably like to disagree.”
Before I can protest, the Collector sweeps me up into his arms and carries me back to the oak tree, where he lowers me onto his cloak. He hovers above me, folding the material over me for warmth.
I don’t know why I notice, but his lips—even though the bottom one is swollen and bears a deep cut—are a perfect, scarlet bow nestled inside his short, dark beard.
“You have to rest and recover,” he says. “We’ll ride once you’re able and pray to the gods we’re not too late.”
I grip his forearms, wanting to get up, to argue that we need to leave for Frostwater Wood right this minute. And gods, I try, because I need to get to my sister.
But my grip on him loosens, and my hands fall away, the world around me dimming. I struggle to cling to awareness, only to be pressed down by impossible darkness.
Nephele is my last thought as consciousness is carried away by an unstoppable tide.
The next morning, I pace the water’s edge, awaiting the Witch Collector’s return. The memory is unclear, but I recall him kneeling beside me, loose, dark hair framing his chiseled face. Behind him, the sky had been bruised with the first rays of morning light. He said something about going to Littledenn for food and clothes, and that he would come back soon, but I was still too heavily trapped in sleep’s grasp for the rest of his words to linger.
Wrapped in his cloak, I hunt for the God Knife in the grass with no success. Then I sit by the crackling fire he built in the center of a stone circle while I slept. Heart aching, I watch the sun rise as thin mist rolls over the vale. I’ve been to this stream many times, stared over the land as hearth smoke rose from chimneys to the west.
For too long, I gaze at the horizon, hoping those gray curls and wisps will rise once more. When the sky lightens, the only smoke in the distance is what remains of the Eastlanders’ fires.
As the morning wears on, I keep finding myself staring into the low flames of the Collector’s fire, the sight dragging my mind to places it does not need to go.
To help get my thoughts off the attack and to stop the tears, I remove Finn’s dagger belt from my thigh, trying not to think about his last moments alive, and wade into the stream at the deepest spot behind two boulders. This really is self-torture, but if I don’t distract myself, I’m going to go mad.
I’m anxious and eager to leave, yet I’m trapped here, waiting when there is no time to delay. But what can I do? Take off on foot alone? I will if I must, but for now, I’ll give the Witch Collector the benefit of the doubt and hope for his swift return.
The water is so cold it stings, but it washes the scent of fire and death and blood from my dress and hair well enough.
As I quickly bathe, I haul up my skirts and marvel at the new marks coloring my legs. All this time, Mother was protecting me from being chosen, hiding what I am from everyone. I know a mother’s love has no bounds, but I still can’t grasp why she didn’t reveal my marks tomeat the very least, even if we told no one else. What would it have been like to have learned from her? To discover my abilities and practice magick with my mother as my teacher?
She was clearly more powerful than I ever dreamed.
My heart sinks at the thought, the pain of her absence weighing it down until I fear I might sink with it. Because of the Prince of the East, I will never know what it might be like to share my magick with her. Because of him, I will never see her again.
With fresh tears falling, my grief threatening to overwhelm once more, I take one last dip under the cold water. Finally, I feel awake, my thoughts clearing, my sorrow and denial temporarily buried. In their place resides only determination. If I plan on finding Nephele, there’s magick to breach, so I need to focus.
If only I could remember what I did with the God Knife. I recall slashing it through the Prince of the East’s face, of course, and I remember him vanishing as I held the weapon in my hand. But after that, all I see is death and fire and…the Witch Collector.
