Witch Born(64)

“Singing like…that, to the Four Sisters.”

The question caught her off guard. No one had ever asked that before. She closed her eyes. Wind was like a half-wild colt—full of wild energy. Earth reminded her of an old man with arthritic bones—slow and sleepy. Water was like a temperamental woman—full of secret moods and hidden places. Sunlight was a playful child—subject to sulks and fits of laughter. And plants…She shrugged, not sure she could share something so intimate with a stranger.

“Well, plants for instance,” she finally replied, “They’re reliable. Like your favorite musket, I suspect.”

Cord folded his arms, pleased with himself. And Senna realized he was trying to distract her from her frustration. It had worked—she wasn’t upset anymore. The realization surprised her. She didn’t think Cord the type to care about another’s feelings.

He rubbed his palms together uncomfortably. “I— did he hurt you?”

She was glad the darkness hid her blush. “Joshen? Of course not.”

Cord raised an eyebrow. “Really? Then why were you upset after he left?”

She refused to look at him. “He hurt me a while ago. I guess you could say we’re still trying to get past it.”

Cord cast a glare at the stairs that led below decks. “Your Guardian should be more careful of appearances. Someone might think there was something more between you.”

She shrugged. “There is.”

Cord looked at her more closely. “There— what? That’s allowed?”

“Does it really matter what’s allowed anymore?” Senna started towards the cabin. His hand shot out, gripping her firmly around her arm.

Startled, she turned towards him. He pulled her closer, close enough that her billowing shift brushed his clothes. “Next time you come out to sing, do it a little better clothed.” His eyes dropped down to look at her in nothing but her shift. The wind chose that moment to press it against her body. It took everything she had not to cross her arms over her chest.

When he looked back into her eyes, something passed across his face, something that shouldn’t have been there. Her body flushed with an uncomfortable heat. “You want to be my Guardian, you better learn to hold your tongue. And your gaze.”

Cord’s expression hardened, and he dropped his hand. “Good night, Senna.” He walked to the upper deck and didn’t look back.

Confused and angry, she watched him go. It felt like arrogance to assume he would want her. She was not beautiful—whatever Joshen might say. She was small, with startling golden eyes and matching hair. Strange more than beautiful.

He was at the railing now. And she was still standing in nothing but her shift, glaring at him. Remembering herself with a start, she moved back to the cabin.

She lay in bed beside Mistin, wanting nothing more than to sleep. But there was one last thing she had to do.

She listened to the Four Sister’s music. She didn’t try to fight it as her soul slipped from her body. Traveling its patterns, she stood before Espen. The woman’s branches sagged. She’d lost most of her leaves. “I’m coming,” Senna said.

Espen was more awake now. A blighted branch stretched forward and clawed in the dirt. “Tartens kill Witch on sight.” She scraped the empty space clear and wrote again. “Another enemy.”

Next, she wrote, “More dangerous than Tartens.”

“Who?” Senna asked.

“Songs,” Espen wrote. “Songs from a hidden land.”

Senna curled her arms around her body. “I’ll be careful.”





20. Senna’s Promise





Senna woke with a start to something that sounded remarkably like a dying frog. Mistin was attempting to sing to the wind. Where Senna’s song was strong enough to advance the ship for hours, Mistin’s was so weak she would have to keep up an almost constant barrage.

Senna buried her head under her pillow. The watch had woken her twice so she could sing to keep up their speed, and it had taken her hours to fall back asleep each time. She was still exhausted.

But there was no blocking out Mistin. With a groan of frustration, Senna pushed herself out of bed and found someone to bring her enough water for a bath. The tub was cramped and the water cold, but at least she wasn’t itching from salt water anymore.

She left her cabin and found the deck strangely empty. Parknel stood at the wheel with an expression she’d seen him wear when sailing into battle—like he was determined to go on through tempest, war, or Mistin’s singing. Senna chuckled to herself.

Reden and Cord stared at her with pleading expressions. Cord had stuffed wool in his ears. “For love of the Creators, can you make her stop?” he said.