“No!” her mother shouted as she broke the Circle, running to stand between the Heads and her daughter. The barrier flickered into fragments that dissipated like a rain of dying stars. “I’ll not let her die.”
Die? Senna didn’t understand.
“You promised we wouldn’t use Brusenna this way—that we wouldn’t let her die! We all did,” Prenny barked.
Coyel watched her mother, and Senna saw the friendship that had once been between them. “If she’s right, she’s the only one strong enough.” The Head shifted her gaze to Senna. “I’m sorry.”
Sacra fell to her knees before her daughter. “A singer has never lived through moving an island, Brusenna. Not even Lilette.”
Senna knelt in the wet grass and encircled her mother in her arms. “You knew from the beginning I would die, didn’t you?”
“I tried to warn you.” Her mother’s body trembled. “I knew Haven would use you up for its own purposes, just as they did me. It’s one of the reasons I kept you away from them, why I tried again and again to get you off this island.”
Love bloomed in Senna’s breast like the promise of a rainbow after the storm has passed. “It has to be this way.”
“No!” her mother cried. “I’ll do it. I’ll sing the song.”
Senna noticed the outline of a pistol beneath her mother’s coat. Looking up, she saw that all the Witches wore one. They would have one shot before the rain dampened their powder and made the guns useless. “You’re not strong enough, Mother.”
“No! I won’t let you!”
Sadness was like a raw wound inside Senna. It was obvious her mother would never let her go—she couldn’t. Senna looked at the others for help and found Prenny singing softly under her breath. The old woman flashed a violent purple potion at her as she sneaked toward Sacra.
Yarves. The potion would take away her mother’s free will. The effects were permanent, unless the antidote was given in the first few hours.
Senna closed her eyes. It was the only way. She nodded slightly.
Prenny pressed her mouth to Sacra’s before she could fight back. Her eyes went blank. Prenny ordered Sacra to the cliffs with the others. “I’ll look after her,” she promised.
Senna watched her mother go, her heart like a cold stone in her chest. “Tell her I’m so sorry.”
Prenny nodded curtly and hurried after her.
Coyel grasped Senna’s hand. “We aren’t touching this time, so our minds won’t link. Are you sure you remember the song?”
Senna smiled bitterly. “Even if I don’t, I can move the island.”
“No, you can’t!” Drenelle shrieked. “I’m telling you, it’s impossible. We’re all going to die!”
“Spoken like the traitor you are,” Senna cried.
Drenelle jerked as if she’d been slapped. “Traitor? I’m no traitor.”
“No? When I was first attacked, you tried to stop us from searching for my attackers. The second time, you sent Joshen away, giving them the perfect opportunity to take me.”
Drenelle held up her hands. “That’s ridiculous.”
Coyel eyed Drenelle suspiciously. “Drenelle?”
“I swear, I’m not working with Caldash.”
Coyel stood stiff and unsure before seeming to make a decision. “You’ll stay next to me until we can sort this out.”
Drenelle went pale. “It won’t matter. If she tries to move this island, it will all break apart.”
Senna groaned. It was foolish leaving Drenelle free, but there wasn’t time to argue the point.
Coyel took Drenelle’s arm. “She’s Creator-touched. That has to mean something.” She turned to Senna. “Goodbye, Brusenna.”
Everyone else had already gone. Senna was alone, and she was going to die. The thought frightened her, made her sick, but she didn’t try to run.
Instead, she thought again of Joshen, dead for her. Of Reden and Cord. Her father and sister, whom she’d never even met. And she realized most of the people she loved were already with the Creators. She would be joining them soon. Maybe there was nothing to fear after all.
Senna tipped her face up to the rain as her apprehension melted away.
She was ready.
33. Traitor
“Brusenna!”
Chavis strode across the green toward Senna. Arianis trotted behind her. Quick as a striking snake, Chavis pulled the pistol from her holster and pointed it at Senna from underneath the protective covering of her cloak. “I’ll not let some silly majority vote get us all killed. Arianis, tie her hands.”
Senna blinked in surprise. Arianis’ mouth moved wordlessly, like a fish ripped out of the water.
“Arianis!” Chavis shouted.
Arianis jumped and hauled out some rope.
Senna shook her head. “I’m the only one who will die.”
Chavis chuckled darkly. “I’ve trained for war my entire life. Don’t pretend to tell me how to manage a battle.”
Arianis wound the rope around Senna’s already-raw wrists. The rough fabric dug into the scabs, breaking them back open. Senna hissed through her teeth. “How many people have to die, Chavis?”
Arianis tried to gag her, but Senna locked her teeth just after the rope had passed her incisors—something Joshen had taught her. It was obviously the first time the other girl had ever attempted to gag anyone, for she didn’t seem to notice her mistake. Neither did the Head.
Chavis was careful to keep her pistol out of the rain. “Don’t. Lecture. Me.”
Arianis’ hands were shaking as she tied off the knots. “They’ll miss me if I’m gone any longer.” She wiped her palms on her cloak. It was obvious she didn’t want to be a part of this.
Chavis gestured for her to leave. “Fine. Go. I’ll meet you at the cliffs.”
Arianis hesitated, her gaze riveted to Senna. She started to slowly back away.
Refusing to beg, Senna watched as the other girl turned and ran.
Without the Witches’ songs to counter the lightning, bolts slammed into the ground all around them. Chavis motioned Senna to move away from the Ring of Power. Where was she taking her? Ducking her chin, she managed to work the gag off.
Senna heard the unmistakable sound of a hammer cocking. “You sing one syllable, and I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”
Senna believed her. Rain streaking down her face, she begged, “Please listen. I have to move the island or we’ll all die.”
Chavis ignored the plea. “How did you escape from the Tartens, anyway?
Senna’s breath snagged in her throat. “How could you know that?”
Chavis stiffened. “Know what?”
“That it was the Tartens I escaped and not Caldash?”
Senna didn’t realize she’d stopped moving until Chavis shoved her with the barrel of her gun. “You said it yourself.”
Senna stumbled forward. They were inside the trees now. The wind lessened. Great drops of rain that had collected on the leaves plopped on Senna’s head. Lightning ripped apart light and shadow, leaving jagged edges. “No, I didn’t. The only way you could have known is—” She whirled around.
Jabbing the pistol at her chest, Chavis shoved Senna to the ground.
More pieces fit together. “When I defeated Espen, she had every Head’s seed in her belt—except yours.”
Chavis took a step back, her pistol aimed at Senna’s heart, her eyes as dark as midnight. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I was wrong. Drenelle’s not the traitor. You are! You let Cord and Mistin on the island!”
Something shifted in Chavis’ expression, and Senna realized the Head wasn’t trying to force her to go anywhere. She was just staring. Cold realization shot through Senna. Chavis hadn’t brought her into the trees to tie her up in some cellar. She’d brought her here to kill her.
Terror tore through Senna, caging her voice inside her throat. Not that it mattered—Chavis’ bullet would stop her heart long before any song took effect.
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Chavis must have seen the understanding dawn on Senna’s face. “It’s not what you think. When I first read the records, I realized what monsters we had become. Espen had the power to control us—to rein us in. So I worked for her, helping her from the inside.”
“Why are you telling me this? Why not just shoot me?”
Something in Senna’s gaze must have betrayed her disgust, for Chavis’ face tightened. “I want you to know that I wouldn’t kill you unless I had no other choice. I was out looking for you when you found Espen. She thought she could out-sing you. Pride always was her downfall.”
“My mother and the others always claimed the traitor had been killed. Did you murder her, Chavis? Did you kill an innocent woman?”
Chavis’ face registered no emotion. “No. I just made her look guilty after she was already dead.”
“And what about Caldash?”
She shrugged as if it didn’t matter anymore. “They found me, but you had to ruin that, too.”
Senna shook her head, desperate now in a way she hadn’t been just moments ago. “Traitor.” She put all the venom she could in the word.
Chavis grunted. “Caldash will do a better job of controlling the world—you know it as well as I. Besides, they’re stronger than us, especially with Tarten behind them. There was no way we could win this war. But if we surrender quickly, with few casualties, and are grafted to Caldash, we can overthrow the Tartens. It is better this way.”
Senna hated that Chavis’ words made a sick kind of sense. Caldash would do a better job. They were more cohesive, less corrupted. They didn’t discriminate against Wastrels, instead making a place for them. The power of ruling was spread between the Heads, the Orders, and the Composer, each group checking the others. And they had learned to live in cohesion with the rest of the world, something Haven hadn’t managed in centuries.
“There won’t be any prisoners,” Senna said. “Grendi doesn’t care if every soldier she has dies. She’s bent on revenge.”
Chavis frowned. “That can’t be true.”
“You underestimated Tarten.”
It was obvious Chavis didn’t believe her. “I really hate to do this, but as I’ve told you many times before, casualties are a part of war.”
Senna kept her eyes wide open. She wanted Chavis to see the life draining from them, wanted the image to haunt her for the rest of her life.
Chavis took careful aim. Musket fire cracked. Senna held her breath, waiting for the pain to envelop her, for the world to go dark. Instead, Chavis’ face contorted and she pitched forward.
Bewildered, Senna released her pent-up breath. Then she looked past the Head and saw Arianis a little way off, black powder smoke drifting from her pistol as she watched Chavis die. “That ball wasn’t meant for her. It was for the Tartens.”
Senna struggled to her feet, wanting to shield Arianis from the curse she’d wished for Chavis. Using her shoulder, she propelled Arianis away from the sight of Chavis in her death throes.
Arianis was white-faced and eerily calm. She looked at Senna, pulled a knife from her seed belt, and began cutting the rope from her hands. “I hated you, Senna. You had everything I ever wanted, everything that was always meant to be mine. And you didn’t even want it—I think I loathed you the most for that.” Arianis stared unseeing at the knife gripped in her wet hand. “I wanted you to know how it felt, so I tried to take Joshen.”
Senna turned at the sound of Witches calling the wind down on the cliffs. It had begun, and she had her own part to play. “For what it’s worth, thank you for saving my life.” She started back toward the Ring of Power.
Arianis reached out and gripped her hand. “Just so you know, it didn’t work. No matter how hard I tried, he only wanted you.”
Senna stiffened. “It doesn’t matter. Joshen is dead.”
Arianis covered her mouth with her hand. Unwilling to hear any words of pity, Senna fled, stumbling through the landscape that was seared into her pupils every time lightning shot to the ground.
Her borrowed cloak was so heavy with water it tripped up her feet, so she tore it off. She was drenched anyway. Lightning stabbed at the edge of the cliff, and Witches fell screaming from the rim.
Senna reached the Ring of Power, her heart pounding as if it was trying to escape death by beating out of her chest. Lightning flashed so bright that the world went dark. She screamed in terror, but the sound of the bolt was so loud she couldn’t hear her own voice.
When she opened her eyes, a black spot singed the ground not far from her. It smelled of wet and burning. Shaking, she stumbled to the center of the Ring. She tipped back her head and sang.
Wind lift me high,
That my words reach to’rds the sky.
The wind grew stronger than she’d ever felt it before. It snatched her so swiftly it knocked the breath from her. She shot upward, rain dripping from her body, into the turmoil of clouds and lightning. The crackle of electricity lifted the tiny hairs on her arms. She sent a prayer for the Creators to keep the lightning at bay.
Still singing, she looked below. Behind the Guardians, the Witches were using the wind to drive the invaders back. The Guardians in the front line fought with bayonets. No one used muskets—the rain must have rendered the powder useless. But they were losing ground instead of gaining it.
Senna took a deep breath, and her song grabbed a current of wind. She hurtled it like a spear. It struck the Tartens with such force it threw them back, but it also hit Haven’s Witches. They stumbled and collapsed to keep from being driven off the cliff’s edge.
Senna used all her concentration to try to shrink the wind to a precise stream, but it was like channeling a river through a funnel. The wind lost nearly all of its power. The Tartens struggled to their feet and started forward again.
Haven’s Witches rallied, calling forth their own protective barrier of wind. Without the worry of harming her own Witches, Senna redoubled her efforts, and the gale slammed into the Tartens with enough force to drive them from the cliff, plunging them into the churning waters.
The songs around her shifted. The lightning gathered into a tremendous strike against her. She wrestled control from the Caldash Witches and twisted the bolt down onto them, hitting a ship square on. Though soaked, it erupted into flames. Their bodies alight, men dove into the water.
And in that moment, the tide of the battle shifted into Senna’s hands. The truth of it was undeniable to Tarten, Caldashan, and Haven alike. It made Senna sick.
Looking away from the battle, she reminded the wind to keep her afloat and redirected her song at the last of the Tartens clinging to the edge of the cliffs.
She listened to the storm and changed the song slightly, enough so hail rained down in white sheets upon the ships and Tartens. Men ran for cover or fell screaming into the sea. Not a single hailstone fell upon the island.
Haven’s Witches spread out with the Guardians behind them. Below Senna’s dangling feet, the barrier swelled between the Witches’ outstretched hands like ice freezing across a pond, until it encompassed the island.
The Witches started their song. Power poured into Senna until her fingertips tingled. Closing her eyes, she drew upon the strength of the Four Sisters. The might of the sea, the richness of the earth, the blinding brightness of the sun, the force of the winds. Before, that much energy would have overwhelmed her after a few songs, but now she soaked it in like cracked earth soaks in rain.
Songs rose up from the Caldash Witches as they tried to wrest the control of the songs away from Senna. But they were like raindrops attacking the sea—she just absorbed their power into her vast reservoirs. She waited as it filled her, listening to the songs around her. When the time came, she needed to know the exact melody and words to shift Haven.
She could hold more song, but she sensed she had enough to move the island and more. There had been enough violence, enough death, for one day. With a few soothing words, she calmed the sea and the storm. Hesitantly, t
hose on the ships left shelter and stepped onto the decks. A few more moments, and sailors and soldiers poured from the holds. Senna pressed a gentle wind against the ships, pushing them back to safety.
But the Tartens and Caldashans stubbornly tied up their sails and threw anchor.
So be it.
Her voice rang across the island and sea like the clearest bells. Sailors on the ships dropped to their knees. Some threw down their weapons.
Senna’s heart sang with hope. But then the men’s commanders started shooting those who resisted. Senna cried out in horror. More men dropped to their knees or threw their weapons into the sea. And more of them died. The cannons started firing modified anchors again.
Tears streaming down her face at what she was about to do, she sang.
Haven, raise thy stakes.
Winds, a path to make.
Earth, compact thy soil.
Plants, thy roots uncoil.
Waters, thy waves divide.
Take us to a home we can abide.
The barrier began to twist around the island, slowly at first, then faster and faster until everything was a blur of color and motion. Senna pulled the barrier in until it fit snugly against the cliffs, sheering off some of the rough edges, making them smooth as glass. Senna finally understood why the island had always been such an unnaturally perfect circle.
But she was not within it. The song to move the island only worked from the outside. And when it was gone, she would remain behind with nothing waiting below her but chaos.
She sang again, and the world grew brighter. She blinked against the blinding light coming from below. Confused, she held out her hands to shield her eyes, only to find they were the source.
She gaped as strange filigrees of light, like honey with glittering bits of sugar, swirled from her skin. As the song within her grew, so did the lights—almost as if the songs were spilling from her. She looked out. Witches and Tartens alike had paused in their fighting. All of them were turned toward her.
The ships stopped firing at the cliffs. The commanders stopped shouting orders. The world held its breath.