“Effrey,” Evelyn says to the younger girl, keeping her piercing eyes tight on me, “take Mage Gardner’s cloak. Then you and Sparrow can show her to her room.”
“Yes, Mage Grey,” the child hastily replies.
Effrey hurries to me as I unclip and slide off my cloak. I hand it to her, and the child takes it then rushes back toward Sparrow, dragging a triangle of my cloak’s hem artlessly across the floor. Just before she reaches Sparrow, the child knocks into a small, circular table, jostling an exquisite Ironflower-decorated vase that’s set near the table’s edge.
Sparrow’s eyes go wide as the vase teeters precariously. Quick as a flash, she darts toward the table, catches the vase with nimble fingers, and sets it right.
Effrey is frozen, her mouth falling open as she views the vase with sheer horror. The child turns slowly to face Mage Grey, cowering and hugging my cloak as if for protection. She bows down, almost to the floor. “Please, Mage, please. I’m so sorry, Mage.”
The little girl’s clumsiness tugs at my memory, and recognition sparks—the Valgard dress shop. That’s where I’ve seen these two before. Last year, when I first came to the city with Aunt Vyvian. The child was there, the clumsy little girl forever tripping over bolts of cloth. And graceful Sparrow. They were both there.
Evelyn Grey moves to a nearby refreshment table and pours herself a drink from a scarlet crystalline decanter. “Effrey,” she says. “Shall I have Oralyyr beat the clumsiness out of you?”
Effrey’s eyes grow wide as saucers as outrage blazes to life inside me in response to this cruelty toward a child, my wand hand flexing into a fist.
“Sparrow,” Evelyn says in an even tone as she turns away from Effrey, as if she’s completely lost interest in the child, “show Mage Gardner to her room. She’s to attend the Victory Ball this evening at the Mage Council Hall.” She sips her drink and peers back out at her storm-lit gardens, her lip twitching up into a derisive smile. “Clean her up. Try to turn her into something that at least appears respectable.”
CHAPTER THREE
VASES
ELLOREN GARDNER
Sixth Month
Valgard, Gardneria
I follow Sparrow and Effrey toward the far end of the estate, still reeling from my encounter with Lukas’s cruel mother. We wind through countless, exquisitely appointed hallways and rooms, both my magic and my emotions as turbulent as the storm that’s gaining ground outside.
Thunder cracks, the sound reverberating through the Ironwood walls.
Lukas needs to get here soon. Evelyn Grey means to harm me in some way—I feel sure of it. I might be safe here from the forces of the East, surrounded as we are by a Mage military presence, but I’m not safe from the Mages.
But if I find Lukas, will he even consent to protect me?
We come to an Ironflower-embossed wooden door at the far end of a sitting room that’s also a small library. Sparrow opens the door, and I go still at its threshold, my gaze transfixed by the bedroom’s sizable, four-poster, canopied bed. It’s topped with a luxurious emerald tree–patterned quilt, but that’s not what captures my eyes and my magic. It’s the canopy’s posts I’m drawn to—dense columns of deep black wood, rising in smooth spirals.
Like four colossal wands.
Captivated, I step toward the bed and run my hand along the enticing wood, power simmering at my heels as a massive tree with a thickly corded trunk fills my mind and I draw in a deep, languid breath.
Ishkartan Ebony.
Oh, this is a nice wood. Dense and strong. My fireline gives a warm flare, heat sizzling through my lines. It would be so easy to send magic through it...
A flash of alarm seizes me, and I wrench my hand from the wood, my pulse quickening over how easily the wood pulls me under. I surreptitiously grasp my wand hand with the other and dig my nails into my palm, attempting to quell the almost irresistible lure of the luxurious wood.
And the almost irresistible desire to release my power.
I drag my gaze away from the bed in an effort to distract myself from the great temptation, and find Sparrow and Effrey drawing back deep-green curtains to reveal rain-battered windows, making me feel exposed to whatever could be lurking out there.
Hunting me.
“You can leave those closed,” I hastily say to them, only to be met by a brief look of startled fear from Effrey followed by a slight, cautious nod from Sparrow as she draws the curtains once more. “Thank you,” I amend, swallowing. “Thank you for your help.”
“It’s no trouble at all, Mage,” Sparrow neutrally responds as she and Effrey secure the curtain ties in tidy coils.
“I’ve met you before, you know.” I press Sparrow in the least threatening tone I can muster as I clench and unclench my wand hand. “You were at Mage Heloise’s dress shop. In Valgard. Several months ago.”
“It’s true, Mage,” Sparrow says, her expression dauntingly blank.
Reluctant to make them feel any more uncomfortable than I already have, I let the line of conversation drop and shrug my travel bag off my shoulder, then set it down on the silk-cushioned chair beside me, the cushion’s fabric embroidered with an oak-leaf design. There’s an intricately woven rug under my feet that mirrors the rich colors of the bed, forest greens and midnight black entwined into stylized trees. A guilty frustration swells over how much I’m drawn in by the overabundance of forest decor and dead wood in this room. I don’t want to be so typically Gardnerian. I don’t want any part of the wretched Magedom.
Instead, I want to crack one of those posts off the bed and fight the Gardnerians with it.
A crack of thunder cuts into my rebellious thoughts, and I glance around the room. Two doors near the bed are open, one leading to a small changing room, the other to servants’ quarters. The cool air seeping in around the bedroom’s windowpanes is being held back by the lush warmth emanating from an iron woodstove that faces the bed, its iron wrought into the shape of a tree, pipe chimneys branching up and over the ceiling. The room is tastefully decorated with paintings of deer in a deep forest and more of Mage Evelyn’s seemingly beloved vases—vases that seem more important to her than the people working in her household.
I frown at the vase closest to me, made of parchment-thin onyx-glazed porcelain with a hand-painted scene depicting the slaying of an Icaral by several Mage soldiers.
I want to knock it clear off the table and watch it shatter into tiny, unfixable bits.
Sparrow brings my travel bag to the bed, sets it on the tree quilt, and moves to open it.
Anxiety swiftly overtakes me.
“I’ll unpack my things,” I say as I take a quick step toward Sparrow. I can’t risk her finding the Wand—and possibly handing it over to Lukas’s loathsome mother.
Which would immediately raise questions regarding why, exactly, I’m armed without the Council approval that is required of all Mages. Especially women.
Sparrow gives me an odd look as she acquiesces and instead begins turning down the bedsheets and quilt.
My heart thudding against my chest, I open the travel sack and lift my sparse belongings from it, piece by piece, placing them neatly on the bed. Then I fasten the sack and slide it far under the bed.
“I’d like that kept there,” I say, pointing underneath the bed while hating my dominant position over the two of them. They both nod in solemn deference, which only notches my remorse higher.
They shouldn’t be here. Not with the Gardnerians about to ship every last Urisk to the Fae Islands in a matter of months to remove non-Gardnerians from “Mage soil.” I look to skinny Effrey, who’s busy placing my clothes in the drawers of a nearby dresser, my outrage on her behalf rising.
She’s just a child. She shouldn’t be working as a virtual slave in this house for this cruel woman in this hostile land. What she needs is to get to the Eastern Realm, and fast.
“Let me do that, Effrey,” I offer, and she flinches, hunches down, and looks at me once more with obvious fright. I immediately regret scaring her.
There’s a perfunctory knock at the door, and we all pause and turn toward the sound as Sparrow smoothly hastens across the room and opens it.
Oralyyr, the dour Urisk woman who met me at the carriage, stands in the hall.
She shoots me a withering glare then thrusts a parchment-wrapped bundle into Sparrow’s arms. “I’ll be back for the clothing she’s wearing after she changes into this,” Oralyyr snipes to Sparrow before scowling at me once more and stalking off.
Sparrow closes the door, turns, and folds back the parchment to reveal a glittering gown. She walks back to the bed, pulls the garment fully free of its covering, and lays it out on the bed’s quilted surface. Her expression puzzled, she draws back and blinks at the dress as if thrown by it, but seems to quickly collect herself.
“For tonight’s ball, Mage,” she informs me with a slight bow and a formal air, but I can sense her lingering confusion in the tightness around her eyes.
Apprehension constricts my throat as I scrutinize the garment, even as part of me can’t help but be awed by its spectacular beauty.
It’s blazingly scandalous.
The sumptuous black silk of the dress’s formfitting tunic and long-skirt shimmers a lustrous red at the folds as the room’s lantern and woodstove light flicker over it. Rubies are splashed over the entire garment in a blessing-star design, the scarlet constellation thickening at the hems, and I note that the tunic is both close-fitting and low-cut, black lace edging the collar.
Deeply perplexed, I run a finger over the bumpy, glittering clusters of gems along the tunic’s edging as the Urisk girls return to the bustle of organizing my things and preparing the room.
My apprehension sharpens.
Both the overabundance of red and the fit are bound to attract censure in an increasingly strict Gardneria. And it’s clear from the design of this estate and from Evelyn Grey’s own garb that Lukas’s mother is even stricter than my aunt in all things. So, why would she want me to wear this outrageous, borderline-scarlet dress? And how did Mage Grey guess my size? Has she been in touch with my vile aunt?
“Sparrow,” I ask as I study the dress uneasily, “do you know if Lukas is expected at tonight’s ball?”
“Yes, Mage,” she affirms, her gaze fixed on the dress, as well.
A brittle crash sounds out, startling us both, and we turn to find Effrey surrounded by pieces of the horrible Icaral vase. The child bursts into tears, appearing as if she just stepped into the middle of her most dreaded nightmare. Sparrow freezes, staring at the shattered bits, her mouth agape.
The longer Effrey cries, the smaller and skinnier she starts to look.
I hold up a hand. “I broke it,” I say firmly, my voice louder than usual as I struggle to be heard over Effrey’s distraught sobs.
Effrey swallows back her tears and stares at me, her whole body convulsing with hiccups. Sparrow has grown several shades paler and is also staring at me, wide-eyed.
“I broke it,” I insist again. “I didn’t like it, so it’s no great loss. We’ll clean it up and tell Mage Grey that I’m not fond of all these vases and would prefer that they be removed from the room.” My heart is racing. This certainly won’t help me deal with Lukas’s awful mother.
It takes Sparrow a moment to find her voice. “Y-yes, Mage,” she finally stammers.
Effrey is still quietly hiccuping and blinking at me in evident confusion as I lower myself and begin picking up the knifelike shards.
“No, Mage,” Sparrow insists. “You shouldn’t be doing that. Come, Effrey,” she says, placing her hand gently on the child’s back. “Let’s clean up the pieces.”
A moment later, the child is crying again, having cut herself on a shard of vase.
I go to Effrey and kneel down before her, pull a handkerchief from my tunic’s pocket, and apply pressure to her trembling, cut palm. A bloodstain quickly fans out over the white linen, overtaking the fine Ironflower embroidery.
“Get some Singeroot tonic and a bandage,” I direct Sparrow, flabbergasted at little Effrey’s ability to get herself into one scrape after another. “I’ve some apothecary training. I can take care of her.” Keeping pressure on the wound, I indicate the chair beside us with a tilt of my head. “Effrey,” I say gently, holding the child’s cowering gaze, “we’re going to get this all fixed up, and then you’ll sit down and rest while I help Sparrow get things done.”
“Singeroot tonic is expensive, Mage,” Sparrow tells me, her tone surprisingly blunt. “Mage Grey will never approve of its use on servants.”
“Ancient One,” I mutter, disgusted by these horrible rules and by Lukas’s repulsive mother. I meet Sparrow’s level gaze. “Then tell Oralyyr that I cut myself when I broke the vase,” I offer.
A grim understanding seems to pass between us, and Sparrow nods then leaves to gather the healing supplies.
* * *
Not too long after, Effrey is patched up and whimpering softly, curled into a tight ball on the chair, the tree quilt wrapped around her small form.
I peer closely at the child. There’s something odd and unfocused about the way she’s staring at me. “The child needs glasses,” I mumble to myself, the light dawning.
“Oh, Mage,” Sparrow breathes, her tone gaining a somber, pleading edge. Effrey begins to cry again in earnest as she looks to Sparrow, clearly frightened by my observation.
I turn to Sparrow as well, surprised by the stark fear that’s now etched across her expression.
“Effrey’s eyes are weak, it’s true,” Sparrow says, her tone imploring, her composure faltering, “but please don’t tell Mage Grey. I can do the work of two. Please, Mage.”
My heart wrenches, a dart of sympathy piercing me. The situation these two are in is just so wrong on every level. Of course, I know what my answer will be and that I’ll help them in any way I can.
And I know something else, as well.
Sparrow and Effrey aren’t Mage Grey’s allies. They’re terrified of the woman. And I need all the allies I can get.
Even if the only ones I can find are two powerless servant girls.
CHAPTER FOUR
VICTORY BALL
ELLOREN GARDNER
Sixth Month
Valgard, Gardneria
I let my thumbnail slip under the rough piece of lantern-lit wood just under the carriage seat-cushion beneath me. A dark-leafed tree opens up in my mind.
Black Maple. From the Northern Wilds.
I carefully pry the small shard loose from the trim, my gaze darting out the carriage’s twilight-dimmed windows, acutely aware of the pair of Level Four Mage Guards flanking the carriage on horseback as we journey toward tonight’s Mage Council ball.
Acutely aware of what could be hunting me this eve.
Will these soldiers be enough to keep me alive until I can find Lukas?
I nervously roll the splinter of wood between my fingers. It’s no bigger than a pine needle, but still, a small shudder of power courses through me.
A tiny little wand.
Sparrow is sitting across from me, her expression blank as new-fallen snow and set on the middle of the distance between us.
I roll the wooden sliver in slow circles across my fingers and take stock of my situation.
If Lukas remains hostile toward me, I’ll have no protection, apart from my wits, from forces that will close in on me.
Likely soon.
Chi Nam could well be imprisoned for allowing me to flee, as could Kam Vin, Ni Vin, and Chim Diec. If that happens, the Resistance won’t be coming to fetch me anytime in the near future. And I have no way of getting hold of my brothers or Yvan or anyone else who could help me.
I have no one to lean on but myself.
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As hard as that is to come to terms with, there it is.
I inhale and pinch the wooden shard between my thumb and forefinger, considering...
I’ve learned that my magic grows with a wand’s layered focus. The difference in the fire conjured with a small branch versus a wand made of pressed, laminated wood is extreme.
What about a sliver of wood?
I carefully keep my other hand away from my seat’s maple edging as I evaluate the shard’s straightness with my wand hand, the sliver of wood so tiny that I feel tenuously in control of my temptation to send magic through it.
What if I tried this tiny wand?
I would have to be extraordinarily careful to hide who I am from the Gardnerians. But I can’t help wondering—could I tamp down my power enough to control it if I used small enough shards of wood?
Could I find a way to train myself?
Set on this new course of action, I clasp the small shard tight as my gaze lifts to rest on Sparrow, a new question rising. “Why aren’t you working at the dress shop anymore?”
Sparrow’s amethyst eyes snap into tight focus on me and, for a moment, I’ve a sense of her beating back some strong emotion.
“Evelyn Grey is awful,” I press, wondering how she and little Effrey ever wound up working for the vile woman.
“Mage Grey was kind enough to indenture us,” Sparrow states carefully, the words chilling in their neutrality. But then a glint of stony courage breaks through in Sparrow’s large amethyst eyes as she considers me for a brazenly long moment, momentarily letting me see through her servile demeanor.
What I see there is formidable.
“You helped Effrey,” she finally says, surprisingly forthright. “It was kind of you. Very few Mages would do what you did.”
I purse my lips and shake my head, both confused by her train of thought and uncomfortable over being given credit for the barest minimum of humane behavior.
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