Witch Born (31 page)

By the Creators, what would Joshen think? Senna pressed the heels of her palms into her swollen eyes. For the first time in her life, she felt like she knew who she was, what she was capable of. She and Joshen could rebuild their relationship now. But he was gone—captured or…

No! She refused to believe he was dead. He had to be alive. She remembered the way he gently cupped the back of her head, the way his lips felt on hers—hungry and yet somehow gentle. There would be no beauty in the world if Joshen no longer lived in it.

Cord sucked in a breath.

She blushed scarlet. “You dung-licking son of a weasel, stay out of my head!”

He cleared his throat. “You and Joshen…I didn’t know.”

She cast him a searing look. “What do you mean you didn’t know? How could you not know?”

He clambered to his feet and moved as if to go back to the city. He was hoping distance would hide the horror he was doggedly trying to suppress. After a few dozen steps, he remembered he couldn’t leave her and stopped with his fists clenched at his side. “I didn’t know it had gone that far.”

Senna was on her feet before she realized it. Jealousy and confusion and denial poured into her blood in dizzying waves. She stumbled back.

Cord tensed—he must be feeling her dawning understanding. He took a deep breath and then his shoulders sagged. “All I ever saw was you arguing with him. I didn’t even know you liked each other anymore. I had no idea you were to be married. I’m sorry.”

Shock and disbelief crowded her mind. She stepped back but her foot only found open air. She’d moved to the rim of the drop-off without realizing it. She started tipping back, her arms windmilling to stop her fall.

Before she could cry out, Cord was there pulling her away from danger and spinning her so he stood between her and the edge.

His touch burned—in a very good way. Like she had reconnected with a part of herself she’d lost without realizing it. The link flooded open and information poured through.

He released her a second before she jerked away. But she’d seen what he had in his pocket. Moving by impulse, she reached into his trousers and grasped something soft. She pulled out a square of soft leather and opened it. Inside were golden strands of her hair. Cord had tied a knot in the center.

He jerked it back from her, his face coloring. When he’d cut her gag and accidentally snipped her hair, he’d taken the strands and saved them in his pocket.

Her breaths came in short gasps. “You don’t love me. You love my song.”

She felt his emotions as he looked at her. Her hair and eyes reminded him of dark honey. The center line in her bottom lip—he wanted to touch it, rub it with his thumb. Her small frame—he wanted to press his body against her. But it was the sound of her voice that drove him.

All these thoughts were his. She pressed her hands against her temples. “Stop it! You don’t love me!”

The thoughts kept coming. While Cord had recovered from being stabbed, Mistin had hid him shockingly close to Senna’s tree house so he could spy on her. He’d listened to her sing, had watched her from afar for days.

She hadn’t thought it was possible to feel more violated. “You’re attracted to my body, my song—not me!”

His brow furrowed as he reached for her. “Isn’t that how love begins?”

“No!” She shied away from his touch as if it would burn her. “Love is so much more than that. It is a choice you make every day.” Inside, she felt dirty, as if she’d somehow betrayed Joshen. She closed her eyes and thought of him again. His dogged concern, the way he swore when he was angry, the way he inhaled his food. He’d left everything to follow her long before he’d ever heard her voice. Their love had blossomed from their friendship.

Not like this. Not based on looks and her voice as golden as her hair and eyes. Her delicate hands. She tried to block out Cord’s thoughts. “That’s attraction. Not love.” She backed away from him.

It was true things with Joshen had been off kilter in the last few weeks, but her feelings for him hadn’t changed. She glanced again at the cliff, wondering if she had time to push Cord off it.

“I’ve trained in combat since I was old enough to hold a stick.” He wanted to reach for her, but he knew better this time.

Steeling herself, she held her clenched fists tight to her sides. “You will control your thoughts. I am your Keeper. You will obey my orders and keep your distance. And you
will not
touch me again.”

His hand fell. “Very well. Just remember that the Composer’s orders supersede yours.”

Senna raised herself to her full height. “And if I tell her of your feelings for me and request another Guardian?”

He shrugged. “It’s inevitable, Senna. You feel what I feel. Can you imagine living through me even kissing another girl, let alone marrying her?”

She shuddered as she imagined passion seeping through the link. It would be the worst kind of voyeurism. “What have you done?” But he’d already answered that. If not him, Ellesh would have chosen someone else—a complete stranger.

By the Creators, that woman was going to pay for this.

Senna turned on her heel and stormed back down the mountain. She chose a path that seemed to meander toward the tallest tree—the listening tree. She hadn’t gone a dozen steps when another tree blocked her way. The path branched off to the left or right. She took the right and found herself heading away from the center. She took the next left and found herself cutting back to the right. As far as she could tell, there were no straight roads. Everything curved and twisted around trees.

The Keepers grew the trees like this to confuse anyone who tried to attack the city—Cord’s thought. He was trying to nudge her to take the middle fork. Furious at the intrusion, she took the left. Within a few dozen steps, she was surrounded by Witchlings. They gave half bows as she passed, their faces alight with wonder.

The strong smell of herbs permeated the air. In a pavilion, girls were mixing their first potions. As Senna watched, one of them tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. Singing softly to herself, she crushed a leaf between her thumb and fingers, rolling it to a pulp before dropping it in. That had been Senna a few weeks ago.

She passed a tree house where Witches were learning their scales—their voices rang with the innocence of youth. Everywhere she went, her pale coloring stood out from the rich hues of skin, hair, and eyes around her. Witches and Guardians alike paused to study her with a touch of reverence in their faces.

She was completely lost by the time Mistin emerged from the trees and stood beside her. “Are you still angry with me?”

Senna planted her fists on her hips. “You betrayed me. I should be in Tarten now, trying to free Joshen and Reden, but you forced me somewhere I can’t help them. I saw the way Reden looked at you—like you were something rare and priceless. And you just left him to die!”

Mistin’s face darkened with emotion. “I tried to save him! I revealed my knives to save him! But then the Tartens trapped them.” Her voice trailed to a whisper at the end.

If Mistin was hoping to make Senna feel guilty, she had failed. “You should have saved them, Mistin! I went into this knowing I might die. I was prepared for it. But not for this!”

Senna took a step closer, her heart pumping madly in her chest. “You spied on Haven. They sent an earth tremor because of your reports. How many people died because of that?”

Mistin cringed. “I’m sorry.”

If Senna had a weapon, she would have hurt Mistin. Badly.

Cord reached toward her. “Senna.” His unspoken warning poured into her.

She shied away from his touch. “Did you know the Composer planned on violating me?”

Mistin took a step back. “What? Violate you how?”

Senna pointed at Cord. “Ellesh tricked me into making your ‘brother’ my Guardian. I bonded him.”

Mistin’s sharp intake of breath proved her ignorance of the Composer’s plan. “They only do that to a Witch who’s married her Guardian.” Mistin eyed Senna’s beautiful tunic, the gold bracelet, her elaborate hair.

With a dawning horror, Senna wondered if this was some kind of wedding dress. She yanked her hair out of its pins, ripped the bracelet off, and threw it at Cord.

He caught it without looking and stuffed it in his pocket with the lock of her hair.

She looked for something else to throw at him.

Mistin followed her. “Senna, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she was planning that.”

Senna tried not let Mistin’s gentle words penetrate her defenses. “Don’t talk to me like I’m your friend. We are
not
friends.” She found a rock and launched it at Cord. He caught it easily.

Mistin shuffled her feet. “I’m a Caldash Witch. You’re a Haven Witch. If we can’t find a way to see past our differences, how can we expect any of them to?”

Senna threw another rock.

Cord let it hit him, a dry expression on his face. “Are you finished throwing your tantrum yet?”

Trying to rein in her fury, Senna took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Only a fool would trust either of you.”

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.

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.”

She hadn’t realized she’d said it out loud until Mistin answered wryly, “He loved every meal.”

A sad smile worked the corners of Senna’s mouth. “Yes, but he would have especially liked this one.”

Mistin squeezed Senna’s arm. “When all this is over and we’ve defeated Haven and Tarten, we’ll find him and set him free. And I’ll make sure he gets to try each of these dishes. All right?”