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.
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.”
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?”
Senna stared at her plate, bile rising in her throat. She’d been enjoying herself, while Joshen endured who knew what. She’d even slipped and forgotten to hate Mistin. Use her, just like she used you, she repeated to herself.
Senna gestured toward the woman who’d allowed Mistin to stay. “Who is she?”
Mistin bent closer. “Her name is Fallin. She’s the leader of my order.”
Senna swallowed. “Order?”
“In Caldash, each Discipline has an Order attached to it. Witches can join an Order if their strengths are better suited for it. Mistin pointed to each of the unknown Witches in turn. “Beneath Water are the Strykers—we’re trained in the women’s art of war alongside the Guardians. We can even become Guardians if we choose. Under Plants are the herbalists and physicians. Merchants are under Earth. Under Sunlight are the teachers.”
Senna took another bite of the too-sweet lamb. “So Fallin answers to your Head of Water?”
“No more than the lakes answer to the sea.” Mistin took another bite of her food and went on. “Together, the three groups of leaders form the Triad. The Heads’ collective vote counts as one, the Orders’ vote as another. The Composer’s vote is the third.” She paused. “Like I told you, here we know that a Witch is more than just her song.”
Senna glanced at Fallin. She didn’t doubt there were knives hidden in her clothing. “Is it just the ones with weak songs that join an Order?”
Mistin grimaced.
“I’m sorry,” Senna said, though she wasn’t. “But I need to know.”
A bit of the tension eased from Mistin’s face. “Not always. Fallin is a level five.”
Senna nodded. That was at least as strong as Prenny. “So every Witch is in a Discipline or a specialized Order within that Discipline?”
Mistin nodded. “Yes.”
“And if a Witch doesn’t wish to be part of any of it?”
Mistin’s face went soft with pity. “They won’t let you go, Senna.”
“They can’t keep me here forever.” Though she wanted to shout, she whispered it so softly only Mistin could hear.
Mistin’s reply was just as soft. “After Haven is defeated, there won’t be anywhere else to go. And you’re not the kind of woman to abandon your kind. We need you.”
Senna’s insides hurt. Before she could answer, the conversation suddenly ceased and everyone at the table came to their feet.
Senna looked up as the Composer strode into the room. The woman’s presence made her feel queasy.
Mistin tugged on her arm. “You have to stand,” she whispered.
It galled her to show respect to this woman, not just for what she’d done to Senna, but for what she planned to do to Haven. Glaring at the lamb, she stayed firmly in her chair despite the murmurs of “Composer.”
Shocked silence descended upon the room. Feeling eyes on her, Senna looked up to see everyone, including Ellesh, watching her. But she didn’t stand.
With a sigh, the Composer moved to the brazier and filled mugs from a teapot simmering over the fire. She carefully poured and distributed the cups around the room.
Lastly, she held out a chipped cup to Senna, who didn’t move to take it from the old woman’s outstretched hand.
Mistin shot her a warning look, and the room grew very still.
Ellesh simply set the cup in front of Senna before taking her seat. Everyone sat down.
The Composer blew the steam off the top of her tea before taking a sip. “I have called this meeting to name my replacement.”
The Heads exchanged uneasy glances. The Guardians surrounding the room shifted their weight. Senna pushed the mug away.
Ellesh didn’t rise to the bait. “Guardians are charged with protecting Witches, Heads are in charge of nature, the Orders with the running of our people. And I” —she took a deep breath— “I am your judge. Our relationship is built on trust and mutual goals. But I have broken that trust.”
She folded her hands across her lap and stared at them. “When Haven cursed Tarten, Millay and I knew our time in hiding was at an end. We sent spies out into the world to learn how they were saved and by whom, as well as how to ensure we won the battle that was coming.”
Senna guessed Millay was the Head of Water sitting next to Fallin, as both women were dressed like warriors, though Millay looked rather old for it. Senna leaned toward Mistin. “I thought you couldn’t cross the barrier until recently?”
Her eyes never leaving the Composer, Mistin answered, “We were never able to return, but our songs could, remember?”
Senna felt a stab of sympathy for the women who’d left Caldash. She knew what it was like to leave her home, knowing she could never return.
Ellesh looked up and her dark eyes met Senna’s. “That’s how we learned another Creator-touched had come into being. The cycle had come full circle—beginning and ending with two Witches of unequalled power.” Her voice dropped and she seemed to address Senna alone. “So you can imagine my dismay when I discovered you had aligned with Haven. I sent Mistin and Cord to fetch you if they could.”
The Composer’s gaze felt too intimate. Senna looked away. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” she said. “Let me talk to them.”
“You know they won’t listen.” Ellesh’s voice was thick.
Senna closed her eyes. Ellesh was right. Caldash’s alliance with Tarten had forever destroyed that hope.
Krissin cleared her throat. “I don’t see how you’ve broken our trust, Composer. We all agreed to this.”
Ellesh sipped her tea before carefully setting the cup down. “I bound Brusenna to a Guardian.”
Krissin winced. Gasps and murmurs of conversation flooded the room.
“But that’s only ever done by Witches who’ve married their Guardians!”
“The poor girl.”
“No wonder she refused to stand.”
Senna felt more than heard the unease from the Guardians at her back. A sharp spike of shame flowed from Cord.
One of the Heads spoke up louder than the rest. “Your actions served a higher purpose—surely we can understand that.”
Ellesh’s gaze was distant and unfocused. “I doubt Brusenna would agree.”
She felt the weight of their stares, the heft of their silence.
“On the brink of our war, we must think to the future. After we have defeated these Witches, we will ask them to join us, but we must give them something in return. One of them will take my place.”
Senna looked up sharply. Ellesh’s dark eyes were on her. “Haven will need some proof of our intentions. Brusenna as our Composer will accomplish that.”
Krissin said carefully, “Composer Ellesh, she is still a child.”
Ellesh grunted. “No. Just young. She will make mistakes, but no more than I did. Than I still do.”
Krissin opened her mouth to argue.
Ellesh held up her hand and stared Krissin down. “She is Creator-touched, Head. Have you forgotten what that means?”
Senna straightened under all the scrutiny. It meant she had been chosen by the Creators. She could hear the Four Sister’s songs, create her own songs. It meant power.
Krissin made no more arguments.
Ellesh stared at Senna and seemed to speak to her alone. “I offer you everything you’ve always wanted. A chance to change the Witches for good. A better way of living. Witches who are respected by their people. Witches who are powerful and good and do not abuse their power.”
Despite her animosity towards these women, Senna’s spirit stirred. Ellesh was right about much of it, but there had to be another way.
Ellesh lifted her tea. “To our Composer in Training.”
The women all slowly raised their cups and tipped them to their lips.
Through her stunned haze, Senna felt Cord’s worry and heard Mist
in’s whispered voice. “Drink it.”
Senna stared at the brown liquid. She considered refusing, but what had Coyel said weeks ago? A position of power would mean the chance to change things—to protect the Haven Witches who survived. The power to make sure all the Witches were treated as equals. The mug felt as heavy as Senna’s heart as she lifted it to her lips. She forced down a couple of hasty swallows, but couldn’t finish the rest. It was too bitter. And somehow familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She suppressed a grimace as she plunked the cup down on the table.
Ellesh watched her. “You must finish it.” Senna tipped the cup to her lips and pretended to drink.
The Composer bowed her head. “After the battle is over, I shall step down, and Brusenna shall take my place.” She looked up at the many faces in the room. “If any object, I will hear you now.”
To Senna’s disbelief, no one did. Ellesh nodded. “Very well. Let it be written in the Chronicles of the Law.”
Millay rose to her feet, her hands splayed across the table. “As you know, I sent out orders this morning for our ships to stand ready. Even now, the last of our seeds and potions have been sent downriver. We begin moving out tonight.”
Low murmurs rose from those seated, but it was not the chatter of surprise or frustration. All of these women had known what was coming.
All except Senna. She slipped the cup beneath the table and poured the contents onto the floor. A small act of defiance, but it was better than nothing. She rubbed her eyes. It had been a long few weeks, and she was exhausted, but she had to drudge up the last of her reserves to find a way on those ships. If she could just manage to escape from Cord first.
She felt him watching her. No doubt he already knew her thoughts. There had to be a way around that. The impossibility of it made her limbs feel so heavy.
“And now, I must apologize to you again, Brusenna.” Ellesh surprised Senna by speaking from beside her. She took Senna’s cup and examined the dregs.
Not liking the way the woman towered over her, Senna stood. She was surprised how hard it was to keep from swaying. “For what, Ellesh?” She refused to call the woman by her honorific title.