29

Shane

shane’s head throbbed like she’d pounded it with her own ax. She blinked blearily up at a stone ceiling. Then the memories came rushing back—Fi, the Spindle Witch, the library, being thrown bodily into the bookshelf. Her head had cracked against the heavy wood as books rained down on her, and then everything went black.

Whatever she was lying on didn’t feel like a bookcase, though. It felt suspiciously like a bed, and she could hear soft voices around her.

Shane shot up, throwing back the white sheet with a half-formed idea of finding Fi or Red, or both. The world lurched around her as she tried to stand, and she sat back down heavily.

“Not a good idea,” a cool voice said from her right.

When the world resolved again, Shane could see that she was in some kind of barracks that had been transformed into a bustling infirmary. Women and men in swirling silk robes were scurrying between beds, leaning over injured soldiers in frayed red cloaks, while others carried buckets of water and armfuls of bandages. Shane even vaguely thought she recognized one of the gray-haired women as the Witch she’d passed in the hallways. These were the people of Andar, finally freed from the Spindle Witch’s power.

Captain Hane sat on the bed next to Shane. The woman had a streak of black dirt across her face, and both her knuckles were bloody. One of her arms hung at an odd angle. A young woman in a blue robe stood beside her, dabbing at a cut on her chin.

Relief flooded through Shane. If Hane was here, having her injuries seen to, then the battle was won, because there was no way the captain would let anyone drag her off the battlefield before the fight was over. Pain spiked through Shane’s skull again, and she sagged back against her pillows with a groan. For the first time, she noticed the thick white bandage covering the gash on her thigh.

“You with us?” Captain Hane asked, when Shane finally steadied. “From what I understand, you took a nasty blow to the head.”

“How’d it end?” Shane wanted to know.

Captain Hane smiled widely. “In victory,” she said. “You were right to have faith in your partner. I haven’t gotten the whole story, but she defeated the Spindle Witch, severing her from her magic and ending her life. Without her, the bone creatures fell apart—the whole Forest of Thorns did.”

The girl who had been treating Hane put her cloth aside, lifting her hands and holding them over the captain’s twisted arm. She was a Witch, Shane realized. Her entire left arm was inked with silvery tattoos tracing a pattern that looked like vines, or maybe veins. The tattoos seemed to shimmer as she closed her eyes, her fingertips hovering over Captain Hane’s skin. The bones didn’t spring back into place, the cuts didn’t disappear, but the ashen look left the captain’s face, and she sat up a little straighter.

“Thank you,” she said, before turning back to Shane. “It wasn’t much of a battle after that. The Witch Hunters that didn’t get away were rounded up, and young Perrin—or should I say the new Dream Witch—was able to wake the people of the castle.”

“Yeah, I met the king,” Shane admitted. “Well, briefly. In between fighting for our lives.”

Hane crooked an eyebrow as if to say she’d be waiting for Shane’s side of the story at the big victory celebration.

The Witch at Hane’s side threw Shane a lopsided smile, a chorus of little bells tinkling in her hair. “You all are the first patients I’ve treated in a hundred years. Hope I’m not too rusty.”

“You’re a blessing,” Hane said. “It’s been generations since Everlynd had any Witches from the Order of the Azure Drop.”

Shane’s head could use a little of that magic, and then maybe some more blessed unconsciousness. She had a few more questions first, though.

“My partner Fi and Briar Rose—were they hurt?”

“No,” Hane said quickly. “They are both alive.” There was something restrained in the woman’s voice, as though she were hesitating. It put Shane on edge.

“How long was I out?” she asked.

The Witch healer gave a little shrug. “Not long, I think. You’re one of my new arrivals.”

They were interrupted by another voice, a soft baritone Shane would know anywhere.

“You’re awake,” the Paper Witch called, making his way to her. “That is very good news.” The relief in his face was palpable. He looked weary, one hand braced on the wall over her bed to hold himself up, though he didn’t seem injured. Seeing him made Shane feel better. That was almost everyone accounted for.

“What about Red?” she asked.

“Red is . . . here,” the Paper Witch said slowly.

“Here, as in—she’s hurt?” Shane demanded. She lurched up, spinning head be damned. “I need to see her.”

Captain Hane looked grim. The Paper Witch leaned down, pressing a hand on her shoulder—to comfort her or to restrain her, Shane didn’t care. She wasn’t lying in this bed one second longer if Red needed her.

“Where is she?”

“Shane,” the Paper Witch said. His voice was soft, his eyes an ethereal blue. “Her injuries are simply too severe. The Witches have done all they can, but . . . she may never wake up.”

He seemed like a stranger again, the mythic figure she’d first met in a tavern years ago, reaching out a hand to guide her into a new life. But he was wrong. There was no life for Shane anymore without Red in it.

“No!” Shane knocked his hand away. “Take me to her right now.” Her feet hit the floor a little unsteadily, and she grabbed the wall for support, breathing hard. Her body was screaming, but she didn’t care—she would crawl to Red if she had to. The Paper Witch gave her a searching look, then sighed heavily, offering his arm.

“This way,” he said.

He led Shane to the back of the little barracks. Red lay at the end of a row of empty beds. Her dark curls spilled around her, stark against the white pillow. Her whole chest was cocooned in bandages, an ugly splotch of crimson already bleeding through over her shoulder, and her face was still, her warm skin turned ashen. Like she was already dead.

Shane ran. The world was spinning again, but this time, it wasn’t because of her head. It felt like someone had reached into her chest and ripped her heart out. She fell to her knees beside the bed, grabbing Red’s hand and squeezing it between her own. She could feel the girl’s erratic pulse, but her touch was limp, her skin clammy with sweat.

“What happened?” she asked hoarsely.

“Perrin says it was the giant wolves,” the Paper Witch murmured. “He carried her all the way here, screaming for help, or she surely would have died out there.”

“We did all that we could.”

Shane whirled at the new voice to find a stately woman standing over her. Her gray hair was pulled back in an intricate braid woven through with little bells, and her skin glittered with the same spiderweb of silver tattoos, stretching up her bare left arm all the way to her neck. A single shining teardrop was inscribed under her right eye. Her gaze was somber.

“The magic of the Witches of the Azure Drop is not limitless. Some wounds are simply too deep for us to heal. I poured my own magic into this girl. I felt her bones knitting, her body struggling to heal itself, but . . .”

“Don’t,” Shane snapped. “Don’t say it.”

“Shane,” the Paper Witch admonished softly.

Tears had gathered in the corners of Shane’s eyes, and they slid down her cheeks as she blinked at the still form lying in the bed. Red had only joined this battle for her. She had a sudden impossible wish: that Red had never met her, never betrayed the Spindle Witch, never let Shane take her hand if this was where Shane was going to lead her. Her heart thudded with an old memory: Red, sick and dying of poison, telling Shane her fate had been sealed long ago.

A small whine drew her attention. Cinzel lay sadly on the floor, his head resting on his paws. A wide swath of bandages covered his flank, and Shane could see blood matted into his white-and-tawny fur. He whined at Shane again, inching toward her on the floor. Shane swiped at her eyes.

“Come on, mutt,” she said, patting the bed. “I know it was probably doctor’s orders, but Red would want you with her.”

Cinzel climbed onto the bed, squeezing himself against Red’s legs, and then lay back down, eyes fixed on his unmoving human. Shane just dared the Witch of the Azure Drop to have anything to say about that. But the woman was silent. They all were, watching the figure in the bed. Half a dozen men and women in the same blue robes had drifted to stand around them, a silent vigil, and Shane wondered if they were all thinking what she was thinking—that every breath might be Red’s very last one.

A thousand memories of Red flashed before her eyes—Red humming happily as she stroked Cinzel’s fur, Red stomping down on Shane’s toe, Red’s eyes flashing as they argued, Red standing in the rain, soaked to the bone, telling Shane she didn’t get to give up. Red looking up at her through those lashes in the dark—the feel of Red’s love, Red’s kiss on her lips. Shane couldn’t lose her.

“Try again.” Shane ground her teeth together, searching the faces of the Witches of the Azure Drop, her hands balled into fists. “Whatever you did before, try it again! She’s not done—we’re not done, and she’s not giving up.”

The Witches exchanged weary glances, looking to the older Witch with the shining silver tear. Her dark eyes never left Shane’s face.

“Our magic is nearly exhausted,” the woman told her, sweeping one hand toward the infirmary. “We cannot create life energy from nothing.”

“Then take mine!” Shane begged them. Red could have her pounding head, her aching wounds, her bruised body, and her raw hands. She didn’t have much left, but Red could have it—all of it.

The Witch still looked uncertain, her lips pursed.

“She’s one of us,” a familiar voice broke in. Perrin pushed through the crowd. He was covered in his own swath of bandages, but his eyes were steady as he stepped to Shane’s side. “She’s descended from one of our own. Red carries the name Assora—and the blood of the Snake Witch. If you won’t do it for us, do it for her.”

The Witches traded shocked whispers. The Paper Witch’s mouth fell open, one of the few times Shane had ever seen him truly surprised. So there were a few things he didn’t know. His expression turned wistful as he looked down at Red.

“Perhaps this is a sign, Nezira,” he said quietly, turning to the gray-haired Witch. “The descendants of all the Great Witches are gathered here. Three women known for achieving the impossible.” He laid a hand on Shane’s shoulder. “I also offer my life to save Red’s.”

“Count me in,” Perrin added with a smile.

Nezira bowed her head. “I make no promises. But we will try.”

The Witches inched closer. Their blue robes rustled as they formed a circle, linking their arms until Shane and Red were inside an unbroken river of silver veins. The tattoos shimmered as magic raced through them, like a great river of power flowing from one Witch to the next.

Shane had never actually felt magic before, but she could feel it now—a tingle on her skin like she was standing in an icy winter glade in Steelwight, every breath shivering with frost, the whole world silent.

The young Witch who’d been caring for Captain Hane stepped forward, shimmering with magic, and the Paper Witch inclined his head so she could press her hand to his cheek. He sagged the second she touched him, her tattoos pulsing with the silver glow as he added his energy to the spell. Perrin held out his hand to a tall boy with green eyes. Then all of that magic was in Nezira, her brown eyes warm as she reached out and laid one glittering hand on Red’s shoulder. Shane watched as the magic flowed into Red, shimmering under her skin.

“Call to her,” Nezira ordered.

Shane scooted as close as she could get, twining her fingers into those tousled curls.

“You have to wake up, Red,” she whispered. “That future you wanted so badly, it’s right here. I’m right here. You’ve always been so stubborn . . . Don’t tell me this is the one thing you’re giving up on.” Tears streamed down her face as she pressed her forehead to Red’s.

Cinzel licked Red’s still hand. Suddenly, her fingers twitched.

“Yes, yes!” Shane shouted.

Nezira pulled her hand back, her face cracking into a smile.

Red’s soft brown eyes blinking open was the most beautiful thing Shane had ever seen. She wrapped Red up in her arms and pressed their lips together, not caring one bit that a dozen Witches were watching. Perrin laughed and clapped the Paper Witch’s shoulder. Shane would be laughing, too, but she was too busy kissing Red.

As Shane pulled back, Perrin threw himself onto the cot and wrapped his lanky arms around both of them, and Cinzel, too, and suddenly it was a group hug with a wolf in the middle of it, Red gaping in surprise while Shane just threw her head back laughing. Cinzel was bunting Red and slobbering all over Perrin’s face, crooning his happy song, and for once, Shane didn’t need Red to tell her what he was saying. She and Cinzel were thinking the exact same thing.

“Welcome home, Red,” Shane whispered. And then kissed her again, just because she could.