CHAPTER THIRTEEN ISI
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ISI
We rushed to the front room and pressed ourselves against the wall beside the window, keeping our breathing shallow as we peered through gaps in the shutters.
A man sprinted down the street, his shirt torn, his face pale with terror. Behind him, three members of the village patrol gave chase, their clubs raised.
They disappeared around a corner.
My shoulders slumped with relief, and I turned from the window. The house was dark and silent, holding whatever secrets Thorne had left behind.
“We need to search fast,” I said.
Trew nodded, already moving toward the doorway on the right leading deeper into the house. “Stay behind me, Minx.”
I shook my head even as I let him take the lead. His need to protect me was both infuriating and comforting in equal measure.
The main room opened off the kitchen, a simple space with handmade furniture and pretty curtains. Embroidery still hung on the walls, delicate flowers stitched with patient hands that would never create again.
Trew’s magic rippled outward, invisible threads seeking any trace of recent power.
“Someone was here within the last week,” he said. “The traces are faint but present.”
Hope sparked in my chest. “Thorne?”
“I can’t tell specifically who.” He moved to the mantle, running his fingers along the edge. “But someone used magic. Healing magic, I think.”
My pulse quickened. Healing magic for Addie?
I hurried through the room. The cushions on the old sofa showed indentations, as if someone had sat there recently. A teacup rested on the side table, a brown ring staining the bottom.
Pherin launched from my shoulder, exploring the rafters with sharp chirps that echoed in the quiet space.
“Here.” Trew crouched near the fireplace. “The ash is recent. Someone burned something in the last few days.”
I knelt beside him, our shoulders brushing in the tight space. His warmth bled through my cloak, steadying me.
With a small shovel and poker, we sifted through the ashes together. Near the bottom, I found a scrap of fabric that hadn’t burned completely.
Dark blue silk. Fine quality. Court fabric.
I held it up to the light filtering through the shutters, and my throat closed. “This could be hers.”
Trew’s hand covered mine, his fingers curling around my trembling ones. “Maybe. We’ll find her.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
We continued through the house. The bedroom showed more signs of recent occupation, with rumpled bedding, a basin with water still in it, and a hairbrush with long dark strands caught in the bristles.
I lifted the brush, studying the hair.
Addie’s?
Trew appeared in the doorway, his unfamiliar features softening. “What did you find?”
I showed him the brush, and he crossed the room in two strides. His hand settled on my back, giving me strength when I wanted to fly apart. “Breathe, Minx.”
I drew in a shaky breath, then another. “If Addie was here with Commander Thorne, they left in a hurry.”
His hand remained on my back, holding me steady and keeping me from falling apart. “We should keep searching. There might be something else.”
We moved through the rest of the house. Pherin flitted ahead of us, her tiny form disappearing into shadows before emerging.
In the small washroom, I found a dried cloth draped over the edge of the basin.
Trew checked the bedroom again while I searched the small closet. A cloak hung inside, too large for Addie, clearly Thorne’s.
We continued to the back of the house, his mother’s sitting room. The space was cramped, barely large enough for the furniture it contained.
I stopped in the doorway, frowning.
The furniture had been moved, and the new arrangement felt wrong for the space. A chair sat three paces from the wall instead of tucked into the corner where it had been before. A small table angled awkwardly, its curved side facing a chair. An overturned stool lay near the window.
“Someone was in a hurry,” Trew said, easing past me to enter.
The arrangement tickled the edge of my memory. I couldn’t quite grab hold of it.
Pherin landed on my shoulder, her tiny claws digging into my cloak.
I stepped into the room, walking around the furniture slowly, studying it from all angles.
Trew watched me from near the wall. “What are you seeing?”
“I don’t know yet.” I traced the path from chair to table to stool, my feet moving almost of their own accord. “But this isn’t random. It’s—”
I stopped.
Third Form defense.
The realization made my breath snag in my throat. I knew these positions. I’d practiced them a thousand times under Thorne’s patient instruction.
“Opening stance,” I whispered, shifting to stand beside the chair. Three paces from the wall, just like Thorne had taught me. Room to maneuver, space to react.
I pivoted, my body remembering the movement even as my mind struggled to catch up. The table marked the pivot point, angled exactly where I’d turn to redirect an attack.
And the stool—
“Retreat position.” My voice came out stronger now as certainty built. “This is Third Form. Thorne left this for me.”
Trew stepped further into the room, scanning the furniture with new understanding. “A message?”
“Maybe.” I turned in a slow circle, examining the space with fresh eyes. “But why Third Form specifically? Why this pattern?”
Pherin launched from my shoulder, circling the room before landing on the overturned stool. She tilted her head, studying me with bright eyes. Think of weave.
“Forms are the foundation of everything, even thought.” Thorne’s voice echoed in my mind.
He’d used tricks to help me remember sequences, connecting each form to something concrete so I could recall them under pressure.
Just as I could break wards by studying the weave and unraveling it.
“For Third Form, think of the third shelf in a bookcase,” he’d said once.
I faltered mid-thought.
The third shelf.
I spun toward the door, already moving. Trew followed, his footsteps soft behind me as we navigated back through the house to the small study.
The room’s walls were lined with shelves crammed full of books. Training manuals. Histories. Philosophy texts. All organized with the same meticulous care Thorne brought to everything.
I counted down from the top. One. Two. Three.
The third shelf held a dozen books, their spines worn from use. I ran my fingers along them, searching for a clue.
“Third Form has seven positions,” I said, thinking out loud. “Opening, pivot, counter, redirect, advance, pivot, and retreat.”
I pulled the first book from the shelf, flipping to page seven, but I didn’t find anything unusual there.
Trew moved to stand behind me, close enough that I felt his breath stirring my hair. “What are you looking for?”
“I’m not sure yet.” I replaced the book, trying the next one. Hurrying because we didn’t have much time.
Page seven. Still nothing.
The third book. Page seven.
There. A single word underlined in faint pencil: Your.
“It’s a code,” I breathed. “He left me a message.”
Trew leaned closer, reading over my shoulder.
“Your,” he read. “The beginning of something.”
“I need to find the next pattern.” I moved back to the sitting room, Trew following.
My mind raced, sorting through years of training. Which form came next in Thorne’s teaching sequence? What would he expect me to remember?
Fifth Form offense.
I scanned the room, looking for… In the corner, a training dummy had been positioned at an odd angle, turned to lean toward one side.
The third strike position in Fifth Form’s offensive sequence.
“Fifth shelf,” I said, already moving back to the bookcase. “Third book.”
Fifth Form had eleven basic strikes.
Page eleven.
Sister.
“Your sister,” Trew said softly by my ear. “He’s telling you about Addie.”
My hands trembled as I reached for the next book. Second Form basics. The first thing Thorne ever taught me, the foundation of everything that came after.
Second shelf. Second book. Page four.
Lives.
“She’s alive. Addie’s alive.”
Trew’s hand settled on my back. “Keep going, Minx. What else does he say?”
I blinked the tears away, forcing myself to focus. There might be more patterns and clues hidden in the furniture arrangements throughout the house.
A distant shout echoed from the street, like the chase we'd seen earlier. My heart jumped. Trew yanked me down behind the shelves, shielding me with his body until the voices faded.
“We have to hurry,” he whispered.
I nodded and found them methodically, my training taking over. Each form Thorne had taught me corresponded to a shelf, a book, and a page number. Each held a single underlined word that built into a message meant only for me: West tower.
Trew watched me work. When I pulled out another book, his hand covered mine for a moment. “You’re brilliant,” he said, and the awe in his voice made heat flood my cheeks.
“Thorne was brilliant,” I said, but my voice came out breathless.
“You recognized it. You understood what no one else would’ve seen.”
I returned to searching.
Seventh Form appeared three times in the furniture arrangements. Thorne repeated forms to emphasize importance during training, the critical strikes that could save a life.
“He's emphasizing this—why?” Trew asked.
First instance: Kept.
Second instance: Her.
Third instance: There.
“Fates,” I hissed. My father had hurt my sister badly enough that Thorne must’ve felt he had to get her out of the castle before I could arrive.
Trew stroked my side. “Breathe, Minx. You don’t need to be strong right now.”
I leaned into him, drawing comfort from his presence. Pherin landed on the shelf beside me, peeping softly.
Some of the furniture had damage I hadn’t noticed before. A broken chair leg in one room. Torn pages in several books lying open on the bedside table. Gaps where things had been the last time I’d visited.
I decoded it all, piece by piece, while Trew read over my shoulder. His breath warmed my neck, his chest pressing against my back as he leaned in to see each new word. When I pulled one book, I knocked it against the shelf, the thump making me freeze before I continued.
When emotion threatened to overwhelm me, his hand was there. Steadying. Supporting. He kissed my temple mid-decoding, whispering encouragement.
“I’m here for you,” he said, and I believed him.
The complete message revealed itself like stars emerging at dusk: Your sister lives.
West tower. Kept her there. Tortured her.
Hurt. Very sick. Took her away. Going to your mother’s place south of Syllavar.
Sister spoke of doors opening. I don’t understand.
Need to help her. Trust yourself. Be careful.
I. Am. Proud. Of. The. Warrior. You. Became.
My vision blurred. The book trembled in my hands.
“Isi.” Trew’s arms came around me from behind, and he pulled me back against his chest. His warmth enveloped me as tears spilled down my cheeks.
“He was proud of me,” I whispered.
“Of course he was.” Trew’s voice rumbled against my back. “How could he not be?”
I turned in his arms, burying my face in his chest. All the fear and anger and desperate hope of the last weeks crashed over me at once. Thorne had believed in me. He’d trusted me to find this message, to decode it, and to discover where he’d taken my sister.
He’d seen me as a warrior, not a princess playing at strength.
Trew held me while I cried, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other secure around my waist. He said nothing. Just stood there, holding me close.
Pherin landed on his shoulder and pressed against my cheek, a tiny, fierce reminder that I wasn’t alone.
Relief flooded through me first. Addie was alive. Thorne had her. They were together, and he was protecting her.
Then came the white-hot anger. The west tower? He’d kept my sister prisoner there. Tortured her. Made her so sick that Thorne had risked everything to save her.
Fear came next. Doors opening. What did that mean? What had been done to her?
And my mother’s place south of Syllavar. I’d never known my mother had property anywhere, let alone past our borders.
“South past Syllavar,” Trew said. “That’s—”
“Now wasteland. They’re heading into the wasteland.” The place spawned by Skathes. Where magic twisted and died. Where nothing grew and few who ventured there returned.
Thorne had taken my dying sister there because it was safer than staying within my court’s reach.
“We’ll find them,” Trew said.
When I could breathe again, I pulled back enough to look up at Trew. “We need to restore everything. Make it look like we were never here.”
He nodded, his hand coming up to wipe the tears from my cheeks.
We returned each book to its proper place and put the furniture in their original positions, removing any sign someone else might find and read.
When everything was restored, I took one last look around. Thorne’s mother had lived here. He’d kept a piece of her here after she died. And he’d used it to leave me a message that could change everything.
“Ready?” Trew asked.
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I’d ever be truly ready for what might come next.