Her mother gasped and turned Senna’s palm toward the lantern light spilling through the clearing.
Exhaustion crashed down on Senna as the two studied her hand. “It’s not my blood.”
“Some of it is,” her mother said.
Her mouth forming a small “O” of surprise, Senna stared at the cuts in her palm, her blood mixing with that of her attacker to run in garish streaks down her sleeves. The glass must have sliced her when she’d stabbed the deep-voiced man. She hadn’t even felt it, but now she did. It stung, more by the moment.
Her mother lifted her skirt. “I’ll get my kit.”
Prenny clicked her tongue as she examined the wounds. “It’ll keep for now, Sacra.” The older woman smelled of herbs and dirt, but it was not unpleasant.
When her mother didn’t pause, Senna reached for her with her good hand. “No! They’re still out there!”
“Who’s out there?” Coyel, Head of Sunlight, asked as she arrived with Drenelle half a step behind.
Senna winced. “Two men attacked me.”
“What?” her mother cried.
More Witches gathered around Senna. All of them gaped at her, fear in their eyes. Senna felt their stares like a mantle of lead and wanted to disappear.
Coyel clapped her hands. “To the middle of the Ring, all of you.”
Drenelle grabbed Senna’s arm and dragged her away from listening ears. “By the Creators, why would two men attack a sixteen-year-old girl?”
“That’s impossible,” Prenny growled. “There are no men on the island. And no one can get inside without our permission.”
Senna’s mother met the old woman’s gaze. “Like they didn’t get on the island before?”
Prenny stepped back as if she’d been slapped. “The traitor is dead. All the other Witches are accounted for.”
Senna shook her head. “I heard them. They’re part of a plan to attack Haven. And they’re working with a Witch here.”
Prenny opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Coyel held herself very still. “You’re sure?”
Senna met the woman’s blue eyes. “They were guaranteed egress from the island for themselves and a captive.”
The three Heads exchanged glances. Senna could see they didn’t want to believe her. But the blood on her hands and the bruise swelling on the back of her skull were proof.
Chavis marched toward them. The Witch was Head of Water and therefore their leader in battle. She was dressed in men’s clothes. Strapped across her chest was a crisscross harness for her pistols, with a water-emblem coin where the leather straps met. Her long gray hair hung in a braid down the center of her back. “How many? Where?”
Senna pointed a shaking finger back the way she’d come. “Two of them. On the west side of the island.”
Chavis whirled around. “Witchlings and Apprentices in the circle. Arianis is in charge.”
“But if there’s a traitor in our midst—” Drenelle started.
Chavis turned toward her. “Have you a better idea?”
Drenelle slowly shook her head.
Chavis went on, her tone commanding, “Keepers assume battle formation—one Witch from each of the Four Disciplines, with a Water in charge. Search the island. Senna with me.”
“I’m coming with my daughter,” her mother declared.
Chavis tightened her lips but nodded. “Fine.”
Drenelle blanched. “Shouldn’t we wait till morning?”
Chavis didn’t bother responding.
Arianis glanced at the Witchlings and Apprentices before jogging forward. “Head Coyel, I can help search the island.”
Coyel answered without looking at her. “You’re still an Apprentice.”
Arianis glowered at Senna. “So is she.”
Senna had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. This really wasn’t the time for Arianis’ petty jealousies.
Chavis shouldered past Arianis. “Yes, but she knows where she was attacked and you do not. Now move!”
Arianis clenched her jaw and started shouting for the Apprentices and Witchlings to form up. The Apprentices locked forearms and started singing.
The area around them surged with a blast of wind. Shimmering like an aurora, a cylindrical barrier rose into the night sky. Nothing and no one could cross until the Witches released each other.
As long as the circle held, the young Witches would be safe. Unless the traitor…Senna pushed the worry away.
Chavis handed a musket to Prenny and one of the pistols to Coyel. The three women loaded the gunpowder, wad, and ball before tapping the powder into the frizzen.
Senna had just stabbed a man. Watching them load the guns made her stomach hurt. “We have our songs,” she said.