A bird. Watching him.
A jolt of horror strafes through him as a green eye opens in the center of the bird’s forehead, then multiple eyes open as well around the three central eyes, these filled with swirling shadow. Yvan realizes, in an instant, what this is.
Vogel’s dark magic.
Magic the Vu Trin have warned him to be on guard against.
Vogel has come.
Yvan whips around just as a Vu Trin soldier breaks ranks and rushes for him, a glowing deep-green shield bursting to life around her as the other soldiers shout and draw weapons, the scene thrust into instant chaos.
Yvan falls into a crouch, his accessible Wyvernfire reduced to a small ember, almost all of it spread out behind him over the blazing plain.
The shielded Vu Trin running toward him pulls a wand, and Yvan realizes, in a burst of clarity, that he’s looking at a glamoured Mage as the attacker throws back her wand arm and thrusts it forward, a blur of dark bolts appearing in the air and zooming straight for him.
Yvan attempts to elude the incoming spears, but they’re homed in, curving as he attempts to dodge.
Shocks of pain explode through him again and again as vine spears impale his chest, his arm, his wings, his leg.
His heart.
Yvan falls to the ground, his whole body arcing against the terrible pain as Vu Trin yell and weapons fly and crash against the glamoured Mage’s magical shield in a cacophony of sapphire runic explosions, the glamoured Mage battling back the Vu Trin with a fusillade of vine spears.
Yvan turns his head as the life seeps out of him, cheek to earth, his vision beginning to black out along the edges. He meets the multi-eyed gaze of the bird, only a handspan away from him now on the ground.
Watching.
Watching.
Waiting for him to die.
Defiance rises in Yvan, and he holds the bird’s cruel, horrific stare even as blood flows out of him into the earth below and his internal fire ignites once more, his whole world consumed in pain and flame.
Two last impassioned thoughts fill Yvan’s mind as he surrenders to his internal spike of fire and the bird takes wing.
Be strong without me, Elloren.
And fight them.
Part Two
CHAPTER ONE
COMMANDER LUKAS GREY
ELLOREN GARDNER
Sixth Month
The Keltish Province of Gardneria
Yvan.
He’s all I can think about as I glance down at my fastmarked hands and my carriage speeds forward, drawing me ever nearer to my reunion with Mage Lukas Grey, commander of Vogel’s Fourth Division forces.
Are you safe, Yvan? I wonder ceaselessly, apart from him now for over a month and wishing I could find a portal straight to him.
I’ll find my way back to you, I vow, as both determination and dread mount inside me and my carriage transports me relentlessly deeper into the newly annexed Keltish Province of Gardneria toward Lukas’s military encampment.
I turn my hands over, palms up, and survey the black lines that circle every one of my fingers.
Lines that forever separate me from Yvan.
My dread ignites and sparks red-hot with frustration and anger, Wyvernfire blooming to life around my affinity lines in a sizzling rush. It’s difficult to quell the fury that rises like a wildfire whenever I look at the dark, looping fastmarks now permanently and irrevocably present on my skin. They always prompt a remembrance of the last time I saw Lukas.
When he fasted to me against my will.
I wince, my outrage notching higher as I remember how Lukas, the priests, and the soldiers held me against the fasting altar and forced my hands onto it. How furious Lukas was the whole time, storming into the room and back out again afterward, barely looking at me the whole time.
Now I’m bound to him, this man who refuses to fully break with Vogel.
I clench my fists and mentally stomp back my anger, clear on what’s at stake for me if I don’t secure Lukas’s protection. I pull in a deep, bracing breath and glance back out the carriage window, the day as storm-dark as the scenes spread out before me.
Every Keltish village we ride through has been shockingly altered by Gardneria’s annexation of Keltania. The remaining Kelts appear even poorer, sicklier, and more beaten down than they did during my previous journey here with Yvan. Mage soldiers are everywhere in their black silken uniforms, standing in contrast to the bedraggled Kelts, the Mages all seeming in good spirits, laughing together outside of battered shops and taverns.
There are Gardnerians overseeing Keltish farm laborers, and more than a few well-appointed Gardnerian families living here now. The Mages seem to reside in the nicer homes that we pass. But perhaps the most chilling sights of all are the black Gardnerian flags that aggressively mark practically every dwelling and town square like the symptom of a contagious disease. And all of the flags bear the new design, the Ancient One’s white bird on black.
Vogel’s flag.
A worse dread sweeps over me as I take in the black pennants and long to touch the Wand of Myth, hidden inside the lining of my travel sack, which is stowed in the carriage’s trunk.
Far away from my wand hand and my power.
* * *
When we reach the Gardnerian military encampment, I disembark from the carriage and am met by two new high-level Mage soldiers who beckon me forward. The day has grown even more overcast, and there’s an uncomfortable chill in the air, the sea of dark, sturdy tents mirroring the somber mood of the sky.
I look around, my stomach tightening as my booted feet make contact with the damp ground, apprehension spiking at the thought of facing Lukas again. Pulling my dark cloak tight around myself, I incline my hood-covered head to keep the beginnings of rain off my face, cold drizzle speckling my hands as we set off at a brisk pace.
Every soldier who spots me stops to stare, appearing mystified by my sudden presence. Trying my best to ignore them, I press forward against the worsening rain as I scan the scene.
There’s a sizable central tent up ahead, heavily guarded, and it seems to be the focus of the most regimented activity. A large Gardnerian flag flaps above it, and I notice with a start that it’s the old flag, the Erthia orb marking its center like emphatic punctuation.
I know, without asking, that this is where I’ll find Lukas.
Steeling myself, I follow the straight-backed soldiers toward the tent, paying little heed to the stupefied looks all around as I straighten to my full height, readying myself to face Lukas Grey.
I close my fists against my fastlines as I consider the viciously bad terms Lukas and I parted on.
No matter, I pledge as my resolve solidifies. I’ll win him over.
I may not be able to lie to Lukas Grey, because of our strong Dryad natures, but I can hold back the truth and find a way to secure his protection, so that I can survive and eventually fight with the Resistance for everyone and everything that I love.
We approach the large tent’s entrance, a sheltering black canvas awning now above us.
One of my escorts announces who I am to the grim-faced, bearded guard posted by the entry. The man gives me a rather resentful once-over before he curtly nods then disappears inside. His rancor unsettles me, and I try to come to terms with the number of people who might be aware of how I fought Lukas on our fasting day. How I disappeared soon after. How I have no lines of consummation on my wrists.
And how my brothers betrayed Gardneria and escaped East with the Lupines.
The bearded soldier reappears, draws the tent flap back, and ushers me in with an ill-tempered swipe of his hand.
I pull back my cloak’s hood and step inside.
I’m not prepared for what a cold-water shock it is to see Lukas again, my nerves kicking up to jagged heights.
Overwhelmingly handsom
e as ever, Lukas is seated at a weighty table at the head of the tent’s interior, surrounded by a retinue of soldiers. A few of these soldiers have the markings of the magically powerful, like Lukas, but I notice that Lukas is one of the small smattering of Mages on this base still wearing the old uniform, the silver Erthia orb marking his chest instead of the white bird.
Lukas takes his time signing papers placed before him and talking to military underlings one by one as they approach, bow, then leave to carry out his directives. As usual, he exudes power, the deferential body language of every other soldier in the room attesting to it.
It’s warm and dry in the sprawling tent, a central stove packed with smokeless Verpacian Elm blazing away, but still, I struggle to fight back the onset of a trembling chill.
If Lukas notices my presence, he gives no indication, and I’ve no sense of his vast affinity powers. His fire and earth magic are closed off, and I long to have the same control over my own terrible power.
Emotions storming inside me, I remain at the tent’s outer margin and wait for some signal that I can approach. The other men in the tent mirror Lukas’s disregard of me, averting their eyes to my presence as if they’re doing their best to ignore me completely.
I flex my hands, hyperaware of the fasting marks on them, as my eyes are drawn to the same swirling black lines covering Lukas’s hands. The memory slams into me anew—my hands being forced down by Lukas’s, the priest’s droning words as he recited the fasting spell.
And my uncle.
My beloved uncle Edwin.
Roughed up and imprisoned and essentially murdered by soldiers just like the ones who surround me now. Soldiers who would kill Rafe and Trystan if they could.
Who would kill Yvan.
Inside me swells a hatred of the Gardnerian military that’s impossible to suppress. My gaze darts around, lighting on every wand, every wooden chair, running along the length of the tent’s Mountain Spruce support beams.
I may not have a wand on me, I inwardly seethe, but all I need is a piece of wood. Any shabby piece will do, and I could conjure a fire so great that it would destroy you all.
As I take stock of every last piece of wood in the vicinity, the tent gradually empties until I’m alone at its periphery.
Only a single soldier now stands by Lukas. The young man’s eyes meet mine, and the flash of recognition that fires in his piercing gaze sets me even further on edge. He’s tall and severe looking, his angular features aristocratic, and he has Lukas’s same predatory aura. Also like Lukas, his military garb is edged with the five silver lines of a Level Five Mage.
Lukas signs a few more papers and hands them off to this young man.
“You’re relieved, Thierren,” Lukas says, without bothering to look up as he continues to read through the stack of orders before him.
Thierren gives Lukas a perfunctory bow before he throws another quick, intent look at me. Then he strides toward the exit, studiously not looking at me as he passes by, his cloak flowing behind him as he departs.
Leaving Lukas and me alone in the tent.
I try to will myself to smile and fake pleasantries, but the weight of my anger hollows me out, and that familiar, inescapable Dryad pull to be honest with Lukas takes over. Laid bare by it, I can only stand there, fists clenched, immobilized by a sudden hatred of Lukas that’s so raw it hurts.
Lukas sets down his quill, leans back in his chair, and levels his frigid green eyes at me. “What do you want, Elloren?”
I hate you. I hate you.
I clench and unclench my hands, wanting to strip the fastmarks clear off them. “I’m back to stay.” I force the words out, completely unable to disguise my angry defiance.
Lukas narrows his eyes and makes a sound of derision, then turns his attention once more to the papers before him, signing several, taking his time, as his lips turn up in a mocking grin. “Did the Kelt boy tire of you?”
A flash of rage sends me reeling. I throw up my fasted hands, palms out, the lines still perfectly intact. Proof of my chastity.
Lukas glances up at them and seems unimpressed, but then his eyes meet mine in earnest and his face darkens, a violent flash of anger passing over his features as his Magefire gives a sudden, palpable flare toward me. “I asked you what you wanted,” he says, his tone steel hard.
“I need a place to stay,” I practically spit at him, chastising myself as I do so.
This won’t do. You have to fight this fierce urge to be so honest with him. You’re supposed to be charming him so that you can secure his protection.
I struggle for composure. “I’m...I’m ready to take my place with you.” The words come out thick as boiled-down tree sap. It’s no use. I can’t fight the compulsion to be honest with him in tone now as well as words.
“Commander Grey, I’m sorry to interrupt.”
I turn to find black-cloaked Thierren just inside the entrance, his cloak’s hood rain-streaked over his head. His sharp gaze briefly darts to me. “Lieutenant Browlin has arrived.”
“Show him in,” Lukas orders without looking at me, his Magefire once again contained. “Mage Gardner and I are finished.”
A light-headed swoop overtakes me. “But... Lukas, I...”
“Show her out,” he orders, still not looking at me.
“Lukas,” I choke out, my thoughts spinning into chaos as Thierren approaches and takes my arm with gentle insistence. Overcome by humiliation, I flinch away from his touch, angry tears stinging my eyes as Lukas calmly turns his attention back to signing orders and Thierren silently guides me out.
* * *
I stumble out of the tent, past the newly arrived lieutenant, who eyes me with an immediate, outraged surprise. I wrench my arm away from Thierren’s loose grip and stride away.
“Mage Gardner,” Thierren calls after me, sounding conflicted, but I ignore him as I swipe at the tears pooling in my eyes that I so desperately want to hide.
It’s dusk now and drizzling steadily as I trudge over the wet earth, gripped by a burgeoning panic over what to do. As I pass by, the surrounding soldiers view me with evident confusion, seeming unsure whether they need to fake deference or if they’re free to hold me in open contempt.
My mind in utter turmoil, I pull my cloak’s hood over my damp head with tremulous hands.
Where can I find safety if Lukas won’t help me? Who will protect me from armed Vu Trin assassins that could be making their way toward me at this very moment?
Because if I try to protect myself with absolutely no control over my magic, I’ll reveal what I am to all of Gardneria. And I’ll kill absolutely everyone around me, soldiers and civilians alike.
I weave around the tents blindly, not knowing where to go, where to turn.
I don’t have any money. I don’t know where my belongings are.
I have never been so alone in my life.
And the Wand of Myth—
My steps halt as a brighter spark of concern lights.
The Wand...it’s in the carriage that was supposed to wait for me. Hidden in the lining of my travel bag.
And I have no idea where that carriage is.
Heightened alarm sizzles through every muscle as I spin around, looking for the carriage. It’s nowhere in sight.
What if the Wand is found?
Desperately needing to calm myself, I slide into a marginally private space between tents and away from the groups of off-duty soldiers coming and going, then slump against a wooden support beam and attempt to steady my breathing. The rain has picked up, rivulets of water streaming down the sides of the black canvas before me in uneven lines, my cloak growing sodden.
I need to find help. And I need to locate that carriage.
Shivering and damp, I’m seized by a flash of remembrance of Chi Nam’s rune stone. My heart picks up speed as I pull the stone from my pock
et and frantically rub my fingers over the sapphire rune etched onto its gleaming onyx surface. Voice low, I recite the Noi spell that’s supposed to unlock the rune and summon Chi Nam’s help.
Nothing happens.
My chest tightens with urgency as I try again, rubbing the stone and sounding the spell. But strain as I may, I can’t seem to get the spell’s complicated pronunciation right, and the rune remains unlit.
I thrust the stone back into my tunic as my spiraling sense of alarm grows.
My only other option is one I can’t stomach—seeking help from Aunt Vyvian. Just the idea of it sets a blazing, vengeful fire flashing through my lines, my wand hand twitching uncomfortably at the thought.
“Mage Gardner.”
I’m startled by a deep and insistent male voice.
I turn to find Thierren, the severe-featured soldier who ushered me out of Lukas’s tent. He’s peering into the slim space where I’m ensconced, fierce concern evident in his rigid demeanor.
“Commander Grey has directed me to get you settled,” he informs me, but there’s a storming energy churning behind the words, and I’ve a fleeting sense of vast wind and water power.
I hold Thierren’s stare in confusion, struggling to gain hold of myself. For a moment, his words make no sense to my stressed, sleep-deprived mind.
But...Lukas sent me away. Has he changed his mind?
Thierren holds out a conciliatory palm. “I’ve been ordered to arrange a carriage for you. You’ll be traveling to Commander Grey’s parents’ estate in Valgard. It’s a little over a day’s journey. I believe these are your things.” He hoists my travel bag into view, and my heart leaps.
The Wand.
I’m momentarily frozen by this quick turn of events, and I fight the urge to leap forward and grab up the bag to get the hidden Wand away from him.
I meet his gaze and force neutrality into my tone. “So...you’ll show me to the carriage, then?”
“Of course,” he says, his green gaze bolted on me.
The Shadow Wand Page 16
