Bloodwitch Read online

  Magic, I thought. Was Malachi a witch? All I knew about them I had learned from overheard complaints from Lord Daryl and Lady Brina. Witches were greedy, mercenary creatures. They were needed for things like the spells on the greenhouse, but they couldn’t be trusted.

  “Did Brina send you away, or did you go on your own?” Malachi asked casually as he lifted the copper lid to check on his food.

  Lady Brina, I thought instinctively. A few minutes ago the guilty fear in my gut would have forced the whole story out like a confession. Now I didn’t trust this man enough to want to share the horrors of the last few hours.

  I settled for a half truth. “I tried to go for a walk,” I answered. “I got lost.”

  My host looked up, sea-foam eyes piercing. I braced myself, expecting to be accused of lying. Instead, he asked, “How old are you?”

  Mistress Jeshickah had said I looked younger than I was. A younger child would be more likely to get lost, right? Being younger could give me an excuse for a lot of silly slipups I might make. “Eleven,” I answered.

  “Hmm.” He turned back to the fire. “Were you on your way to the market?”

  “I don’t—I mean, yes, I was.” That was the way I was heading, anyway, though it wasn’t my actual goal. I didn’t want to tell him I’d been looking for Taro.

  Again, those eyes on me, intense … and then sparkling, as he chuckled and shook his head.

  “Truce,” he said, amusement still in his voice. “I’ll share my squirrel stew and stop asking questions if you stop pretending you know how to lie.”

  “I—I don’t know what—” I stammered. “I mean—” He quirked a brow, waiting for me to get my tongue untangled. Finally, I gave up on defending myself and asked, “What’s a squirrel?”

  “It’s—” This time he was the one who seemed speechless. I had meant to ask something benign, not something that was apparently shocking. “A small animal with a bushy tail,” he said at last. “The next time I see one, I’ll point it out.” Were squirrels common out here? Lady Brina cared more about gods and goddesses than bushy-tailed little animals, and she had never mentioned them. “Take a seat,” he urged, gesturing toward the tree trunk. “Dinner’s ready. I even have an extra bowl in my pack.”

  The pack in question was hanging from one of the tree branches. I didn’t know if it had been as invisible as the campsite was earlier, or if I just hadn’t been paying attention.

  My host handed me a tin bowl of stew and a clunky spoon, then filled a second bowl, folded his legs under himself, and sat on the snow near the fire. Since the snow wasn’t falling anymore, I pushed my hood back to get it out of the way as I ate what turned out to be a surprisingly tasty meal. Whatever “squirrel” was, it made good stew.

  When I asked for seconds, however, my host said, “Only if I get to ask another question.”

  I could always refuse to answer, if I needed to. “Okay.”

  “Are you a bloodwitch?”

  I recognized the word “witch,” but I didn’t know the rest of the term he used. “Am I a what?”

  “You’re a quetzal, right?” he asked. When I hesitated, he said, “I could tell you were a bird the first time I saw you, but I wasn’t paying much attention, so I figured a crow or a raven. The feathers give you away.” He gestured to the back of his neck, causing me to reach instinctively toward mine. I didn’t think about the feathers that grew at the nape of my neck often, because they didn’t get in my face like my hair did. I knew they were red and green like gemstones, though. Apparently they were visible by firelight.

  Since there was obviously no hiding it, and I didn’t know why I would need to, I admitted, “Yes, I’m a quetzal. But if one of us is a witch, I think it’s you.” I remembered the way the entire camp had seemed to materialize only when he put his hand on my shoulder.

  “Why does Brina have a quetzal?” he asked.

  I didn’t want to answer any more questions, and he had already said he wouldn’t ask. “I don’t need thirds,” I answered dryly, which made him laugh again.

  “Fine, fine,” he said. “I’ll help you home tomorrow, and accept that some secrets are in my best interests.”

  He had accused me of being a bad liar, but I suspected Malachi Obsidian was probably a very good liar. Calysta had said as much. His attitude had changed when he realized I was a quetzal. I wasn’t sure I trusted his offer to get me home anymore.

  No, my best course now was to wait for him to sleep, then set out again, leaving behind this stranger with his unsettling gaze and prying questions. Maybe he was harmless, but my gut said otherwise.

  Taro and the others would be looking for me by now; I was sure of it. But, they might not be able to find me in Malachi’s magically hidden campsite, which was why I needed to get away.

  “Can we sleep?” I asked, pushing away the half-full bowl of stew. His questioning had ruined what appetite I had left, and I wanted an excuse for the conversation to be over. “I was in the woods a long time.”

  “Of course,” he answered. “The tent will be close quarters with two of us, but that keeps it warmer. I’m going to clean up and do some scouting before bed, so if you wake up and I’m not here, don’t panic.”

  I wouldn’t panic. It would give me a chance to run.

  DESPITE MY RESOLUTE intention to sneak away, I slept like a rock. My dreams were like butterflies, colorful but fleeting. I woke groggy, surprised that it was still dark.

  I pulled the blanket closer and shivered at the noise the wind made as it whistled past the tent. Somewhere in the distance I heard something howl. Did I really want to go out there again?

  I couldn’t stay here. I had to get past my fear and run before Malachi returned. I pulled my boots back on, cringing at the chill that came with them, then struggled into my heavy clothes and crept out of the tent.

  This time it wasn’t the cold that took my breath away.

  My host had built up the fire, which popped and swirled in the wind. I could see him only in silhouette as he danced as freely as those flames.

  He was barefoot and bare-chested, as if the dance made him immune to the elements. His hair was loose, and it moved around him like liquid silver, full of hot sparks as it reflected the fire. He moved as if he had joints or muscles where I didn’t and was capable of controlling each one precisely.

  He danced without music … or, no, that wasn’t right. His dance was the music, and it made the night into music. His footfalls on the ground, the crackling of the fire, the whistling of the wind, and even the distant cries of wolves all created a song that I could only hear as one piece as his movements brought it all together.

  When he turned and noticed me standing there, he stopped abruptly, and I heard a small sound of protest escape my lips. I had been utterly still, just watching, for several minutes. It hadn’t occurred to me to sneak away while he wasn’t looking. I hadn’t even noticed I was cold.

  “How do you do that?” I asked. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” I had recognized some of the steps that Calysta had shown me, but watching her had never been that awe-inspiring.

  “You were raised with every luxury.” He was out of breath, and it made his sentences clipped. “You never struggled. Never questioned.” The words came faster as he approached me, still speaking, his rhythmic voice holding me in place. “Never triumphed, or feared failure. You never hungered, or wondered if you would see tomorrow. You have never been asked to die for something, or someone.” He paused inches away from me, close enough that I could see snow melt as it touched his bare skin. “The serpents’ dance is a tapestry of passion and freedom and agony and need. You’ll sooner find it in the trainers’ lower cells than inside a stained-glass cage.”

  “I don’t understand.” I knew the meaning of every word coming out of his mouth, but what he was saying didn’t seem to match his tone. The intensity in his voice was frightening.

  He shook his head.

  “I did a little research while you slept,”
Malachi explained. Whatever he had learned, he wasn’t happy about it.

  “I … see.” If I ran, would he chase me? Probably. I wouldn’t get far on the ground. On the other hand, he was a serpent. Snakes couldn’t fly.

  “I returned to your lovely cage and struck up a conversation with some of your fellow slaves,” he continued. “They’re not supposed to talk to anyone about you, but I can be very persuasive when I want to be. You’re Vance Ehecatl. The Nahuatl name was Jeshickah’s choice, but Brina didn’t like how foreign it sounded, so she decided to call you Vance instead. It made her happy, so others didn’t object, even though you are not technically hers. Brina’s studio slaves didn’t know much more than that, but what they were able to tell me was enough.”

  “Enough for what?”

  “Enough that I can’t let you go back there,” Malachi said. “I’m sorry. You’re just a boy, and I’m willing to bet that you have no idea how dangerous you could be.”

  “Pardon me?” Fight or flee? I didn’t know how to fight, but I could probably surprise him and knock him far enough off balance to get a head start. I just needed to fly into the air, where he couldn’t follow.

  “If your freedom were the only thing at stake here, I would leave you to your naïveté, but Jeshickah has been trying to get someone like you for years. Quetzals are notoriously difficult to cage, but if she can keep you alive long enough, she will make you her weapon. I can’t—”

  Enough!

  I shoved him as hard as I could. I drove my shoulder into his chest until he stumbled back, and then spun around and changed shape, beating my wings furiously. I darted through the brambly pine boughs, seeking open space so I could make the best use of my lead. It wouldn’t take him long to come after me.

  At the first break in the trees, I tried to gain altitude.

  That was when the demon came from the sky.

  It hit me before I knew it was there, driving my tiny bird’s body down into the snow. My heart beat wildly, faster and faster, as I became aware that death was imminent in this beast’s talons.

  I changed back to human form, gasping, sputtering on snow. As soon as I did, the creature on top of me changed as well. Before I could get my bearings, Malachi had me pinned, with a knife at my throat.

  “Even if your wings weren’t stunted from a lifetime in a cage, a quetzal can’t outfly a falcon.” He stood and offered the hand that wasn’t holding the knife to help me up.

  I stood on my own and brushed the snow off my back. Now I had new bruises to go with the ones from Lady Brina and Lord Daryl.

  “I thought you were a serpent,” I said. Calysta said only serpents danced that way. Even Malachi had called it the serpents’ dance.

  “My mother was,” Malachi answered. “My father was not.”

  “What’s a falcon?” Other than a big bird I had never heard of til now.

  “That’s … a long answer. One you need to hear, but which I would rather give in the camp, next to the fire, than here. Do I need to truss you up and carry you, or will you walk without further dramatics?”

  Forcing him to tie me up would ruin any chance of escape, so I said, “I’ll walk.”

  “If you run, I will catch you. Do you believe that?”

  I trusted it to be true for the moment, anyway. Now that I knew he could fly, I needed to come up with a better plan.

  I nodded and followed him back to camp. Despite my less-than-willing mood, the fire gave a welcome warmth as I sat in front of it. Malachi sat on the ground, but I didn’t let that fool me. He would be up in an instant if I ran.

  “You asked what a falcon is,” he said, his gaze lost in the crackling fire. “I assume you wanted to know more than the fact that falcons are large birds of prey, capable of hunting small animals and other birds. Though you should know that, because a natural falcon or hawk in this forest would think your quetzal form was a tasty snack. One of them would be fast enough to snap your neck before you could think about changing back to human form, so you need to be careful where you fly. As for the unnatural falcons …”

  He trailed off.

  “My father’s people are called the shm’Ahnmik. They are some of the most powerful magic-users in the modern world and one of the only empires that has not surrendered to Midnight’s tyranny. Unfortunately, they see Midnight as an amusing convenience—a place to send the worst of their criminals—and not a threat, so they don’t fight. Jeshickah would very much like to have falcon magic on her side, but the shm’Ahnmik are sensible enough to bind the power of anyone they exile.”

  “You thought before that I was a … a bloodwitch,” I said, recalling the unfamiliar word. “Is that like the shm’Ahnmik?”

  He nodded. “Your people are the Azteka. They’re jaguar or quetzal shapeshifters. Not all of them have power, but the rare ones who do—the bloodwitches—are terrifying. As I understand it, the magic runs reliably in families, even when crossed with outsider blood. Jeshickah breeds horses, you see,” he said. “She has for centuries. And she has no qualms about applying the same theories to people. In you she has a foundation stallion who has devastating power—a trait she wants—but a fragile constitution. All she needs is a dam who can introduce some hardier traits, and she can start breeding her own personal army, utterly loyal to her. We … I’ve lost you, haven’t I?”

  “Did you ever have me?” I asked. I had no idea what he was talking about, with stallions and dams and horse breeding. What I knew was that Mistress Jeshickah had taken me in when my blood family had abandoned me. She had given me a place to live and provided for all my needs. Malachi talked as if I should be afraid of what she might want, but if I ever had an opportunity to help the woman who had saved me, I would do so proudly.

  “I’m talking to a boy raised in a box,” Malachi grumbled, collapsing dramatically to stretch out on his back on the packed snow. “How could you even know what children or horses or armies are?”

  Deciding that it would make my point in more ways than one, I answered, “I know what those things are. I grew up listening to Lady Brina tell stories.”

  He quirked a brow, clearly amused. “I have a hard time picturing Brina telling bedtime stories to a slave.”

  “I told you, I’m not a slave,” I replied automatically.

  “You have no idea what you are,” Malachi responded. “It’s clear that—”

  “It’s clear that you don’t know Lady Brina very well,” I interrupted. “Sometimes when she paints she gets lost in the colors and can’t be distracted. Other times she likes to tell the myths that inspire her. Or she will show me a drawing, or a painting, and ask me if I can guess what has happened.”

  That was the magic of Lady Brina’s work. She could paint one still image but hide within it the details of an entire story.

  “I know her reputation as an artist,” Malachi said. “I also know her reputation as a volatile, unpredictable task-mistress. When I found you earlier you were limping and had bruises on your face. Did she give you those, too?”

  “You don’t understand. Calysta—” My voice choked off.

  Malachi’s body tensed, and I remembered that he also knew her. “The slaves said she killed herself,” he said, barely whispering.

  “She destroyed the painting,” I said, trying to explain.

  “She killed herself,” Malachi repeated, his voice gaining strength. “I heard it was quite a mess. Do you know what kind of madness it takes to drive a blade through your own wrist? So tell me, if your home was such a paradise, why would she do that?”

  Why would she do that?

  I stood up with a rush of breath, trying to rid myself of the memory and of Malachi’s question—the same question that had haunted me every time I thought about Calysta. Malachi was on his feet in a flash as well, but I wasn’t trying to run from him. I wished I could run from my own mind.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. “Maybe it has to do with you. She told me not to trust you.”

  For a brief, horr
ible moment, I was certain it had everything to do with Malachi. Maybe she hadn’t killed herself. Maybe he had killed her. But no, I had seen the tools, held in a death grip in her hands.

  “Maybe it does have to do with me, since I used to know her,” Malachi said, each word clipped and as sharp as a blade. “If she told you not to trust me, it’s because she feared that I might tell you the truth about who she used to be and what they did to make her what she is—was. Sooner or later, Vance, you will find yourself in the same position, and it will destroy you, too. The woman you call Calysta used to be named Shiva, before she was taken from us and turned into a mindless creature who could be loaned out in order to clean painting supplies for a madwoman and teach the serpents’ dance—a sacred ritual of freedom—to a caged bird.”

  I wanted to argue with him, but my tongue had turned to dust in my mouth. I knew there had to be a way to defend my world, but at that moment the pain of Calysta’s death was too raw.

  “Midnight is an empire that operates through slavery and fear,” Malachi said. “You see, vampires are incredibly strong, and impossible to kill. They do not fear the elements, and they can transport themselves around the world in the blink of an eye. They have subdued most races, including the serpiente, the avians, the wolves … well, it would be a long list. The only reasons they have not conquered the entire world are that their numbers are few and they cannot perform magic on their own. They rely on spells that they can acquire only through the rare witches who are amoral enough to be hired out as mercenaries, which means they cannot fully subjugate those shapeshifter races that have powerful magic: the shm’Ahnmik, the Shantel, and the Azteka. That is why Jeshickah wants a witch, like you, who she can raise to be perfectly loyal and use to breed an army. I cannot allow that.”

  “Then … what will you do?” I asked as a chill passed through me that had nothing to do with the winter air.