Jeffrey’s head and shoulders popped out of the window. He slid out and began to fall. Alexandra swung her legs outward and caught him, and then she was falling as well.
The rushing air froze her feathers. Alexandra, who was much lighter, thanks to her bones being of the lighter, Acolyte variety, was not dropping as quickly as Jeffrey. She worked her body into a straight line and dove. She caught Jeffrey and held on to him, and then, with a grunt, used her remaining strength to stretch out her wings. The pain was so great that she almost passed out from it.
Just hold on a bit more, for Milo and Emma…
She managed to open her wings and stretch them. The pain spread like an electric web across her back. The rushing air was no longer as strong as before, which meant the tactic had worked. Her wings were still good for something.
She saw snow-covered bushes below, the sort of teacup-shaped bushes that Corgos liked around his castle. She maneuvered her wings in an effort to land on one and found herself thinking that it wouldn’t work, that the whole escape attempt had been suicide from the beginning.
Reality became a mess of color and noise and wind. She heard the alarm wailing inside the castle, though not as loud as before. The ground rose up to meet them. A silent prayer went through her mind, only the first few words: Gods grant me the strength…
She crashed, wings first, into the bush. Jeffrey slammed against her with the weight of a sack of rocks. His forehead banged into her collarbone, shattering it. Several of her ribs were crushed instantly.
When she opened her eyes, Jeffrey was looking at her.
They were outside, and it was much quieter now. A peaceful feeling came over her. The pain was terrible, but it was a distant thing, like an oncoming train. It frightened her, but at least she was still alive, still aware of what was coming to swallow her up. It had come to an end, finally. She would die, but at least she wouldn’t die inside that wretched castle. She would die out here, in view of everyone, and then maybe they would see what the emperor’s wickedness had caused.
“Zandra,” Jeffrey said, using a bloody, trembling hand to brush hair off her face. His boyish eyes were clear and beautiful.
“Je-Jeff…” She sputtered as blood caught in her throat.
She looked down and saw blood on his armor. Then she saw the tiny button of metal, ringed with blood, right above his heart. The bolt had gone through his armor and stuck there. He’d been wounded by the crossbow after all.
“You—your wound.”
“It’s okay,” he said.
He was looking at her the way a husband looks at his wife. He reminded her so much of Max that tears sprang to her eyes and she began to cry. She wanted Jeffrey to hold her and rock her to sleep, to that eternal sleep where maybe—if the legends were true—she and her husband would be reunited.
“Take my life force,” Jeffrey said. “Zandra, listen. I won’t live, but you can.”
“I won’t.”
“Do it. For Milo and Emma. They need their mother.”
Hearing him speak the names of her children roused something inside her chest.
“You’re an Acolyte demigod,” Jeffrey said, tears cupping his eyes. “You can use my life force to heal. I’m offering it to you so—so it won’t be blood ether. It won’t be bad.”
“But I swore I’d…”
Her vision began to dim. She was losing it.
“Zandra, do it. Be quick about it. Do it now!”
She saw the wound in his chest and the blood leaking out of it. Both of his legs had been broken by the fall. She imagined the pain that must be shooting through him and marveled that he could still speak.
“Do it for me,” Jeffrey said. “I helped you escape, and now this is what I want in return.”
“You’ll die.”
“I’ll die, anyway. This way it’ll be a good death—an honorable one.”
He lowered his head and kissed her lips. She could taste blood—his or hers, she couldn’t tell.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you, too.”
He smiled. “I’m ready.”
Before Jeffrey could pull away, Alexandra reached up and put her hands around the back of his neck. His hair was damp and she could smell soap and musk, smells that again reminded her of her husband. Max would want this. He would want her to take Jeffrey’s offer, to use this man’s life to save her own. He would have accepted this repulsive act of feeding off someone else’s stream of life energy.
Jeffrey looked into her eyes the entire time, that sappy look of a man in love. Magic burned between them. Her hands grew bright and threw out blue rays. The light shot through both of them, connecting her and Jeffrey in a way more intimate than any joining between a man and a woman could ever be.
Then, when their life forces had become one single string of energy (she pictured it bright blue, like a ray of lightning but smooth, strung between their chests), she drew it back into her own body and let it spread through her arms and legs and wings. A whirlwind of air shot currents of snow away from them, and whipped her hair around her in brown wisps.
Her wings trembled as the bones rearranged themselves. All of her injuries healed, and it was the most pleasant feeling in the world.
She would live.
“Thank you,” she said, gazing at Jeffrey, her savior. The man was little more than skin and bone now, a trembling shell of a man. He blinked.
“An honor,” he said with his dying gasp.
The wind died down, and Alexandra could hear people gasping. She examined her surroundings from where she lay.
A group of onlookers—mostly castle servants, deliverymen, and soldiers—had gathered around the section of wall in front of which she and Jeffrey had landed. They all had tears in their eyes. Many openly wept.
She kissed Jeffrey’s forehead and pushed herself up.
Heads tilted back to watch her rise, fully healed and beautiful, into the early morning air. There was blood on her simple white nightgown, on her chest and shoulders and all over her face. She peered at them from amidst all that blood. Her hair, as brown as leather, formed a severe contrast against the red and white of her bloodied wings.
“Hear me,” she said. Her voice was deep. She didn’t blink once. “King Corgos has underestimated his enemies. My name is Zandra Banks, daughter of Aliara, Champion of the Breeze, and I am here to tell you that the day will come, sooner than you think, when the lands of Taradyn shall once more be free!”
Her wings opened to their fullest and proudest length. They cast a shadow upon the ground and over the hearts of those who watched.
“Heed my words,” she said, “for we are at war.”
With a burst of wind that pushed hair back on the foreheads of those watching her, she leaped up with a violent thrust of her wings and was soon coursing through the air like a missile. Her wings flapped and flapped, carrying her into the sunwashed sky.
CHAPTER 52
A fter two hours of skating on the pond, Coral called the orphans inside for hot cocoa. Emma didn’t see her brother, though she figured this was normal. He had probably gone upstairs to study.
She climbed the stairs to her room to change out of her damp clothes and stopped at her window, which allowed a full view of the snow-covered field behind the ranch. The sun was out in full force and there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. There were two figures in the field, and she had to squint to see them against the white.
Sevarin stood ankle-deep in the snow, watching Vastanon prance around. The boy was too far away for Emma to make out his face, but she sensed something strange going on. She studied his motions and saw that Sevarin was speaking to the levathon—not just saying commands or “thattaboys” but actually speaking, as if to another person. Emma wished she could hear him.
The glare made her eyes hurt. She was about to pull away when Vastanon turned and galloped across the field, so white she could barely see him against the snow. His wings opened like blades, a sight that made her c
hest swell with emotion. Then Vastanon leaped and took off, curving to his left in a wide circle, gliding as gently as a kite.
He changed course and flew toward Sevarin, who steadied himself before the creature’s approach. Then Sevarin did something that drew the breath out of her lungs. He jumped, flipped, and landed on the creature’s back, just as it swooped under him.
Emma gasped and drew back from the window. Sevarin was flying the horse across the field with no harness, one of the perks of being a Sargonaut—a fall wouldn’t hurt him at all. She put herself in his position and could almost feel the cool air on her skin and hear the wind blowing in her ears. To fly like that, as if it were nothing at all…
Emma went back to packing her things. She didn’t feel like doing it, but the mundane nature of the task put her mind at ease. She’d been thinking too much lately about what would happen to her and Milo and the other orphans once they left the ranch. Would they get split up? Would they really be safer in a city than out here on the coast? Would she and Lily still be roommates?
She was on her knees folding shirts when a knock came at the door.
“It’s me,” Lily said.
“You don’t have to knock,” Emma said, laughing a little. “Come on in.”
Lily opened the door, but not all the way. She poked her head in, saw Emma, and darted back into the hallway.
“She’s decent,” Lily said.
Emma sprang to her feet and stepped back toward the window. Some nameless fear caused her to bring a hand up to her mouth. She knew it wasn’t Milo, because Milo would have knocked and said, “It’s me,” or “Are you in there?” And it wasn’t Ascher—he would have knocked and said, “Emma? It’s Ascher. Can I come in?” Emma knew everyone’s knock and voice, so the person standing outside her door was someone who had never called on her before.
“Thanks.”
A boy’s voice.
Sevarin stepped into her bedroom, closed the door with an easy swipe, and stood looking at her. His eyes roamed across her face and body, making her feel small and vulnerable. There was something about his broad shoulders and muscular arms that made the room seem smaller than usual.
“Hey there,” he said, his eyes flicking downward. The gesture, slight as it had been, showed Emma that there was no reason to be timid. Sevarin was the vulnerable one—at least here in her bedroom.
“Hi, Sevarin.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I saw you in the window.”
“What?”
“Earlier, when I was outside with Vastanon. There was a look on your face.”
Emma went back to packing her shirts, ears burning with anticipation. She had a feeling she already knew what he wanted.
“You looked jealous,” he said.
Emma turned and frowned at him. “Jealous? I wasn’t jealous. I was just—impressed. You were being nice to Vastanon for once.”
“Huh! I’m always nice to Vastanon. We’re like best friends!” He walked over to the bed and sat down.
“Did I say you could sit there?” Emma held a shirt in each hand and glowered at him. “I was going to put these down where you’re sitting.”
“I thought you were packing them.”
She dropped the shirts and let out a heavy sigh. “Why did you come here?”
Sevarin abruptly stood up. “Why do you hate me so much?”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Then why are you always mean to me?”
He had squared his shoulders as if to prepare himself for the worst. Emma’s face warmed with a stew of emotions. The word mean rang in her head. Mean, mean, mean. Was she really that bad?
“It’s because you’re arrogant. You think you’re so much better than everyone else, just because you’re the only Sargonaut. You think your muscles make you King of the Ranch.”
He stepped toward her. She drew back.
“I’m not always like that,” he said.
“Well, did something make you that way?”
A pained look flashed across his face. He was silent.
“What happened to you?” She had softened her voice. See? She wasn’t so mean. “Something happened to you when you a were a child. What was it?”
He turned away. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Why are you here, Sev?”
He closed his eyes. “I had a brother once. He was like a mentor to me. He’s also the reason I’ll never go near a needle or a gun.”
Emma kept silent and waited for more.
“You know what? I didn’t come here to cry on your shoulder,” he said.
“Then why did you come here?”
“I wanted to take you on a ride. Put your gloves, boots, and jacket on. Come on—and don’t say no.”
She swallowed. “Where?”
He leaned in and spoke in a whisper that made a shiver creep down her back.
“To the skies.”
CHAPTER 53
T he beacon crystal burned, but Milo ignored it.
When he reached the grove of trees, the spell over him broke and he could think clearly again. What was he doing here? Why had he walked all this way in his skates? The smart thing to do would be to turn back and inform Ascher of what he had seen. Then one of Ascher’s men could scour the forest and catch this mysterious intruder.
But Milo didn’t want that yet. His curiosity was too strong. This man—who had disappeared, by the looks of it—was most likely the magician who had been stalking the ranch, and Milo didn’t want to miss the opportunity to get some answers. Plus, he didn’t think the magician would hurt him. It was his advice, after all, that had led Milo, Emma, and Ascher to retrieve the beacon crystal. And the man was certainly powerful enough that if he had wanted to cause the orphans harm, he would have done so by now.
Milo took a steadying breath and went deeper into the forest, trying not to trip as he was still wearing ice skates. He saw nothing but tree trunks and snow. The beacon crystal shivered in his pocket.
“Milo Banks.”
Right next to him—a man.
Milo whipped his head around as he fell. He landed on his back in the snow, hands up in front of his face in defense. But no one was there.
The air shimmered a few feet away from him. A man, blurry at first, like a figure seen behind a foggy pane of glass, began to solidify. He wore black gloves, a gray suit with a collar that rose a few inches around his neck, and a gray overcoat. His oiled hair gleamed in the murky daylight, which was not even strong enough to paint shadows around them. His glasses were two black circles over his eyes—John Lennon sunglasses, Milo thought—which would explain why his eyes had looked like holes before.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said. His voice was polished, articulate—the voice of a highly educated soldier.
“I’m—I’m not,” Milo said, climbing out of the snow and standing up.
The crystal was hot enough to hurt. Milo reached in and pulled it out. It was so hot that he had to fling it away.
The magician reached down—with a very human grunt—and dug it out of the snow.
“Don’t underestimate the power of these crystals. It warns you whenever a more powerful magic-user is nearby, especially if that user is a sorcerer. You understand the difference between a magician and a sorcerer, right?”
“A sorcerer draws power from within,” Milo said, “and uses it to command the elements and reshape his surroundings. A magician draws power from his surroundings and uses it to reshape himself.”
“Very good,” the man said, nodding. “That definition’s a bit dated, but not bad.”
He handed Milo the crystal. It cooled off as soon as Milo touched it. He saw that the magician had recharged it to full capacity.
“So, you’re a magician,” Milo said.
“Actually”—the man smiled a little behind his glasses—“I’m a physicist. Magic is more of a hobby. I guess you could say it’s more of an offshoot. Anyway, I’m here to help. My intuition tells me you already know t
hat, though.”
Milo nodded. “I know I can trust you, but not why. I just feel it.”
“That’s because we’re family.”
The man took off his sunglasses and blinked several times against the light. Milo’s face slackened in disbelief.
They were his father’s eyes.
“My name is Emmanuel Banks,” he said, “and Maximus was my younger brother. I’m here to teach you a thing or two about magic, if you’re ready for it.”
Milo’s breath poured out of his lungs. He wobbled on his skates and almost toppled over. He wished he had brought his boots with him. The man reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him.
“Emmanuel,” Milo said, gazing up at the man’s clear blue eyes. “My sister was named after you.”
His uncle nodded.
“That’s right,” he said. He opened his coat, reached down by his belt, and pulled out two strips of shiny material with rubber soles.
“Here,” he said, tossing over the boots. Milo caught them. “Before I explain what’s going on, let’s do something about those skates.”
CHAPTER 54
Emma was flying, yet her only thought was how uncomfortable the harness felt against her bottom.
But still—she was flying!
The world was a pure white all around her, and the mountains to the west were like the tips of glaciers. It was all so beautiful and majestic.
But her butt was killing her! She had her arms around Sevarin’s waist and the side of her face pressed against his shoulder blades. He wore a thin sweater and no gloves, and she imagined the cold didn’t hurt him as much as it would a regular person. They were sitting on a harness this time. He had suggested it to keep her strapped in, but the straps had been too tight. She had loosened them a bit so she could breathe. No big deal.
Sevarin made a shrill whooping sound.
“Fly, Vastanon!”
Emma tightened her grip on him, surprised at how tough he felt. It was like hugging a tree. Vastanon whinnied. Misty air slid over Emma’s face like ice cream, and it was wonderful.
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