Witch Born(37)

Soon, Senna stole out to the sound of Sacra’s soft snores.

But Joshen wasn’t in his tree house. Or the shooting range. Or the outdoor pavilion where their food was cooked—Senna checked, twice.

“Brusenna?” She started and turned to see Collum moving silently toward her. “What are you doing here?”

“Have you seen Joshen?” she blurted.

Collum’s brows drew together. “No. I’ve been guarding you all day.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I thought it was just Joshen, Reden, and Timpnee. Does every Guardian take turns following me?” she asked a bit desperately.

Collum shook his head, his beads clinking. “No. Only the five of us.”

There were five of them now? She had to stop herself from wincing. “I need to find Joshen.”

Collum looked down at her. He was so tall. “Come with me. We’ll see if Leader Reden knows where he’s been assigned.”

But they couldn’t find Reden, either.

Finally, Senna gave up. “If I’m late for class,” she said, “Arianis will have me teaching the rest of her lectures for her.” That evening, the chesli harvest would begin. Senna wouldn’t have another chance to look for Joshen until tomorrow.

Collum dropped behind her as she left the Guardian quarter and hurried to the onion-shaped tree. Despite all their work, the island still looked like the aftermath of a battle. Though the men were nearly done boarding up the last of the windows, glass and broken bits of trees still littered the pathway.

Chavis looked up from gathering broken frames. “This class is still canceled. The earth tremor damaged too many of the maps.”

The old maps were well concealed again. Senna knew why Chavis had been sent to clean them up, instead of a lowly Witchling or Apprentice. “Where’s Arianis?”

Chavis shrugged. “How should I know?”

Senna tried to remember the last time she’d seen her fellow Apprentice. But Arianis never made an appearance in any of Senna’s many work details.

Neither had Joshen. She hustled back outside.

“The chesli harvest begins after sunset. You’d best get some rest!” Chavis called after her.

Senna barely heard her. She fingered her crescent-moon pendant and faced Arianis’ tree house, but her feet refused to budge. There was a way to find out without going there, but it made her uneasy. The last time it had been activated was when Wardof had used it to track her. She barely escaped alive that night.

She’d worn it every day since, until it felt familiar against her chest…using it, however—that was something else altogether. Senna’s aching hand finally managed to unlatch the clasp. She tapped it against the metal of her belt. The amber vibrated with a sweet tone. The pendant twisted and twirled before slowly lifting. It pointed toward the inhabited quarter on the other side of the Ring of Power. Senna followed it as best she could around trees the size of ships.

She moved deeper and deeper into the Witches’ habitation. With every step she took, her heart sank farther into her chest. When she heard the low murmur of voices—one male, one female—she stopped, her heart aching. Her hand dropped, dragging the necklace down with it.

She tapped it against the metal again. It went limp. She clasped it behind her neck with shaking fingers. Not sure if she could deal with anymore unwanted revelations, she considered turning back and pretending she’d never seen this.

Arianis’ laughter wiped the impulse clean, propelling her forward. Without bothering to knock, she shoved the door open and stood on the threshold. Joshen and Arianis sat together at the table. Senna smelled honey cakes and something else that was maddeningly familiar, though she couldn’t place it.

Joshen rose from the table, his expression tight. “Senna?”

He’d promised to stay away from Arianis. “Is this where you’ve been the past two days?” Senna asked.

“Yes,” he answered immediately.

A flock of angry words filled Senna’s mouth before dying and tumbling back to her stomach, where they grew heavy as a mountain. There had to be a reason for Joshen being here. He wouldn’t betray her like this. He couldn’t.

She inhaled and her breath suddenly hitched. She knew that smell from her potions class. Storming to the table, she tipped back the cup. The color was hard to judge because of the wooden cup, but the golden flakes were obvious.

Dipping in her finger, she tasted it, just to be sure. “Truth serum.” She glared at Arianis, song curling around the edges of her throat—a song full of pounding anger. A song that could rend Arianis’ tree in half. Senna’s body shook with the effort of leashing it. “There are rules for administering this class of potion. Rules you would have learned as a Witchling.”