The pale one smiles. “The magic on this island is more alive thanyou will ever know. Find yourself in the wrong place, and the it will rend you in two—tear your soul from your body.”
I feel a chill creep up my spine as her words settle in. Their magic had always been powerful. Immensely so. Arlet shouldn’t be alone right now.
But they are doing us a favor. If they have her, I cannot risk my actions ruining things for her, despite how I wish to charge out of this room and hunt her down.
I stay silent, frustration bubbling beneath the surface, and eventually, the quiet doesn’t feel so tense.
They let me go to another room to wash, and the dream from earlier creeps back into my mind.
When I remember that my heartbeat was felt in my body, I press my hand to my chest.
I feel nothing.
This is, technically, good news. It was what I had wanted, and the lack of heart made up for the lie I had given Arlet. But another part of me sinks low.
I think it is the smell of rosemary that creeps in through the window. The woman who had attended to me long before had been so insistent that one day, I would regret my choice.
Six decades ago, and she had been right.
Once dressed, I return to the room, and sort through our packs. My weapon is placed on the ground in front of them, almost in warning.
I do not push to take it.
Time passes. The sun sets, and the witches remain in the shadows, their eyes never leaving me. The dream lingers, sharp and unsettling.
Finally, the witch speaks again. “It is time.”
I stand immediately.
The witch gestures for me to follow. I move quickly, my heart pounding. The ritual is beginning, and I don’t want to stand by any longer.
Last night, the assumption had been that we landed on the incorrect island. Clearly, I had been wrong. It was a kindness, and a part ofme wonders if the gust of wind, the one that took us down was not Endu.
His tap on my shoulder from before was a rare moment. I followed it willingly.
Once we cross the threshold of the hut, I am surrounded by magic, wood and heat.
The Witch’s Isle houses what they had called a village, but it seems more like another Enclave. It is a fortress made of the surrounding jungle. What a thing to discover a place few knew existed.
Hundreds of women move through the space, their inked faces flickering in the glow of floating spell flames. Their homes are woven onto the trees—huts of palm fronds and reeds perched among towering trees. Rope bridges connect them, swaying gently with each footstep.
Beyond the huts, the cliff sides are hollowed out into cavernous dwellings, their entrances covered with vines. Below, winding tunnels pulse with veins of bioluminescent fungi. Water drips from the stone, feeding underground pools that shimmer with an almost celestial light.
And at the heart of it all, open cenotes spread like glassy portals to the sky, deep and endless. The witches gather at their edges, their voices rising in whispered chants. Some of their bodies slip into the dark water below. The surface ripples, lilies shifting, their pale blossoms opening as if in offering.
I think of the warning I’d been given earlier—realizing just how powerful the energy of this place is.
The witches continue ahead, guiding me through the winding paths away from the cenotes. I breathe in deeply, letting the humid air settle against my skin.
A clearing comes into view, as does Seraph. Her golden scales gleam in the rising moonlight, the glow of the fire reflecting off her massive body. She watches me with sharp eyes. I can almost feel her disappointment that I am not Arlet.
When I approach her side, to be sure that she is being treatedwell, she exhales. It is a low rumble vibrating through her, accompanied by the restless twitch of her wings.
“Are you satisfied that she is well?” Pale-Eyes asks.
I walk around Seraph, making a show of checking for any less obvious ailments.
Once I return to my original spot, I nod.