Witch Born(93)

Mistin’s shoulders sagged. “Our people are enemies, but they’re also sisters. Besides, you need me. And as long as it doesn’t contradict my orders, I’ll do everything I can to help you.”

She was right. Senna did need her. Perhaps it was possible to use their relationship to her advantage.

Mistin was silent for a time and then she chuckled. “By the Creators, Cord’s head is one I’d never want to be in.”

Senna lifted a hand to brush a strand of hair from her face. “I can’t find Ellesh’s tree. I can’t find anything in this place.” She studied Mistin. “So how did you find me?”

Mistin steered her down a different path. “You sort of stand out, Senna. All I had to do was ask.”

Through the crescent link, Senna felt the smallest thread of hope. She focused on it. From his half dozen steps behind her, Cord was thinking that if she could work with Mistin, she could work with him. She stiffened and shot him a glare.

He was right. The bond between them was permanent. She would have to find a way to live with it.

But not today. Today she was still angry.





29. The Replacement





A single eyebrow raised, Mistin looked between the two of them. “Come on. The Heads are asking for you. They’re having a big dinner with the other leaders.”

“Then what do they want me there for?” Senna growled.

Mistin shrugged. “No idea.”

Senna followed her back to the center of the city, into what Krissin had referred to as their castle. Krissin and the other Heads were waiting for her in one of the trees. The Composer wasn’t in sight yet, but there were others. Three men and numerous women—about ten in all. Senna couldn’t fathom who they could be.

A partial answer came from her link to Cord. The man on the far right was Jarlin, the Guardian’s Leader. Senna only received faint impressions about the others. It was as if Cord didn’t know them very well.

Senna squinted at him, trying to figure out how this bond worked. She felt a constant flow of his emotions. Every once in a while, his thoughts seemed to slip through, especially if he wanted to tell her something. But even then it seemed sporadic at best.

“Senna?”

She realized Mistin had been trying to catch her attention for some time. “They’ve set another place for you. I’ll see you later.”

Senna clamped her hand on the girl’s arm. “You’re not leaving me.”

Mistin blinked and came close enough to whisper, “Senna, I’m not allowed in these kinds of meetings.”

“Then I’m not staying either,” Senna said through the fear twisting her belly into a knot. She was still angry. But if Mistin was her enemy, at least she was a known enemy. The Composer had invited Senna to a dinner with the leaders of Caldash, and she couldn’t think of any good reason for that.

Mistin glanced uneasily around the room.

“Please.” Senna forced the words past her teeth.

Mistin set her shoulders and went to speak with a woman Senna had never seen before. She reminded her of Chavis, with her trousers and short tunic, and weapons strapped to her chest.

The woman’s head came up and she looked at Senna, who still stood in the doorway.

“Cord can look after his Witch,” the woman said.

At the mention of his name, Senna felt Cord, standing against the wall, his hand on his weapon. There were other Guardians with him.

“Cord isn’t welcome,” Senna ground out.

The woman’s eyes widened. After a moment, she gave Mistin a tiny nod.

Mistin found another chair and sat beside Senna, whose middle clenched with hunger.

Across from her, Krissin took a drink and smiled. “Eat whatever you like.”

Senna considered refusing on principle. But being weak wouldn’t help her escape.

Mistin pointed out the best of the greens—one mixed with a dried sour-sweet berry, candied nuts, and a sunset pink dressing that tasted of onions and wine vinegar. Mistin piled their plates high with some kind of meat drenched in a sticky sauce with more dried berries and nuts.

Senna glanced at the numerous faces around the room. She caught snatches of conversations, everything from intercity trade to orders for weapons, while they ate food Senna had come to consider Witch staples—greens and herbs, berries and nuts, growing things that were easy for Witch song to create.

But where Haven’s fish usually was, there was some kind of meat. She bit into it—sweet and sour, like the salad. Why did every nation besides Nefalie think meat needed to be sweetened? “What is this, anyway?”

“Lamb with dried bitterberries,” Mistin whispered.

As the warm savor and sweetness filled her, she had to admit she was starting to get used to it. Like it, even. “Joshen would have loved this meal.”