Flight: Dragonmaster Trilogy, #2

Chapter

One

The chilly fingers of winter crept into Isadora Spence’s carriage through gaps in the door. She frowned at the wide cracks and pulled her cloak more tightly around her shoulders.

Winter was so intrusive.

The carriage wheels creaked with every jolt, both seemingly threatening to collapse and announcing their exact location. Could the traveling box be any louder? Or older? Maximillion likely chose it on purpose—just to make her more uncomfortable. Any minute now and the faded cushions beneath her would break their last string and split in half.

Still, it was safer than being out there.

A thick band of darkness stretched across the horizon, no doubt teeming with Defenders waiting to attack. The Defenders’ steep hatred of Watchers seemed mandatory. As if they knew this was her first raid, her first attempt to save an innocent Watcher from their famed interrogations, as a member of Maximillion’s rogue force that protected Watchers—the Advocacy.

Unable to bear the darkness anymore, she glanced at her hands. Enough gauzy moonlight slanted through the windows to highlight thick, ropy veins under her translucent skin. Her back curved into a hump. In the reflection of the window, an old woman stared back through different-colored eyes. No matter what kind of transformative magic she attempted, her eyes remained distinctively off. Like Maximillion’s—only his were far subtler. Indistinguishable, really. Much like his emotions. Only now, her eyes were rheumy, red-rimmed.

Terrified.

A girl in her early teens sat across from her. Bright, wide eyes peered out of a heart-shaped face. Unassuming. Naive, even, with her perky nose and bowtie lips. No one would imagine she was a powerful witch beneath layers of meticulous transformation spells. The girl caught her eye and winked. Lucey, Isadora’s mentor, hid beneath the disguise.

Next to Lucey trembled a young man—a boy, really—with olive skin and pools of umber for eyes. Alessio. His fingertips tapped an uneven rhythm on his bouncing knee. Isadora swallowed her questions for Alessio. How did it feel when you transitioned? Is anyone else in your family a Watcher? The strange Watcher magic operated on unknown rules. Not even Maximillion’s intensive study had formed conclusions on how one became a Watcher, or where the magic originated.

Was Alessio silently saying goodbye to the Eastern Network and the only home he’d ever known? Lucey had said he was a musician once destined to work with the Eastern Network High Priest in Magnolia Castle—and that he was now headhunted by his own witches. The Defenders in the East were ruthless. Not a week ago, they’d captured a new Watcher, violently interrogated her in front of her family, then burned their house, and abducted her. Before Lucey could get to the seventeen-year-old girl, the Defenders had whisked her into Carcere, an ill-reputed prison from which there was no escape.

Isadora turned the thoughts away.

Your focus on the mission must be meticulous, Maximillion had said with a hint of irritation in his voice. Never waver. They won’t.

She studied the unchanging landscape again.

Rolling hills, separated by stone hedges and copses of trees, passed by. Humidity lay thick in the air. Two days farther east and they would have seen the ocean. Isadora tried to picture the expanse of water in her head until an unusual flash in the distance caught her eye.

Lucey tensed.

For Isadora to ask about the strange light while maintaining their deception, she would need to use Ilese, the Eastern Network language. While the last six months of dedicated study since she joined the Advocacy made her speech passable, it was a halting mess. Her tongue wasn’t used to the language’s gentle nuance and soft edge, so she hesitated. Was it worth breaking the silence?

Lucey’s young face furrowed. Her brow creased. Isadora lifted an eyebrow in silent question, but Lucey shook her head and leaned back again.

Not yet, she mouthed.

Magic hummed bright in Isadora’s chest. She let it hum through her body. The momentary reprieve of energy granted her a bit of courage. Lucey gave no indication she noticed. Eventually, Isadora calmed.

Alessio’s tense shoulders remained taut. Isadora tucked the magic away again. It flared, as if impatient, then settled. Minutes passed. Alessio closed his eyes while he muttered under his breath, hands clenched.

Embrace the uncertainty of whether you’ll live or die, Maximillion had said. You’ll pay more attention.

Isadora kept her mind focused on the biggest question of all—what was the purpose of any of this? Why did magic have to be so beautiful and so dangerous?

We’re almost there, Lucey murmured in Ilese. Just an hour to the Central Network border.

A chill swept through Isadora. Her eyes darted back to the darkness. She fought off a shudder. Lucey shifted ever-so-slightly to the left to peer out the window.

What could have been a simple extraction—requiring only Lucey’s help—was complicated by Alessio’s young age. At eleven, he was one of the youngest Watchers Maximillion had ever heard of. He hadn’t learned to safely transport before he transitioned into his powers—and certainly not to an unknown location. He would have to be smuggled into the safety of the Central Network.

The bitter stench of rotten eggs wafted into the carriage. A metallic taste filled her mouth.

Lucey’s eyes brightened, gleaming in the still night.

Palude Marsh, she whispered in delight, still using Ilese for Alessio’s sake. Wonderful.

Prepare yourself. Defenders will be waiting in the marsh, Maximillion’s voice said, an echo of his instructions early that morning. If all goes according to plan, you won’t even have to see them. Avoid the bog if you can help it.

Alessio squirmed.

Never fear. Lucey grinned, a twinkle in her eye. Letum Wood awaits.

At that, Isadora’s tension faded slightly. If nothing else, she could look forward to the protection of her forest home. A wispy blue bird with yellow-tipped wings fluttered into the carriage. It alighted on Lucey’s shoulder and leaned toward her ear. No sound came from its beak—no one else could hear the message it carried. An update from Maximillion, no doubt. The bird dissipated into smoke.

Lucey squeezed Alessio’s arm with a reassuring smile that seemed to ease him, no doubt in part because of her transformed, youthful face. The putrid scent intensified—the driver had taken the carriage on a road alongside the marsh. Isadora nearly gagged.

All is so quiet, Lucey said.

The words Isadora had been waiting for. She closed her eyes and slid into the waiting magic.

At first, darkness encased her vision.

Then Letum Wood blossomed before her, filled with thick vines and a canopy that soared so far overhead she couldn’t see where it ended. No sound stirred in the twelve sprawling trees that formed a circle around her, as wide as several houses put together, so tall their closest branches were barely visible in the high canopy. Light seemed to infuse their trunks, their leaves, the ground where their roots stood taller than she did. Flowers bobbed in lazy coils along the trunks, draped with vines and ivy. Not a breath stirred here.

Twelve trails appeared in front of her.

Twelve, she murmured. When in the magic, possibilities for the future of whomever she was with showed themselves through paths. The paths populated on their own, shifting, betraying possibilities of the future. Only her twin sister Sanna’s paths and her own were always present. Exploring the paths posed a legitimate danger—Defenders could sense Watcher magic at work. In nearly all cases, Watchers helping the Advocacy refrained from using their magic on a raid. Tonight, however, was different.

Isadora was different.

The Defenders already knew Watchers were there because Lucey had carefully sculpted their plan. She wanted the Defenders to ambush them.

They won’t expect it, she had said. And we always have to take them by surprise. Otherwise, they’ll guess our next move. Their magic is the opposite of yours. You see future possibilities; they see the past. Their advantage is seeing what you’ve already chosen, or not chosen. Cecelia trains them to analyze our decisions to learn our weaknesses.

Isadora turned her mind and focused on the forest. The twelve paths formed a complicated map of ethereal wisps, some of them as vague as smoke, some so articulated she felt the witch stood in front of her in the flesh. Only six of the faces were familiar to her. Lucey, Alessio, Sanna, herself, and the two drivers. That meant six Defenders awaited them.

Show only my path, she commanded the magic. Her clear voice rang through the forest.

The others faded away. Her paths spread over the area. Almost immediately, the main trail broke into two sections; each moved opposite directions. She frowned. That had never happened before. The possibilities had always split away from the main path, which remained mostly solid.

Perhaps danger also toyed with fate.

Isadora brushed past it—there was no time to study or guess. On either side, her paths branched out five different ways. Each segmented out, spreading through the forest with wisps of light that meant … something. Isadora hesitated. If only the future were more concrete.

All the immediate paths showed her in the marsh, or in Letum Wood, except one strange one showing her on a dragon. The trail was faint—which meant it wasn’t a strong likelihood. Isadora shook her head, forcing herself to focus. If not careful, she’d get lost in the paths again, which happened every time she tried to make sense of her future.

With a heavy sigh, she stepped back to the top of the trail. Already, the possibilities had shifted. Trails had moved. Some disappeared. New ones sprang up.

The temptation to stay nearly overwhelmed her. Following the paths to see endless possibilities was always interesting—the future led to amazing, wild places. Like a toddler with a paintbrush and blank canvas. Time was easily lost here. Not to mention her powers were … different.

She closed her connection to the magic.

Lucey and Alessio waited. A glint of something—impatience—reflected in Lucey’s eyes for a moment. Isadora’s breath hitched. Egads, but time passed differently in the paths. She’d likely been there too long. Her cheeks burned.

Sorry. Six Defenders, she whispered, avoiding Ilese to spare Alessio the anxiety. I recognize none of them. From what I could tell, they were all waiting in the trees.

Near the marsh?

Isadora shook her head. Not that I could tell.

Lucey’s brow furrowed. No doubt the Defenders had a single scout who would summon them to the ambush the moment success seemed certain. Only six, Lucey murmured. So few? A bit insulting, if you ask me. They sent fifteen last time, and I still managed to avoid them.

Cecelia isn’t amongst them.

She never is.

If Cecelia, leader of the murderous Defender force and Ambassador to the Eastern Network, wasn’t here, why did Lucey frown? She peered outside again. No matter, Lucey murmured. More may transport in as soon as we get going. Lucey looked at Alessio and asked both him and Isadora in Ilese. Do you remember the plan?

Isadora nodded. Alessio gulped, nostrils flared, and nodded.

Lucey grinned.

Then I shall go break our axle and proceed. Good luck, she whispered.

She disappeared into a transportation spell.

Alessio straightened, eyes wide, as he studied Isadora for what seemed like the first time. He looked so much like a little boy right then. Frightened, vulnerable. His own Network would interrogate and kill him for something he had no control over—being born with powers that gave him a glimpse of future possibilities. She ignored his uncertainty and put a hand on his arm.

I’m going to take good care of you, Alessio. Despite the terror of knowing what awaited them, certainty filled her tone. Let’s get ready.

It’s a dead belua.

Sanna Spence’s nose wrinkled as she stared at a decaying carcass. The mottled skin of the gigantic, blue forest creature had turned a pinkish hue as it lay on the ground. The sightless face—beluas had no eyes—was slack, the jaw half-open. Decaying, cracked teeth filled the inside. She grimaced.

They stink even worse in death. Her dragon Luteis lifted his nose to the air and sniffed. His powerful wings folded against his back as if he were at ease, but tension rippled through his taut, serpentine face. This part of Letum Wood—so far west of where they lived—was unfamiliar. Pockets of deadly strickenine moss had overtaken once-healthy trees. The score marks and holes in the trunks indicated no lack of beluas here—perhaps even some trolls.

Not good things.

Sanna straightened. What could have killed a belua so violently?

A troll. I stumbled upon one when I was a hatchling, but it left me alone. They’re not that intelligent, thankfully.

She frowned. A troll kills with its hands. They don’t have claws. The belua would have bruises or something. Besides, trolls hunt to eat, and they don’t eat beluas.

Luteis snorted. Nothing with any sense would.

Then what gave it those wounds?

Dried blood stretched across the belua’s legs, staining the dirt around its back a thick ebony. If they rolled it over, Sanna suspected they’d see deep gouges there as well. Something had slashed it to ribbons.

A mystery.

We better tell the other Dragonmasters.

What purpose will that serve?

Sanna scowled at the thought of approaching grouchy Finn yet again. Recent confrontations with the other Dragonmaster hadn’t gone very well. Disastrously, in fact. Arguing with Finn over the next best steps for their small dragon community only served to isolate her further in a world of witches who already thought she was lower than scum.

Than beluas, even.

Warn them that we’re not safe?

That would certainly not surprise them. We could be safer, you know. Luteis gave her a sidelong glance. If you would just accept the fact that you’re High Dragonmaster and access the magic it grants you.

Or we could just move back to the circle of the Ancients.

He snorted. You will do neither, stubborn witch.

He said it with some affection, but Sanna still squirmed. The circle of the Ancients—twelve massive trees in the heart of Letum Wood—was different. Sacred, perhaps. The idea of dragging the Dragonmasters there to live shot a prickle of annoyance through her spine. It would likely be safer, sure. Creatures tended to avoid the deepest heart of the forest. Fresh water ran through it. Luteis had kept the deadwood cleared out of that area.

But was it the right thing to do?

When a troll or a foe greater than beluas disrupts our camp, I will take the Dragonmasters to the circle. For now, this is manageable enough. Let’s go.

Luteis remained silent as they trekked back toward the only spot open enough to land in a world so cluttered with vines, fallen branches, and dead trees. Sanna grabbed his tail, hauled herself up, and scrambled up his back to the spot on his shoulders where she always sat. Their magic merged so instantly now she didn’t even notice it—like the beat of her heart.

We go?

We go.

Luteis sprang off the ground, wings spread. With some difficulty, he navigated the long stretch of canopy overhead, dodging branches as wide as several houses, chattering tree gnomes that threw moss, and vines draped in complicated tapestries. By the time they burst out the top of the expansive, emerald world, his lungs heaved with exertion. Once airborne, his wings sliced through the sky without hesitation, calming his breath. Sanna closed her eyes, relishing the wind on her face. The ample forest flowed beneath her.

The delicious feeling of wind rippling through her hair—even if bitterly cold—roused Sanna from her spiraling thoughts. Luteis’s sweltering body undulated below her with every beat of his wings, heating her chilly legs. Ancient Dragonmaster magic protected her from falling off. It happened automatically. She couldn’t control that magic, nor would she want to. Her nose wrinkled at the thought of magic, which she quickly dismissed.

Dawn lingered on the horizon—a mere sliver of light. The tangy air pressed into her cheeks, stinging like the kiss of nettles.

It seems it shall be cold today.

Says the giant lizard with fire in his belly.

Witches are inherently weak. We have discussed this. Again, if you would just⁠—

I know, I know. Magic, and all that.

She snorted, amused despite herself, and lay on his scales. Witches didn’t need magic, and just because the forest goddess Deasylva forced her to be the High Dragonmaster for one day didn’t mean she was that now. Nor, did it seem, that the magic wanted her to be. Heat pulsed through Luteis’s scales, warming her skin, her muscles, even the bones in her arm. He dipped, soaring away at a surprising speed. When a little chill skimmed her back, Sanna turned around, pressed her spine to his scales, and watched the burning clouds overhead.

You are quiet today, he said.

Thinking.

Would you want to think out loud?

Sanna hesitated. Luteis was in her head, but he didn’t hear anything except what thoughts she directed to him. Even then, she mostly spoke out loud because it was easier to keep track of what she’d said. When she spoke with her mind, sometimes it jumbled amidst her thoughts and confused both of them. She wondered if dragons had more organized minds than witches, because Luteis never tangled his communication.

Do you want me to think out loud?

I would prefer it if we planned a time of day for us to communicate about your thoughts, but I have learned that spontaneous communication is also enjoyable.

Sanna rolled her eyes. Their daily flights helped Luteis keep the edge off his energy, but not his obsession with planning. Since the death of the previous dragon sire, Talis, there had been little to plan. Both of them had devoted almost all their time to helping her daid right the Dragonmasters. Frightened dragons. Livid mams. Traumatized hatchlings. What felt like an eternal trek of arguments between Elliot, Finn, and Daid filled her mind.

Daid had bonded with the new dragon sire, Rubeis, but had only flown with him once, two months before.

My legs were made to be on the ground, he’d said after the flight, then not uttered another word about it. Rubeis had disappeared for four days.

She frowned.

Where’s Deasylva? she asked.

The question bubbled out of her before she knew it was there. Luteis drew in a deep breath, his chest billowing beneath him before he began a steep climb toward a stray cloud. This would be his last climb for the day, before settling back in at camp and pretending that all the dragons didn’t fear him. They’d spend the final chunk of morning soaring close to the forest, near the treetops, hunting as they went.

Sanna couldn’t be sure, but based on how far north and west they’d flown, they had at least an hour flight back. It would tire him enough to stay settled, though she knew he longed for a solid eight-hour flight again.

Deasylva has retreated.

Where?

I have not been told.

Why did she leave?

To maintain her strength.

For what?

She did not say.

Sanna’s frown deepened. How convenient that the goddess of the forest could retreat as needed. Deasylva’s warning rang through Sanna’s mind. War, she had said. Sanna shivered. War with whom? She thought of the belua.

Or with what?

Is her absence what’s bothering you?

No. Not really. I just … I tried to talk to her a few days ago, but she didn’t respond.

Your questions about the dragons, perhaps?

Yes.

We should check the ruins again. She often responds faster when I speak with her there.

Maybe.

I perceive that something else is bothering you?

Sanna hesitated, wondering if Luteis could even understand. Finally deciding that telling him would be better than not, she said, Isadora has been gone for a long time.

Her cheeks burned, but she pushed down the embarrassment. Likely, Luteis already knew she missed her sister. His sprawling, thick wings beat the air with a gentle, even cadence. For several seconds, he said nothing.

Sanna let herself breathe. Saying that hadn’t been easy.

You mourn this?

I think so.

Is she ill?

No, but she’s … different.

Why?

His voice betrayed no judgment, but she felt an annoyed prickle at the back of her neck all the same. I don’t know. It’s just … it’s almost like … like … she doesn’t want …

Yes?

"She doesn’t want us."

How so?

She’s distant when she’s home, which is less and less. She’s always lost in thought or studying the paths—whatever that means. It’s like …

Your sister has a magic that I am not familiar with.

So she says.

Has she not told you?

Sanna hedged. Well … I think I just don’t get it. What in Halla does it mean to see the future, anyway? How can you pinpoint that? We haven’t really been able to just … talk the way we used to.

Is this your fear?

That we don’t talk?

Yes.

Sanna rolled the question around in her mind. No. I think … my fear is that she’s different. She’s not the sister I’ve always known.

You are different as well.

Not that much!

Are the old ways good enough for you?

Something hot welled up in Sanna. She hurled it away before she learned what it meant. No, I suppose not.

Then change is inevitable.

You’re wiser than you sound, you know.

Dragons are surprising creatures.

They fell into silence while Sanna chewed on those thoughts. It wasn’t just about Isadora being different—Sanna knew she was as well. At least a little.

After what happened with Talis nearly destroying the brood, refusing to make things right, and then dying at Daid’s hand in a fire that wiped out all of Anguis, it would be impossible not to be changed. But Isadora was so different that there seemed no way to come back. The other families were even more uneasy around Isa than they were with Sanna. Isadora didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

Even Mam seemed on edge around her; although, Mam had taken Talis’s death harder than anyone.

Luteis dipped his left wing down, the tip of his right wing skimming the foggy underbelly of a cloud. The cool breeze whipped past her face, inundating her with ice crystals and mist. She closed her eyes, enjoying the bracing cold. It roused her from her frustration with her sister. From deeper thoughts of freedom, loneliness, and witches who wouldn’t listen.

Your meeting with Finn occurred last night.

She scowled.

I take it by your silence that it didn’t go as you had planned? I understand that frustration.

No.

He is free to choose as he wishes. If he chooses to live apart and isolate his dragons and family, that is his decision.

I know. I just don’t like it. The families haven’t separated in …

Her voice trailed away. Thanks to Talis, she didn’t know how long it had been. He’d wiped out their history to create his own tyrannical society, making choices for the entire brood and eliminating their agency.

Why don’t you like it?

A hint of something laced his voice. She sensed a trap but didn’t know what it was. Sanna fidgeted. So much for a relaxing flight in the clouds.

Let’s talk about something else.

You always want to talk about something else when the subject of your being High Dragonmaster is broached.

No one said anything about that!

I was just about to, and I believe you know that.

Let’s just go home.

As you wish. But heed my warning: you will have to face up to the truth soon. You lead these dragons, whether you like it or not. The sooner you embrace that, the sooner the magic will be available to you.

It’s not just me who doesn’t like the idea of a High Dragonmaster, she muttered. It’s the dragons. They weren’t too happy about it, remember? Besides, we don’t need one more leader to guide us astray. Not to mention that the magic is dangerous and fickle.

Luteis said nothing, just dropped closer to the ground. Not even the thrill of flight or the gentle burn of his heat on the back of her legs could comfort her today.

Hold on.

He dove. Sanna lay down, tucking her arms and legs close to his body. When they stood next to each other, Luteis loomed at least six times taller than her. She couldn’t wrap her arms around any part of his massive body, but the magic of their merging kept her close to him, and safe.

Branches whipped past them. She buried her face closer to the scales of his neck. A shriek, a roar, and a puff of fire followed. Luteis alighted on the ground, a massive forest lion in his teeth. The animal struggled. He pressed his talons farther into it, and the beast stopped moving. Sanna slid off his back.

Take your time, she said with a yawn. I’m going to nap. By the way, when are we going to⁠—

A piercing noise rent the air, startling Sanna. She whipped around. Luteis peered to the left. His nostrils flared. Beneath her, his back expanded as he held his breath. He gently dropped the forest lion.

Step down.

Why?

There is a witch—several I think. I don’t recognize their scent.

Witches?

He rolled his neck to the left, eyes tapered. Slight movement snapped Sanna’s attention to the right.

There. Luteis nodded to the left. He darted through the trees with agile movements despite his rolling muscles. Sanna followed, ducking to avoid branches. He veered to the left, winding around a sprawling oak. She glanced behind them. There had been something on the right as well.

I still smell them.

They paused, listening.

Luteis slipped between two house-sized trees. Sanna stood, peering through the bracken and fallen wood, back toward the other movement she’d seen. Witches by themselves, in this part of the forest, were unheard of. Trees, undergrowth, old vines, and logs congregated so thickly here. Luteis stopped, blocked by several fallen logs.

Straight ahead. The scent is strong.

The vague crack of a stick followed.

Sanna’s head jerked up. She stole through a drape of ivy, toward a sliver of motion on the other side. The cluttered undergrowth seemed to embrace her as she ventured forward, able to move more easily than Luteis. Behind her, Luteis dug his talons into the bark of a tree and started to climb, his wide body hidden by the massive trunk.

The close growth gave way to a small, open space between trees. Movement to the left caught Sanna’s eye. She turned and saw streaming blonde hair, slender shoulders, and dark brown skin dart behind a tree. Sanna took off after the woman, her sandals digging into the loamy earth for traction.

Stop!

The woman darted back through the trees, heading toward Luteis. A bow dangled from her back, but she had no quiver. Luteis snarled, slinking back down the tree. Branches waved in the canopy behind him.

And also⁠—

Thwack.

Sanna ducked. An arrow slammed into a tree off to the right, not far beyond them. Luteis growled, shooting fire. Boughs rustled. A shadow disappeared into the underbrush near the arrow. Sanna ran to inspect the bolt. Charcoal-colored feathers stuck out from the shaft, which was as thick as her wrist. Runes, glowing a bright silver, glimmered around the shaft. They faded as something from the inside leaked out, spilling down the tree in rivulets.

Silver-filled arrow, Luteis hissed. Poachers!

That dreaded word sent a cold chill through Sanna.

She ran, hurtling through the forest toward the witch, shoving aside branches and leaping over waist-high tree roots. Luteis slipped along behind her with a growl, but Sanna worked through the underbrush and smaller saplings faster than he could. The witch darted through the trees with surprising speed. Ahead of her, something else seemed to be running.

Two of them, Luteis said. I cannot see the one ahead of us. They are invisible, perhaps? No, they appear to … to blend in. The scent is strange. I do not recognize it.

Hey! Sanna screamed. Stop!

The flap of the woman’s cloak seemed to mock Sanna as she gained ground, sprinting almost out of sight. A flash of a bright-blue tattoo on her neck caught Sanna’s eye. Was that a dragon tattoo? Sanna pressed harder, her chest burning for want of air. Behind her, Luteis roared. Heat rushed past her in a long wave, stirring her hair. The ground trembled underneath his steps.

The woman slipped behind a tree just before Sanna caught up. Sanna skidded to a stop in the rich dirt to find an empty forest. The spot where the witch had disappeared was empty. Sanna panted, glancing around. Nothing.

No one.

Not even a footprint in the muddy soil.

Chapter

Two

Seconds after Lucey disappeared, a crack rang through the air.

The carriage lurched to a stop. Horses whinnied. The driver muttered under his breath. When he moved from the top of the box, it shifted. Isadora’s stomach reeled with the gentle sway. Outside, a strange, insidious fog crawled from the marsh, toward their stopped carriage.

Isadora drew in a deep breath and murmured the right incantation.

A vague shimmer filled the air next to Alessio, and a second version of him appeared. Lucey often used ancient, complicated spells to prevent the Defenders from knowing when normal magic was in use. Older magic, because it was unfamiliar, was more difficult to detect, even for the most sensitive witch. Likely, the Defenders would anticipate her using something from the Declan magic, but Isadora doubted they’d expect such a simple deception spell.

The real Alessio’s eyes widened as he studied the mirror image of himself. Isadora held up a hand.

Do not touch, she whispered.

He nodded once. Isadora cast a second deception spell, duplicating herself. Now, she murmured. Remember—be very quiet. Keep the invisibility incantation active.

Alessio swallowed hard and nodded. After a nervous murmur, his body disappeared.

Step one, she thought, fading into her own invisibility incantation. She rapped once on the top of the carriage with a knobby knuckle. What seems to be the issue? she called, infusing a purposeful croak into her voice. The shuffle of the driver’s footsteps sounded outside right before the door swung open. Isadora paused for a moment to allow Alessio to leave ahead of her. Meanwhile, the two deception spells remained sitting in the carriage, strangely unmoving. After one last glance at the eerie representations, she slipped outside.

The driver’s eyes darted around. Just a few minutes, he said into the carriage with near perfect Ilese, as if they were waylaid on accident. We broke an axle. Not sure I can fix it.

He shut the door before the lack of movement from the deception spells gave them away.

She couldn’t see Alessio, but felt him near as they moved away from the carriage. The horses pranced, tossing their manes, no doubt unnerved by the strange fog rolling off the marsh. A mat of stars sparkled overhead, mute in the distant sky. The cold drove into Isadora’s fingers with foreboding promise, intensified by the cool rush of her invisibility incantation.

Palude Marsh lay on the other side of the trees, hidden in shadows and blunted moonlight. She reached out, blindly, until her fingertips grazed fabric, and she clasped Alessio’s elbow. She tugged him toward the marsh, along a barren patch of ground that wouldn’t betray their steps in the still night. They both stumbled in the strangeness of walking without seeing their own feet.

The night pressed on them as they slipped into the thin, brittle trees. No sign of Lucey. Always, Lucey said. Always change what you do. Make no decisions until you have to. Surprise yourself, if you can.

Isadora saw a more open area of trail and resisted the urge to move toward it. Instead, she plunged them closer to the swampy waters. No doubt Lucey was working through the marsh now, attempting to find and distract the waiting Defenders—who would be well hidden themselves—to give Alessio and Isadora a head start once the Defenders attacked the carriage.

The sound of the driver shouting broke the air.

Isadora whipped around just in time to see the driver disappear with a transportation spell moments before a witch, dressed in a black cape