“He already knows how pathetic I am,” I tell Trystan, a little defensively.
“I don’t think you’re pathetic at all,” Yvan says, his voice low and even.
I blink, momentarily disoriented by his defense of me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Trystan and Rafe exchanging a quick, wondering glance. It makes me feel uncomfortably self-conscious, and I quickly look away from Yvan.
“Trystan,” Rafe says congenially, thankfully changing the subject, “you get hold of some of those arrow tips, and Elloren, you can fetch that wand of yours.”
Trystan shakes his head. “Even if Ren’s wand is powerful, it might take high-level spells to break Elfin steel. Spells I don’t have access to.”
“Aislinn can get those,” I confess.
They all gape at me, wide-eyed.
I turn sheepish and slump down under the combined weight of their stares. “Maybe, I mean. She’s going to borrow a military grimoire from her father.”
Rafe barks out a laugh. “Well, that’s settled, then. We have a wand, we’re soon to have a military grimoire—” he motions to Trystan “—and we’ve got our Level Five Mage here. Might as well see if we can tackle this cage.”
“Does this mean you and Trystan will help us rescue the dragon?” I ask, astonished.
Rafe grins at me widely. “Certainly looks that way, doesn’t it?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Elfin Steel
“I don’t even know where to begin,” Trystan comments as he stands making neat slicing motions in the air with the white wand. The Elfin steel arrow tip is propped up on a tree stump a few feet away. “I’ve been learning spells to magic Gardnerian weapons, and that’s about it.”
We’re in a secluded clearing in the wilds, about a half hour’s walk from the University. We’ve all found it quite easily, starting at the edge of the field by the horse stables and walking straight toward a towering, vertical shard of salt-white Spine stone.
The morning sunlight cuts through the trees around us, our breath fogging the cool air. I look around warily, feeling as if the trees are pulling away, whispering about me on the wind. I take a seat on a moss-covered rock and pull my cloak tight to fight off the stiff chill. Yvan is leaning against a tree, facing me, his expression wary and watchful, his eyes always coming back to me.
He seems immune to the cold. I never see him wearing a cloak, but he’s always so warm—heat practically radiating off his body the few times I’ve been close to him, brushed his fingers, placed my hand on his arm...
Yvan’s eyes meet mine, and heat flares between us. I flush and glance away.
Rafe is flipping through the same type of grimoire that was handed to me for my wandtesting, the volume chock-full of basic spells. Diana sits on a long log next to him, her arms crossed, a determined expression on her face. Jarod quietly watches Trystan play with the wand.
Andras sits, sharpening his rather scary, rune-marked silver labrys—the usual weapon of choice for the Amaz. It’s a huge weapon, able to deflect magic as well as split skulls, with the two axes attached to its long handle. Andras rubs a sharpening stone over the cutting edge of one side, a thin, rhythmic screech sounding from his steady, circular motion.
Yvan steps forward from the tree, his hands on his hips. “Why do you want to help me free this dragon?” He glances around at everyone. “I’m not even sure it can be done. And even if it can—”
“This is a dangerous idea,” Andras puts in flatly, setting the sharpening stone aside. “I do not know if I can be part of such a thing.” He gestures with his broad chin toward the arrowhead. “But I will help you try to break this steel. There will come a time when dragonflight east could help many.” He sets his dark eyes on Yvan. “And my people despise the caging of wild things.” He’s silent for a moment. “I have always wanted to see an unbroken dragon. I have heard they are magnificent.”
“They are,” Yvan confirms with an edge of emotion in his voice.
“I will take a look at your dragon, Kelt,” Andras tells Yvan. “And then I will decide if I will help the beast.”
Yvan gives Andras a somber nod, then looks to Diana.
“Jarod and I also despise the caging of wild animals,” Diana states vehemently, her arms crossed tight. “All Lupines do.” She nods in my direction. “And Elloren Gardner asked for our help. So we will help you free your dragon, Yvan Guriel.”
“And you, Rafe?” Yvan asks. “Why would you go against your own people?”
Rafe bares his teeth in a wide smile. “Oh, I don’t know, Yvan. Because Marcus Vogel’s a jackass, and the Gardnerians are really beginning to piss me off. What about you, Trystan?”
Trystan is only half paying attention to all of us as he focuses intently on the wand and slices it through the air in small swirls. “They’re a bit self-righteous, yes,” he comments absently.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing them with one less military dragon,” Rafe goes on.
“You never know when a military dragon might come in handy,” Trystan agrees.
Rafe laughs. “That’s quite true.”
“I’ll start with the weakest fire spell I know and work my way up,” Trystan announces as he points the wand out in front of him, his other hand curled over his head gracefully.
“What? The candle-lighting one?” Rafe wonders.
“That would be the one,” Trystan replies.
“Illiumin...” Trystan recites the words of the spell by rote. He flicks the wand in the direction of the steel.
A sharp, orange flash flies from the tip of the white wand and knocks Trystan backward with its force. I flinch sharply back, almost falling off the rock as the flash collides with the Elfin arrow tip and turns the entire log it rests on into a ball of churning flames.
Rafe’s eyes have flown open wide. “That was the candle-lighting spell?”
Trystan nods, his mouth agape.
“Hell of a wand you got there, Ren,” Rafe says.
I stare at the flames, stunned. A fantastical idea flashes into my mind—wouldn’t it be incredible if Sage’s wand actually was the true White Wand of legend? The thought is so outrageously impossible, it almost makes me smile.
It may not be the White Wand, I relent, but I’m glad it’s a better than average wand.
“Did it do anything to the arrow tip?” I get up, walk over to the flames and peer in.
“You can’t melt it,” Yvan says patiently, not moving from where he stands. “If dragon fire can’t melt it, your brother certainly can’t.”
Sure enough, the arrow tip is unharmed and unmarked.
“Perhaps we can break it,” Andras suggests, getting up and grabbing his labrys. He takes the tip, places it on another stump, raises his weapon high above his head and brings it down onto the arrow with a deafening clang that leaves my ears ringing.
Again, the arrow tip remains unbroken and unblemished, albeit slightly recessed into the wood. Andras’s labrys, on the other hand, has a large crack in one of the ax heads.
“Amazing,” Andras says as he examines the labrys. He glances over at the arrow tip with no small amount of awe. “I do not think this Elfin Steel can be broken.”
“We shall see,” says Diana, irritated. She walks over to the arrowhead and glares at it as if it’s purposely defying her. She focuses in, puts one foot in front of the other and goes into a slight crouch, then in a fast, graceful arc, she swings her hand over her head and down onto the arrowhead.
The stump splits into multiple pieces with an earsplitting crack.
But, again, the arrowhead lies whole and untouched on top of the mess of kindling.
“Ow,” Diana says as she rubs the side of her hand and fixes the arrowhead with a look of extreme annoyance.
Jarod’s eyes go w
ide. “I’ve never heard my sister say ow before.”
“Have I ever told you that you have an extremely scary girlfriend?” Trystan asks Rafe.
“Multiple times.” Rafe grins. He walks over to Diana and she holds up the side of her hand accusatorily. He takes her hand and kisses down its side.
“I really would try and avoid pissing her off,” Trystan suggests.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Rafe says, smiling at a very perturbed Diana as he pulls her into a warm hug.
Trystan pulls out the University’s grimoire, and for the next hour or so, he goes through almost every spell in the book. He tries every type of heating spell, division spell, lighting spell, transformation spell and hurling spell he can find on the arrowhead, every incantation intensified by the wand. By the end of the hour, we’re still left with an untouched arrowhead, sitting at the bottom of a large, scorched and partially flaming crater.
“You sure picked a challenge here, Yvan,” Rafe remarks as we stare down at the arrowhead.
Jarod lifts his head and sniffs the air, surprise crossing his features. “Aislinn’s coming.”
I look around searchingly. Aislinn is back early from her trip to Valgard, the festivities surrounding Marcus Vogel’s elevation to High Mage the perfect excuse for a visit to her family—and her father’s Mage Council office. I’ve told her about this meeting, what we’re trying to do and how to find us, just in case she was back in time.
I hear her light footsteps on the leaves, the rustle of her skirts, before she tentatively emerges from the trees. Stress is taking its toll on Aislinn, her face strained.
Jarod looks as if it’s taking all the strength he possesses not to go to her, sweep her up in his arms and run off with her.
“I have something for all of you,” she says. She pulls the sack off her shoulder, fishes inside it and draws forth a black leather-bound volume.
My breath catches in my throat, my hand coming up to cover my astonished mouth. “Holy First Children...you actually got it.”
Aislinn glances at me soberly, then hands the book to Trystan, who eyes it with astonishment.
“Sweet Ancient One,” he breathes as he takes it. “You did it.”
“What is it?” Andras asks.
Trystan turns to Andras. “It’s a Black Grimoire. Only members of the Mage Council and high-ranking military officers are allowed access to this. These are highly protected spells. Not just Gardnerian spells, either. Fae spells, too.”
Trystan flips through the book with care as he speaks. “During the Realm War, the Gardnerians got hold of Fae Grimoires. There are some spells that the Gardnerians can use with wand magic, like the spells that break down a Fae glamour. Those spells are in here.” Trystan holds up the book to Aislinn. “How did you get this?”
“My father,” Aislinn says softly. “He keeps a copy hidden away in his Council office. So I...borrowed it. He doesn’t know.”
Rafe spits out an incredulous laugh. “I’d imagine not.”
“This is dangerous,” Trystan says to her. “Really dangerous.”
“I know,” she replies, the words tentative, but there’s cold defiance in her eyes. “I’ll slip it back after you copy the spells.” She looks around at all of us. “There’s something you should know. I overheard some of the Council members talking about a weapon the Gardnerians have now, something they’re planning to use on the Lupines. It...it upset me. I got scared for...the Lupines.” She steals a quick, troubled glance at Jarod.
Diana makes a contemptuous sound. “They’ve been threatening us for years. Always trying something new. Nothing ever comes of it.”
“No,” Aislinn cuts in sharply. “Something’s different this time. Especially with Vogel in power. They seem sure of it. Smug, almost. They want to kill all of the Lupines. They want your land. And they want to send a message.”
“Their magic doesn’t work on us,” Diana reminds Aislinn, a tad condescendingly. “And we’ll tear your dragons limb from limb.”
Aislinn looks back at her gravely. “All the same.” She gestures toward the grimoire. “Perhaps this can help with more than just freeing the dragon.”
Everyone is silent for a long moment. We’re officially playing with our lives now, stealing a Mage Council Grimoire and plotting to free a Gardnerian military dragon. And an unbroken military dragon, at that.
“I should go,” Aislinn says, frowning. “I don’t want to chance anyone seeing me with all of you. If anyone notices the grimoire is missing... I don’t want anyone to think I may have passed it to any of you.”
“What you did was very brave,” Rafe tells her.
She nods at him and turns to leave.
“Aislinn, wait.” Jarod steps toward her.
She holds up a hand to stop him, her face pained. “No, Jarod. Please... I have to go.”
“We need to talk,” Jarod insists, anguish breaking through.
Aislinn’s hands grasp at her skirts as she shakes her head from side to side and begins to cry.
Jarod goes to her and takes her in his arms, pulling her close, kissing her head. She clings to him and weeps into his broad chest.
Diana stares at the two of them in shock, apparently having completely missed what’s going on in her brother’s life. Jarod whispers something to Aislinn, and she nods.
“I need to talk to Aislinn privately,” Jarod says, noting his sister’s hurt look. “I’ll speak with you later, Diana.”
His words don’t seem to register with Diana as she stares after her twin brother, almost as if she doesn’t know him anymore.
Jarod leads Aislinn away, the two of them quickly swallowed up by the woods.
“Diana,” Rafe says gently.
Diana whirls around to face my brother. “Did you know?”
“I figured it out. It’s been pretty obvious.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well, for starters, it’s really none of my business,” Rafe says as he wraps his arms around her. “And besides, you’re the one with all the superior senses, not me.”
“I think her attention has been focused elsewhere,” Trystan observes wryly.
Diana still looks a bit hurt, but Rafe’s embrace seems to mollify her, and she leans into him as if absorbing some of his equanimity.
“The girl, Aislinn,” Andras inquires, turning to me, his voice deep and resonant. “Her father...he is on the Mage Council?”
“Yes,” I reply.
“It will end badly,” Andras predicts, shaking his head. “You cannot break the bonds of your culture. It’s like that arrowhead.”
I glance down at the Elfin metal that still lies whole and untouched on the scorched ground.
When I look back up, Yvan’s fiery eyes lock onto mine, alight with a defiance that kindles my own.
* * *
That night, I dream.
I’m in Yvan’s barn, bathed in the faint light of a lantern’s glow. Instead of just a few pages from The Book scattered thinly about, thousands of them carpet the barn’s floor.
A figure emerges from the shadows. Yvan. His outline shimmers, fluid and indistinct, then rapidly coalesces into a solid presence.
He strides toward me, green eyes blazing. The pages swirl around his feet, the thin paper light as feathers. Without hesitation, Yvan pulls me toward himself and joins his lips to mine in fierce urgency.
I gasp, stunned by the intensity of his unexpected kiss. I feel the warmth coming off his skin through the rough wool of his shirt as I melt into his hunger, the feel and taste of him molten. Like honey warmed to scorched liquid, shuddering through me.
I slide my hand up the taut muscles of his neck, through his hair. Feel his hot breath on me as he kisses my neck, my face, my hair, my lips, as if starved for me.
&nb
sp; “I love you, Elloren,” he says, his voice ragged.
The warmth blooming inside me swells and fills my heart with a happiness so raw, it hurts. It feels so right to be with him. Like coming home after a long, impossible journey.
“Yvan,” I breathe against the sharp line of his jaw. “I love you, too.”
Out of nowhere, a fierce wind whips up.
The pages of The Book swirl and lift, then cyclone around us, taking on a fierce life of their own. I cry out as the pages push between us and force us apart, their sharp edges scraping mercilessly at my skin.
And then I can’t see him. I can only see a wall of white as thousands of pages roar around me, the sound deafening.
“Yvan!” I scream.
But it’s no use. He can’t hear me over the roar of The Book.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Naga
“So, Kelt,” Ariel asks Yvan as we trudge through the woods en route to Yvan’s dragon, “is there any chance that your dragon will eat the Black Witch here?”
I see the corner of Yvan’s lip twitch up, but he keeps his eyes on the path ahead. “I suppose it’s possible,” he replies.
“Or perhaps it will envelop her in a ball of flames,” Ariel muses gleefully.
I scowl at her as I trip clumsily over a tangle of roots. She knows full well how much I hate it when she calls me “Black Witch.” But I’m worn down from arguing with her. It’s impossible to reason with Ariel, and telling her I hate something just prompts her to do it more.
My brothers, the Lupines, Andras and Wynter silently accompany us. Unlike me, none of them trips over anything. They are all so annoyingly stealthy.
“Ariel likes to bait me,” I complain darkly to Yvan, whose lip curls up a fraction more.
Diana was the one to convince Ariel and Wynter to accompany us, since they can talk to dragons with their minds. Aislinn has volunteered to watch over Marina.
Although Ariel views Diana as something of a barbarian, never quite trusting the Lupine not to snack on her feathered friends, there’s something direct about Diana’s manner that is often able to pierce the fog of rancid darkness Ariel seems perpetually enveloped in and tormented by. So, in the end, Ariel’s curiosity won out, and she agreed to come, her decision bolstered by the fact that Wynter is joining us, as well.
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