“You and Tobias have a son?”
“No,” I spit out, revolted by my cursed fastmate’s name, “he is not Tobias’s.”
Elloren winces, seeming alarmed by my flare of ire. “Do you need help, Sage?” she asks, clearly forcing herself to be calm, her voice measured and kind.
“I need to give you something.” I reach into my cloak, clasp a shaking hand around the White Wand’s spiraling handle and hold it out to her, pain flashing through my hand.
Elloren’s head jerks back in horror at the sight of my bloody fastlines. “Holy Ancient One, what happened?”
Defiance roars through me as my face twists with bitterness. “I did not honor my wandfasting.” I look past her, toward her cottage, and glimpse an elegant carriage through the mist, the Mage Council M painted on its side.
Holy Ancient One, her aunt. Vyvian Damon. She must be here.
“Elloren.” I push the Wand out toward her, desperate for her to take it. “Please. There’s not a lot of time! I’m supposed to give it to you. It wants to go to you.”
“What do you mean, it wants to go to me?” She eyes the Wand, brow tight, and doesn’t move to take it. “Sage, where did you get this?”
“Just take it!” My heart is racing. Vyvian Damon and her soldiers are already here. There’s no more time. “It’s incredibly powerful. And you can’t let them get it!”
Elloren is staring at me like I’ve come unhinged. “Who’s them?”
“The Gardnerians!” I say, too loud. Wishing I could will her to understand.
She forces out a disbelieving breath. “Sage, we’re Gardnerians.”
Desperation rises. “Please,” I beg her. “Please take it.”
“Oh, Sage,” she says ruefully, shaking her head. “There’s no reason for me to have a wand. I’ve no magic...”
Ancient One, she’s stubborn! “It doesn’t matter! They want you to have it!” I gesture with the Wand toward the Watchers above us.
She glances at the Watchers and screws her face up in confusion. “The birds?”
“They’re not just birds. They’re Watchers. They appear during times of great darkness.”
Pity washes over her face. It’s clear she doesn’t believe me.
“Sage, come inside with me,” Elloren says, her voice low and kind. “We’ll talk to my uncle...”
“No!” I vehemently counter, acutely aware of her powerful aunt lurking somewhere in that cottage. “I told you, it only wants you! It’s the White Wand, Elloren.”
Pity flashes in her eyes once more. “Oh, Sage, that’s a children’s story.”
Gods, Elloren. “It’s not just a story,” I insist, teeth gritted. “You have to believe me. This is the White Wand.” I thrust toward her again. Take it, Elloren. Take it.
And then, to my immense surprise and incredible relief...she does. She reaches out and takes the White Wand in hand. Then she slides it under her cloak, out of view, into an inside pocket.
The image of the Watchers blinks out of the back of my mind, and I know, without having to look, that they’ve vanished from the branches above.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement in the wilds—two black-clad Vu Trin on horseback. They quickly fade back into the woods.
Relief washes through me. They’re here. We’ve armed protection.
Elloren is scanning the trees, her angular face tight with confusion.
“They’re gone, Elloren.” I grab hold of her arm, desperate to give her this one, last directive in a way she’ll understand. And heed. “Keep it secret, Elloren! Promise me!”
“Okay,” she agrees. “I promise.” Her eyes are steeled, and this time she looks at me the way she once did, as a friend, the pity momentarily washed away. Cultivate that steel, I think. You’re going to need it, Elloren Gardner.
I let out a deep sigh and release her. “Thank you,” I tell her gratefully. I glance toward her aunt’s carriage. “I have to go.”
“Wait,” she begs of me. “Don’t go. Whatever’s going on... I want to help you.”
You can’t help me. “They want my baby, Elloren,” I tell her, my voice cracking.
“Who wants your baby?” she asks, her voice high-pitched with shock.
I roughly wipe away a stray, angry tear and look toward the Mage Council carriage again. “They do.” I hug Fyn’ir close to my heart and glance back at my family’s estate.
They’ll never hold him, I rue. My beautiful baby. My father will never smile at him and play with him and look at him with pride and love.
“I wish...” I say distantly. “I wish I could explain to my family what’s really going on. To make them see. But they believe.” I turn back to her, my expression hardening. “The Council’s coming for him, Elloren. They think he’s evil. That’s why your aunt’s here.”
“No, Sage,” she says, shaking her head. “She’s here to talk to me about wandfasting.”
I shake my own head with vehemence. “No. They’re coming for my baby. And I have to leave before they get here.” I take a deep breath and hug Fyn’ir tight. It’s time for us to go.
I’ll never see my family’s home again.
Za’ya’s infinitely kind words reverberate in my mind. Sometimes, you have to make a new home. And...it can be good, hmm? You must hold on to the faith of this.
Elloren’s hand comes to rest gently on my arm. “You’re imagining all this, Sage. There’s no way anyone would want to hurt your baby.”
Frustration momentarily rises inside me, along with a brief flash of envy for Elloren’s benign, rosy view of things. It’s going to be smashed to bits, I realize with crushing certainty, this naiveté of hers. “Goodbye, Elloren,” I tell her, wondering if we’ll ever set eyes on each other again. “Good luck.”
I take one last look at Elloren Gardner, then turn and stride toward the wilds.
“Wait!” Elloren calls out after me, but I force myself to ignore her. It’s up to her now. To unlearn everything she’s ever been taught, so she can be like Galliana for us all.
* * *
When I reach my sisters, Tu Jyn and another sorceress, Kon Yi, are standing nearby, my horse and their two stallions tethered to trees. Retta and Clover rush to me, clinging to my skirts and regarding the sorceresses with open fear.
“You were right,” Tu Jyn tells me soberly. “The Gardnerians came looking for you at our outpost not long after you left.”
“How did they find me?” I ask, alarm spiking.
Tu Jyn shakes her head. “I do not know.”
I glance down at my sisters, then give Tu Jyn a level stare. “I’m bringing them with me. I won’t leave without them.”
Tu Jyn smirks. “Well, then. They’ll just have to come, won’t they?”
“Oh, Tu,” I breathe, tearing up. “Khuy lon.” Thank you.
I feel a small tug at the edge of my tunic. “Are they going to protect us?” Retta asks me in a small, cowed voice, eyeing the sorceresses with uncertainty.
“I’ll protect you,” I tell her, pulling the wand Rivyr gave me from its sheath. “I’m a Light Mage. A powerful one.”
Both Retta and Clover look heartened by my bold declaration, and I’m heartened by the sight of their unmarked hands.
Your hands are going to stay that way, I vow.
I secure Fyn’ir under my cloak, his wings swaddled and hidden, my hands now free. Then Tu Jyn assists me as I mount my horse and Kon Yi guides my sisters up onto the sorceresses’ own mares. The sorceresses gracefully throw the lines of star weapons affixed to their chests over their backs and pull themselves up to sit behind my sisters. Retta and Clover stare at me, wide-eyed and silent.
“Are you ready, Gardnerian?” Tu Jyn asks me with a wry smile, skinny Clover enveloped by her deadly gray form.
Gardnerian.
I realize the word no longer fits me so
cleanly. I’m Gardnerian, yes, but the word no longer tells the whole story of who I am. I’m no longer my people’s idea of “pure” in any way.
But purity would mean no Fyn’ir. No Ra’Ven. No wand, and no power.
An unlikely smile tugs at my lips, and I realize, even though my hands burn as I grip the reins, even though I’m leaving everything I’ve ever known far behind for an uncertain future...
I never want to be pure again.
“I’m ready,” I tell her. Tu Jyn throws a small rune-stone to the ground, a rune that will hide our tracks even from Fifth Division Trackers. The stone sends up a blue glow that briefly fans out into a crackling web of energy over the forest floor, as far as the eye can see, just as the first rays of pale-golden sunlight spear through the trees.
Tu Jyn holds up her hand, throws it down, and we’re off, flashing through the forest, a blur of green coursing by me with thrilling speed as we ride back toward the land of the Amazakaran.
The perfect place to hide my son.
* * * * *
Keep reading for the beginning of Elloren’s adventures with the White Wand in The Black Witch by Laurie Forest
Acknowledgments
First of all, thank you to my husband, Walter, for his unflinching and enthusiastic support. I love you.
To my epic daughters—Alex, Willow, Taylor and Schuyler—thank you for supporting me in this author thing and being so all-around great. I love you.
Love going out to my late mother, Mary Jane Sexton, and to my late close friend, Diane Dexter. In the moments that seemed most daunting, I remembered how much you both believed in me and this series. Your feisty legacy continues to inspire me.
Thank you to my mother-in-law, Gail Kamaras; my sister-in-law, Jessica Bowers; and Keith Marcum, for all your support. I love you guys.
A shout out to my brilliant author brother, Mr. Beanbag, for always being awesome and always being supportive of me. Love you.
Thanks also go out to my nephew, Noah, for your support and humor. You rock!
To authors Cam M. Sato and Kimberly Ann Hunt, my international writing group cohorts—thank you for sharing your incredible talent and friendship with me week after week. I feel privileged to be on this writing journey with you both.
Thank you to author/editor Dian Parker, for sharing your incredible talent with me, and to author Eva Gumprecht, for being an inspiration to the entire writing community of central Vermont.
Thank you to Liz Zundel for sharing your writing talent and for your friendship. Love you, Liz. And thank you, Betty—much love going out to you.
Thank you, Suzanne. Your support this past year has been everything.
A million thanks to my fellow authors at Harlequin TEEN. I’m not only star-struck by all of you and your talent, I’m also so grateful for your support and friendship.
To the authors of Utah (a new favorite place) and the librarians of Texas (I was told you all rock, and now know the praise is spot-on)—I am so happy to know all of you. Thank you for all the support.
To YALSA and all the librarians who have supported me and my series—you are the definition of awesome.
Thank you to Jessie. And thank you to all of the many authors who have supported me throughout the past year. I feel so lucky to know you and to have the privilege of reading your phenomenal books!
Thanks going out to Lorraine for so much positive support. Love you, college roomie :)
Thank you to the Burlington Writers’ Workshop and the 2017 debut group for all the support, and for sharing your endless talent and creativity with me.
Thank you, Mike Marcotte, for all the tech support with my website.
Thank you to local authors Rickey, Kane and Ryan, and to all the other Vermont authors (you are legion) who were so supportive of me and my series throughout the last year. I’m so grateful to you all. Also, thank you to Vermont College of Fine Arts for all the support throughout the year. You are a magical place of inspiration and talent and epic people.
Thank you to Dan and Bronwyn (I love you guys), and thank you, John, for your support and friendship.
To all the librarians at the Kellogg Hubbard Library for being so enthusiastic and supportive of my series—a giant thank-you. And thank you to librarian Loona for all the support.
Thank you to all the bookstores that have been so enthusiastic about this series, including Phoenix Books in Burlington, Vermont; Bear Pond Books in Montpelier, Vermont; and Next Chapter Bookstore in Barre, Vermont. Also, thank you to the booksellers working in the YA section at the Burlington, Vermont, Barnes & Noble, for your boundless enthusiasm.
To all the bloggers and readers who have been so supportive of me online—you are all so fun and great. I’m enjoying being on this series journey with you all! Thank you for all the notes and letters and great ideas!
To my sensitivity beta readers: Thank you for making this book so much better with your insightful suggestions and inclusive vision. Any flaws that remain are completely my own.
Thank you to two of my favorite authors, Tamora Pierce and Robin Hobb, for your support and praise. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.
Thank you to my phenomenally talented audio reader, Amy McFadden.
And a huge thank-you to everyone at Harlequin TEEN and HarperCollins who have supported both me and this series. I can’t believe I get to work with people of your caliber.
Thank you to Natashya Wilson, editorial director at Harlequin TEEN, for everything. And thank you to my phenomenal editor, Lauren Smulski, for making every one of my books miles better. Thanks also to Gabrielle Vicedomini, for her assistance and great attention to detail.
Thank you to Reka Rubin and Christine Tsai on the Harlequin subrights team, for being such huge fans of The Black Witch Chronicles, and for your efforts to bring my books to readers all over the world.
Thank you to Shara Alexander, Laura Gianino, Megan Beatie, Linette Kim, Evan Brown, Amy Jones, Bryn Collier, Aurora Ruiz, Krista Mitchell and everyone else in marketing and publicity who helped to promote this series.
To Kathleen Oudit and Mary Luna of Harlequin’s talented art department—I can never thank you enough for my spectacular covers and map.
Many thanks to the sales team for their support—and especially Gillian Wise, for your boundless enthusiasm for The Black Witch Chronicles.
A big thank-you to Harlequin TEEN’s digital promoters/social media team: Eleanor Elliott, Larissa Walker, Monika Rola and Olivia Gissing.
And lastly, thank you to my wonderful agent, Carrie Hannigan, and to everyone else at the HSG Agency, for all your support and for believing in The Black Witch Chronicles for so many years. Much love going out to all of you.
* * * * *
Keep reading for the beginning of Elloren’s adventures with the White Wand in The Black Witch by Laurie Forest
The Black Witch
by Laurie Forest
Prologue
The woods are beautiful.
They’re my friends, the trees, and I can feel them smiling down at me.
I skip along, kicking at dry pine needles, singing to myself, following close at the heels of my beloved uncle Edwin, who turns every so often, smiles and encourages me to follow.
I am three years old.
We have never walked so far into the woods, and the thrill of adventure lights up my insides. In fact, we hardly ever walk into the woods. And Uncle Edwin has brought only me. He’s left my brothers at home, far away.
I scramble to keep up with him, leaping over curved roots, dodging low-hanging branches.
We finally stop in a sunny clearing deep in the forest.
“Here, Elloren,” my uncle says. “I have something for you.” He bends down on one knee, pulls a stick from his cloak pocket and presses it into my tiny fist.
A present!
&nbs
p; It’s a special stick—light and airy. I close my eyes, and an image of the tree the stick came from enters my mind—a big, branchy tree, soaked in sunlight and anchored in sand. I open my eyes and bounce the stick up and down in my hand. It’s as light as a feather.
My uncle fishes a candle out of his pants pocket, gets up and sets the candle on a nearby stump before returning to me. “Hold the stick like this, Elloren,” he says gently as he bends down and holds his hand around mine.
I look at him with slight worry.
Why is his hand trembling?
I grasp onto the stick harder, trying my best to do what he wants.
“That’s it, Elloren,” he says patiently. “Now I’m going to ask you to say some funny words. Can you do that?”
I nod emphatically. Of course I can. I’d do anything for my uncle Edwin.
He says the words. There are only a few of them, and I feel proud and happy again. Even though they’re in another language and sound strange to my ears, they’re easy to say. I will do a good job, and he will hug me and maybe even give me some of the molasses cookies I saw him tuck away into his vest before we left home.
I hold my arm out, straight and true, and aim my feather-stick at the candle, just like he told me. I can feel him right behind me, watching me closely, ready to see how well I listened.
I open my mouth and start to speak the nonsense words.
As the odd words roll off my tongue, something warm and rumbling pulls up into my legs, right up from the ground beneath my feet.
Something from the trees.
A powerful energy shoots through me and courses toward the stick. My hand jerks hard and there’s a blinding flash. An explosion. Fire shooting from the tip of the stick. The trees around us suddenly engulfed in flames. Fire everywhere. The sound of my own screaming. The trees screaming in my head. The terrifying roar of fire. The stick roughly pulled from my hands and quickly cast aside. My uncle grabbing me up, holding me tight to his chest and racing away from the fire as the forest falls apart around us.
* * *
Things change for me in the forest after that.
I can feel the trees pulling away, making me uneasy. And I begin to avoid the wild places.
Light Mage (The Black Witch Chronicles) Page 27
