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“Mistress Hawthorne, have you seen anyone since we last spoke? Or your ravens? Anyone at all?” Isavelle asks without much hope.
The old woman sniffs and plants her walking stick before her in both hands. “Only Brethren. They’re watching this place night and day. Go back to the capital with your mate where you belong.”
“I belong here. I was born in this village, just like you,” Isavelle replies.
“But did you ever want to stay here? No, you were trying to leave the moment you could crawl,” the old witch snaps back. “From the moment you heard there was a king under the mountain, you were trying to reach him. Your mother nearly had to tie you to her apron strings to keep you at home.”
I eye my mate with interest. Is that so?
The flush in Isavelle’s cheeks deepens. “That’s not true.”
“Aye, it is. I remember, and I knew what was hidden beneath that mountain. Witches know. Witches always know. Why do you think they wanted us all dead? Because we delivered babes and boiled up fever drafts? I knew you never belonged in Amriste, not then and not now, so get gone.”
Isavelle is taken aback by the old woman’s sharp words, and she stares with a hurt expression at the witch.
I put a hand on Isavelle’s shoulder and stroke the nape of her neck with my thumb. “Mistress Hawthorne. That’s enough.”
Biddy Hawthorne is amused by the way I move closer to my mate. “You can’t help yourself, can you,Ma’len?”
Protecting and soothing my mate when someone flings sharp words at her? Of course I won’t stand idly by and let it happen. “Isavelle will accept how things are in her own time.”
My mate shrugs me off and glares at both of us. “If my family has fled to Grendu or been taken behind the barrier to the south, then I’m not going to hide in Lenhale and forget about them.”
“We will find everyone who is missing,sha’len. In Grendu or the south.” I reach for Isavelle’s hand, but before I can take it, the old woman speaks up again.
“Whoever has placed that barrier is a powerful wizard. The same wizard that defeated your father, Flame King?”
Black fury erupts in my chest at the memory of that vile entity who murdered my father and mother and sealed every dragon, wyvern, and so many Maledinni beneath the Bodan Mountains. “Five hundred years later? It seems unlikely.”
“You’re among us five hundred years later,” she observes.
My breathing comes faster as my fury mounts. “That wizard from my time has long since come and gone. It can’t possibly be the same one.”
“Can’t we travel beyond the barrier and see who it is for ourselves?” Isavelle asks.
Fiala clears her throat. “Lady Isavelle. Two wingrunners accidentally flew through the barrier when it first appeared. They and their wyverns were killed instantly.”
Isavelle’s face falls.
I touch Isavelle’s chin and draw her gaze up to mine. “My peopleare working night and day to find a way to bring down that barrier. I won’t lose Maledin again, or anyone who belongs here. I swear that I will do everything in my power to bring them home. Do you believe me?”
Slowly, Isavelle nods.
I relax and draw her into my arms, tucking her cheek against my chest. Isavelle’s long, honey-gold hair dances against her back in the cold wind, and tiny white ice crystals shine among the strands.
Slowly she pulls away from me and turns to the witch. “What about you, Mistress Hawthorne? Will you stay here in this village?”
“Of course I shall. This is my home.”
I hear her emphasis, and Isavelle must as well. This ismyhome.
Not yours.
* * *
It’slate afternoon when Scourge’s talons hit dirt at the dragongrounds. Isavelle has been pressed tightly against me with her eyes closed the entire flight, and I detect no scent of nausea from her as I carry her to the ground. I’m the one who feels sick to my stomach.
Rather than allay her fears or give her hope, the empty village, the carnage, and the doom-laden description of the magical barrier has only made her wretched. “I’m so sorry,sha’len. That was a terrible few hours for you, and it has accomplished nothing.”
