Chapter 5

“I will draw her out with a call from the northern side of the clearing, Cree will have her chance to strike, and Lucien will assist, but only if the witch proves too powerful.” Cree said nothing of their true plan, and so Sarenne lifted her rapier and touched the hilt to her forehead. “Hunt well, hunt clean.”

Then she disappeared, vanishing among the trees as she snaked around the perimeter of the clearing. The brook grew louder and more talkative as he and Cree crawled their way west, through the thinning line of trees, waiting in the cool, concealing darkness of the forest for Sarenne’s next move. Beside him, Cree shuddered.

“I didn’t think I would be this afraid,” she murmured.

“Neither did I.”

Lucien knew better than anyone what Azrahari was capable of, and though his blood simmered with rage and yearned to be spilled for the magic that would end her, he worried that it would not be enough. In his mind, the witch loomed as permanent and primordial as the forest itself, not a being that had chosen to put down her small red cottage there and perform her horrible spells, but a thing that had always been and would always be.

From the northern edge of the clearing came a soft cry. It grew in intensity until it sounded exactly like an infant whimpering and shrieking.

“How is she doing that?” Cree asked. “It’s uncanny.”

It didn’t matter how, it only mattered that it worked. A moment later, the door of the cottage squeaked open. Lucien reached for the daggers holstered at his belt, his hands numb. Azrahari emerged, the fingers of her right hand curled and tucked under her chin. She turned a complete circle, searching for the sound of the crying child. Carefully, she drifted a few steps down the path leading from the entrance. Cree shifted, but Lucien shook his head. The door closed behind her on its own, and that was the moment to pounce.

Elias and Karem had drilled the movements into him for two years, and now they sprang from him with ease. He sliced the dagger blades in an X across his bared chest, blood coating the steel, a pale-blue light surging from his fingers and leaping to the weapons. White frost crackled across the dagger blades, and Lucien moved into the clearing. The bushes near Sarenne rustled, keeping the witch’s attention for one last crucial instant. When Azrahari turned, blue eyes wide, hands fumbling for the amulet, Lucien was already upon her.

She made a strangled, curious sound, then tried to thrust the amulet toward his face. His right dagger lashed out, severing the amulet’s chain and four of her fingers. Ice gathered on the bloodied stumps. Her mouth dropped open in horror. She could no doubt see Cree sliding into the clearing behind him and hear Sarenne approaching from her left flank.