2

Red

everyone was watching her.

Red hunched into the hood of her feather-gray cloak, keeping her face in shadow as she walked between the decrepit buildings. It didn’t matter. Everyone in the Everlynd camp knew who she was. The girl who’d served the Spindle Witch. The monster.

As a thief, Red knew how to disappear when she needed to. But there was no hiding among the Witches of Everlynd. Even without a stitch of red in her clothes, her favorite color traded for a black skirt and blouse that laced up the front. Even with her eyes cast away and her face hidden. Even with her wolf, Cinzel, left behind at her small camp on the edge of the woods. The shadow of who she had been clung to Red like a bloodstain she could never scrub off.

She deserved the cold stares. The whispers. All of it. She wasn’t the reason Everlynd had gone up in flames—they had Fi’s Butterfly Curse to thank for that. But Red had certainly done more than her share of ugly things.

She picked up the pace, heading for the center of camp, where a cluster of three gray towers stood out against the dark green of the soaring fir trees. That’s where Perrin would be.

The people of Everlynd had taken over the ruins of a large town tucked into a pine forest, what had once been an outpost to the east of Andar’s castle city. If she peered through the trunks, Red could see the black wasteland, and beyond that, the Forest of Thorns, just a dark smudge like a distant thundercloud. It was closer than she’d ever wanted to be to that place again.

The town itself was a sprawl of squat houses with decayed roofs and a few mossy towers that weren’t sturdy past the second level. Perrin’s people were hard at work bolstering and repairing what they could, and the air was loud with the bang of hammers and the shouts of workmen patching the walls. Weathered sheets of burlap flapped on new roofs like blank flags.

Red’s chest squeezed as she passed the little stone house where Perrin and Shane and the Paper Witch were staying. The descendants of the Great Witches had been given the best Everlynd had to offer: an old, wobbly shell of a house with a leaky roof and canvas stretched over the gaping hole in one wall, its slanted windows glittering with warped yellow glass. Shane kept badgering Red to move in with the rest of them. But Red wasn’t interested in sleeping so close to people who despised her.

She fisted a hand in her skirt. The ugly wound on her palm throbbed, threatening to break open and start bleeding again. The thorn rod was gone, all of its power ripped away from her when she’d turned on the Spindle Witch. But sometimes Red swore she could still feel it, like a splinter of dark magic festering under her skin.

The memory of the Spindle Witch’s voice whispered in her mind.

A little bit of me, a little bit of the Forest of Thorns, and a little bit of you, Red.

Red grimaced. Once you’d let something that dark inside you, maybe you never got it out.

Through a ragged curtain doorway, she caught a glimpse of people moving inside one of the cottages. A young woman with dark ringlet curls stood with her bare arms outstretched, while three other women circled her, painstakingly binding line after line of ink onto her tawny skin. Red could see the black strings of letters curling up from the faded pages of crumbling old books singed along the warped spines.

Red shivered. She couldn’t get used to the way the Witches of Everlynd used magic as if it were nothing. She’d spent a lifetime hating and fearing magic—her own most of all. The Paper Witch had explained that they were preserving books rescued from the fires of Everlynd. Red had bitten her tongue before she snapped that they needn’t bother.

The Spindle Witch had Briar Rose. Soon she’d have the Siphoning Spells. And then the whole world would be cracked and withered at her feet. Who would care about a few old books then?

Something hurtled through the air. Red jerked out of her thoughts as an overripe tomato smashed against the wall beside her, splattering her face. She whipped around, but she couldn’t tell who had thrown it—no one would meet her eyes, everyone on the street pointedly looking away.

“Hey! Who did that?”

Suddenly, Shane was beside her, stepping between Red and the crowd. Red didn’t know where she’d come from, but she wasn’t surprised. The huntsman was always good at sniffing her out. Shane’s worn red coat was dusty, her short hair tousled and her fair face flushed like she’d just come from sparring. Red had liked the way Shane’s ash-brown hair looked twisted up in a braid, but she had to admit short hair suited Shane, too, bringing out the sharpness of her features.

Shane’s eyes blazed as she glared out across the street. “If you have something to say, come right out and say it!” she shouted.

No one took her up on the offer. But Red could just imagine what they were thinking. The same whispers she’d heard a hundred times before.

She’s a traitor. A monster.

She’ll bring the Spindle Witch down on us.

Shane looked like she was about one second from shaking everyone in the street down for their vegetables. Red made a disgusted sound in her throat.

“Just let it go.” She ducked under Shane’s outstretched arm, marching off before the huntsman could make a scene and worsen her already rotten reputation.

“Red, wait up!” Shane caught her at the corner, tugging her by the elbow into a narrow alley with ivy-choked walls. “Are you okay?”

Red shot her a withering look. “It’s a tomato. I think I’ll survive.”

The ax strapped between Shane’s shoulder blades glinted as she crossed her arms. “Still. Fewer people would throw stuff if you brought your guard dog along.”

In spite of herself, Red’s lips twitched into a little smile. “Probably. But I haven’t taught you to come when I whistle yet, so . . .”

“Hey.” Shane scrunched her nose. “I told you to stop comparing me to Cinzel.”

“And I told you to stop growling at people,” Red returned.

For just a second, tucked up close to Shane, she could forget it all: the whispers, the cold knot in her chest as she walked this place she didn’t belong. But as soon as she turned her head, it was right there again. A cluster of soldiers in Red Ember cloaks threw Red a dirty look, but they hurried on when they caught sight of Shane right beside her shooting them an even dirtier look in return. Red pushed her hood back, scrubbing at the slick splatter of the tomato on her cheek.

“That’s not a very good way to make friends, you know. Siding with the traitor.” She tried to keep her voice light, but if Shane’s expression was anything to go by, she failed miserably.

“They’re wrong about you,” Shane said, her voice serious and soft.

Red’s smile turned bitter. “Oh, no, Shane. Never forget—I am a traitor. Just because I’m here now doesn’t mean I don’t deserve everything they throw at me.”

Shane pulled her sleeve over her palm and wiped the tomato splatter off Red’s face, her knuckles lingering soft against Red’s cheek. “Just give them time. They don’t know you like I do.”

Red laughed hollowly. Who did Shane think she knew? Red didn’t even know who she was anymore. She’d lost herself up in that tower. In one fell swoop, she’d lost her past, she’d lost her future—she’d lost the shackles that bound her, too. But she didn’t feel free. She just felt empty, some great cavern inside her filled with nothing but ash and acrid smoke.

She’d left the Spindle Witch. She’d done Shane’s right thing. But doing that hadn’t made her into Shane, eternally brave and selfless. Red was still afraid. She was still weak. She still wanted to crawl away and hide with the few things she treasured.

And here Shane was, still looking at Red like she saw something beautiful in her, when Red felt like she was just scars and bruises and open wounds.

She wanted to lean into that touch, to put her hand over Shane’s and surrender to the heat of the girl’s fingers against her face. Instead, she flinched away, walking fast down the alley in the direction of the tower. She wasn’t at all surprised when Shane fell into step beside her.

Whoever Shane had fallen in love with—the daring relic hunter, the playful thief, the mysterious stranger in the scarlet dress—Red wasn’t that person anymore. And she didn’t think she could take the moment Shane realized that and walked away.

“So where are you headed?” Shane asked as they ducked under a sweep of ruined tarp.

Red’s face twisted, a sour taste in the back of her throat. “Perrin called me to the tower.”

Shane looked grave. “I’ll go with you.”

“Of course you will,” Red muttered. Shane never missed an opportunity to stick her nose in Red’s business. But she didn’t protest. Where she was going, she didn’t really want to be alone.

They walked in silence until they reached a wide-bottomed tower with dark lichen crawling up its thick walls. Red could see Perrin waiting for her, leaning back against the door in a cream-colored tunic with billowing sleeves. His short dark hair had grown out into curls, and his brown skin glowed in the warm afternoon light. He offered Red a strained smile.

“You’re taking guard duty now?” Shane asked.

Perrin shook his head. “I sent the guard away. I thought Red could use a little privacy—and a friendly face.”

Shane snorted. “Yeah, no one’s ever accused Ivan of being friendly.”

Red’s heart guttered at the thought of the man imprisoned inside that tower. Ivan, her father’s right hand.

After the fight in the rain, Red thought she’d seen the last of Ivan forever. But a few days after she and Shane and Perrin arrived, Everlynd’s scouts had found him holed up in an abandoned Witch Hunter outpost, feverish and clinging to life, and dragged him back to the camp for questioning. Red had kept her distance—until now.

“Why did you call me here?” she demanded.

Perrin scrubbed a hand through his hair. “He’s asking for you. You don’t have to see him, but I wanted you to have the choice. Before it’s too late.”

Too late? Red crossed her arms tight, holding herself against the instinct to run. “And the council’s going to let us traitors talk?” she bit out. The steward, Nikor, had warned Red in no uncertain terms to stay away from the prisoner. Not that she was eager for a reunion.

Perrin’s face turned grim. “I thought you knew.” He threw a glance at Shane. “He’s dying, Red. Very soon. They’ve gotten all they can from him. They don’t care what he does anymore.”

“And he’s asking . . . for me?”

Perrin nodded. “All night.”

Red bit her lip, warring with herself. She had nothing to say to the man who’d ruled her nightmares for so many years. She couldn’t imagine what he had to say to her. And yet some horrible curiosity kept her rooted there, her eyes fixed on the door.

Shane took a step toward her. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t owe him anything.” Her voice was quiet, though her fierce eyes never left Red’s.

Red took a deep breath. “It’s not for him. It’s for me.”

She had so many ghosts. Maybe she could lay this one to rest.

Shane scowled, but she didn’t say anything as Perrin swung the door open, leading them up the rot-chewed stairs to the second floor. Shafts of sunlight stabbed through the slit windows into the dark belly of the tower. Red felt her heart knocking against her chest, her skin prickling with fear and revulsion.

There was only one door at the top of the steps. Perrin hesitated, his hand on the ornate knob. “The Witches have done what they can. He’s not in any pain.”

“Too bad,” Shane muttered as they stepped inside.

The room beyond had been modified into a prison. The giant metal bars of what had once been a gate were braced between the stone walls to make a cell. Each rusted iron bar tapered to an elaborate spear point, and their sharp tips dug into grooves in the floor. Red peered at a small pallet, a chair, and a few other amenities the right hand of the Witch Hunters didn’t deserve. The sour smell of sweat on the air made her want to gag.

Ivan was already on his feet, as though he had known she was coming. He was as tall and horrifying as she remembered, but his body had turned gaunt, his pale skin sunken and deathly white under his scars. His chest and left arm were wrapped in coarse bandages, and she caught streaks of dark bruises between them, his veins purple and swollen under the skin. He should have been too weak to move. But he’d dragged himself up so he could look down at her through the bars.

“Well, well.” Ivan’s face split in a hooked grin. “The little Witch. I thought you’d be too scared to face me.”

“I have nothing to fear from you anymore,” Red bit out. She forced herself not to flinch as Ivan limped toward her, leaning his bandaged shoulder against the bars.

“You’re very brave with these foul Witches behind you. But I don’t think the marks I left come off that easy.”

His eyes slid to the collar of her cloak. Red couldn’t stop herself from slapping a hand over the sealing tattoo. The two snakes seemed to burn and writhe under her fingers—just as hot and painful as the day he inked the mark onto her neck.

“Hey!” Shane banged the bars, forcing Ivan back a step. “You asked to see her. Whatever you want, spit it out.”

Red felt Perrin move to stand beside her. Ivan glowered at Shane, his fingers twitching as if missing his saw-toothed blade. His eyes flicked back to Red.

“You’re a witness to your father’s death.” Ivan wiped at a crust of blood around his mouth. “Is what they said true? The Spindle Witch killed him and took his place?”

Red lifted her chin. “Yes. She killed him. And she manipulated you, and all the other Witch Hunters, for years and years.”

Ivan slammed his hand against the wall. “That’s why he sent me away from the Eyrie. The Witch knew I’d uncover her deception.”

Watching his face contort, Red felt a rush of something sick and hot in her chest. It was power, she realized. For the first time, she had the power to wound him the way he’d wounded her.

“You lost, Ivan.” Red threw her hands out, gesturing to the cell. “The High Lord is dead, and you’re dying. Everything you worked for has come to nothing. You promised to kill me—but in spite of everything you did, I’m still alive. And now it’s my turn to make you a promise. You’re going to die alone in this cell, nothing but a pawn for the Witch you hated. And not one single person is going to mourn you.”

The words came sharp and venomous. She felt Perrin’s soft hand on her arm like a warning, but she shook it off.

“The Spindle Witch used you,” Red taunted. “How does that feel? Bitter? Painful?”

Ivan’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “You tell me, little girl.”

The words hit her like a slap. Red pulled back, realizing suddenly what she must look like to Shane and Perrin. Standing there goading him, every ugly part of herself on display. She backed away from the cell, clenching one hand into her skirt—the hand scarred by the Spindle Witch’s rod.

Ivan had been her father’s right hand. And Red in turn became the right hand of the Spindle Witch. He had done cruel and horrible things to her, and she’d grown up to do things that were just as horrible and cruel to someone else. Looking at him was like looking in a monstrous mirror.

Ivan’s eyes glowed in the sickly light as he bent toward her, heavy with menace. “We’re not so different, are we, Assora?”

Red shook her head hard. “That’s not my name anymore.”

His laugh rattled in his throat. “It will always be your name. It’s in your blood. Did your father ever tell you where it came from?”

Red’s lip trembled. “It was the last thing my mother said before she died.”

She had heard the story many times when she was little, and then one day, her father abruptly stopped telling it, his face curdling in fury whenever Red asked. Her beautiful mother had carried Red through a difficult pregnancy with the grit of a warrior and survived for three days after, holding Red close and crying. With her last breath, she’d named the baby Assora. In the loneliest hours of her childhood, Red had clung to the scraps of that story and the mother she had never known. The one person who hadn’t lived long enough to despise her.

“So he never told you the truth.”

Red’s head snapped up.

Ivan spat onto the floor, a rust-colored stain. “He didn’t find out until later. Assora was the name of your mother’s ancestor—the true name of the Snake Witch. You’re descended from her, one of the vilest creatures that ever lived.”

Perrin stiffened, and Shane sucked in a surprised breath.

“What?” Red whispered. She felt ice-cold, her skin prickling as the words raced through her head. Assora . . . the Snake Witch . . . “You’re lying,” she choked out. But the horrible gleam in his eyes said otherwise.

“Your mother wasn’t using her last breath to name her precious child. She was confessing to her monstrous lineage.” Ivan’s brutal gaze burned into her. “I only regret I didn’t kill you right then, as soon as I knew what you really were.”

Blood roiled in Red’s ears. All the pain and bitterness rushed up in her like bile, and she threw herself around Shane, bashing her hands into the bars. “Whatever I am, you made me!”

Then Shane’s arms were around her waist, wrenching her backward out of Ivan’s reach. “Red!” Shane shouted. But it was too late. The damage was done.

Red tore herself away from Shane and ran. She didn’t look back, almost slipping on the narrow stairs as she fled from the monster in the cell and the monster he reflected back at her. She didn’t care who saw her running through the Everlynd camp with tears streaming down her face. No one could imagine worse than the truth.

She’d been born a monster. Lost part of herself to Ivan. Sold part of herself to the Spindle Witch. Maybe no part of Red really belonged to her anymore.

Distantly, she realized her palm was slick, the bandage stained with blood. She must have split the scab open on the bars of Ivan’s cell. Or maybe the Spindle Witch’s mark was a wound that would simply never heal.