by Katie Cross
A message flew into the room, stopping right in front of me. I recognized the seal of the Eastern Network.
“Marten,” I said, ripping through the thin paper. “I think it’s from Niko.”
Please come immediately. I have a strange thing to show you.
I handed the note off to Marten. He glanced at the clock. “I have a meeting with your father soon, but I should have time. Would you like to come?”
“Of course.”
“I’m sure your father won’t mind you going if I’m with you,” he said, glancing out the window toward the West. “Besides, it’s safe to say Mabel has other plans on her mind.”
I snorted. “You make me sound like a toddler who needs parental approval to go anywhere.”
“I imagine you were a very precocious toddler,” he said, laughing. His face dropped for a moment, as if he considered saying something more, but he shook it off. “I should probably warn you: Magnolia Castle has sustained heavy damage over the past few days. What you’re going to see won’t be pretty.”
Wounded and dying witches flooded the halls of Magnolia Castle in the Eastern Network. We walked down the corridor without an escort; there were no Guardians standing sentry to stop us. Countless East Guards reached out as we passed, blood seeping through their bandaged hands. Their skin was black, bruised, or mottled. They moaned, crying out in pain and confusion, suffering from the same barbaric wounds I’d seen in Chatham Castle. Deadly byproducts of Mabel’s Almorran magic. I whispered a calming incantation as I walked. Hardening my heart to their pleas required concerted effort. I breathed through my mouth and strode down the hall at Marten’s side, mourning their pain inside my broken heart.
“This way,” Marten said, guiding me down the same path Niko and I had once taken on a tour. Ahead of us loomed another wing of Magnolia Castle. I stopped in my tracks. Instead of a graceful white structure surrounded by eternally blooming magnolia trees, a burnt skeleton of corridors and hallways remained in the aftermath of the fire. Charred wood and black stones littered the ground. The smell of smoke lingered in the air.
“Jikes,” I said. “What happened?”
“The war.”
I whirled around to see a stocky, familiar little man approach. Niko’s Assistant, Hector. Tufts of coarse black hair billowed from the top of his shirt and onto his neck. His scrunched face glowered at the damage as if he was seeing it for the first time.
“When?” I asked, clearing my throat and regaining a degree of composure. “I had no idea the fighting had come so close.”
“It’s been close to home. The flames died down two days ago after burning for several hours. We moved His Highness back in last night once we deemed it safe. Or relatively safe. In truth, there is nowhere else in the Eastern Network to put His Highness that would be safer than here.”
I had so many questions. Safe? Move back in? Who had done this? I swallowed back most of them, lest I flood him with my curiosity.
“The South?” Marten asked. Hector shook his head.
“The West and the South.”
Not even the sea air felt good anymore—it tasted like ash. I swallowed, looking back at the ruined structure. The smell of charred wood and smoke wafted through the open windows, overpowering the usual scent of salt.
“Take us to Niko?” I asked. He grunted.
“Follow me.”
Hector led us to a sprawling room filled with marble columns and inlaid with gold filigree. It had once been grand, I imagined, but now it looked pell-mell and broken, as if it had been looted or abandoned. Only a few pieces of furniture remained in the room, and I wondered where most of it had gone. The walls lay bare. Only a tall standing clock filled one corner, ticking with reassuring regularity.
Niko sat behind a makeshift desk made of … driftwood, perhaps? His chin rested on his chest, which moved up and down in soft, regular intervals.
“Niko?” Marten asked, venturing forward a few steps. Hector had disappeared. For an Assistant, he spent impressively little time with his High Priest, at least whenever I’d been around.
Niko’s hands jerked to the armrests, and his head snapped up, his hair rumpled and his shirt half buttoned. He seemed to have aged thirty years in the past few weeks. I hardly recognized him for the old man in his face now.
“Oh, Marten. Miss Bianca,” he said, breathing fast, one slender hand on his chest. “I did not hear you come in.”
His lilting accent was still soft and gentle, though it seemed more wary. The state of affairs on his desk, which looked as if it molted scrolls, didn’t look much better than Niko himself.
“We received your letter,” I said, stopping in the middle of the room at Marten’s side. Niko rushed to his feet, blinking rapidly, as if he’d forgotten where he was.
“Oh, Miss Bianca, how wonderful to see you again. I’m very happy you returned safely. It is kind of you to come so quickly,” he said. No smile graced his lips. He gestured a bit helplessly with uplifted hands. “As you can see, we are not well.”
“What happened?” I asked.
Niko scowled, his nostrils flaring.
“The West Guards are supporting the South Guards with Almorran magic, as you know. They threw burning balls of fire as big as my head into our villages and homes. The smoke burns red instead of gray and chokes those who breathe it in. They attacked Magnolia Castle.” His lips formed a thin line. “They murdered half of my staff.”
My fingers curled into a tight fist. The Central Network had only avoided such a fate, surely, due to the vigilance of the dragons.
“Oh, Niko, I’m sorry,” I said. “I knew it must be bad over here as well. I just had no idea—”
“I have asked you to come to show you a strange sight,” he said abruptly, “and to speak with you concerning the impending battle. Will you follow me?”
“Of course,” Marten said.
Niko led us outside, walking us through patchy, dying gardens and onto the sand. He stopped short of the beach, where the surf whispered up and down in gentle foamy rolls.
“I woke up this morning to find this,” he said, gesturing to the ocean. “I don’t know what to make of it. Do you know, Marten?”
At least twenty abandoned ships sat on the water, bobbing up and down with the movement of the waves. Not a single witch stirred on any of them. The scorpion flag of the Western Network flapped in a heady breeze that brought in a bank of gray clouds off the ocean.
“Mabel ordered the West Guards back,” Marten said, squinting. “She’s gathering all her forces together to try to invade the Central Network. Thousands of West Guards are transporting to the Borderlands. Likely that’s what happened here.”
Niko’s hair shifted in the wind. “Considering our conversation yesterday, Marten, I am not surprised,” he said, his jaw tightening. “That is why I ordered my Guardians to burn the ships on the water.”
He gestured to the closest ship, where a contingent of East Guards appeared, torches burning bright. A line of archers stood on one side of the ship, shooting flaming arrows at the ships closest to them. Other East Guards transported from ship to ship, setting fire to the sails and sending flammable potions into the bellies of the vessels. Smoke, thick and black, billowed from at least three boats.
Marten clapped Niko on the back. “A smart move, Niko,” he said. “You’re leading this Network into war even better than you think.”
“The Eastern Network is prepared to help the Central Network,” Niko said, brushing aside Marten’s compliment. “We are not talented on land or with the sword, and we don’t have much skill in magical fighting, but those of us who are still alive will do what we can.”
Marten’s eyebrows rose. “Are you sure?” he asked.
“I can only give you what I have—a little more than a thousand Guardians—but we fight with a lot of heart. Give us orders,” Niko said. “We will fight alongside the Central Network.”
Marten smiled, but it drooped with weariness and a permeating sadn
ess. “Thank you. Every pair of hands helps.”
“How are you really doing, Niko?” I asked. The day I’d seen him fighting on the water replayed in my mind. He’d been so certain and confident. Where had that witch gone?
“I am surviving,” he said, his gaze dropping. “That is all I can do.”
“Is there anything we can do to help?” I asked. The question was empty at best, but I felt it had to be asked. Niko managed a struggling smile.
“No, Miss Bianca,” he said, his accent thickening. “But I thank you for your friendship in such a time as this. It is a light in my deepest darkness.”
Something behind us drew Niko’s gaze. His shoulders dropped, and he let out a long, easy breath.
“My other light in the darkness,” he said, motioning behind us with a nod. I twirled around to find a familiar redhead standing at the edge of the gardens, her mint-colored dress flapping in the wind. I’d know that crimson hair and pale skin anywhere.
“Priscilla!” I cried, jogging toward her through the sand. She threw her arms around my shoulders, rendering me momentarily paralyzed with surprise. While our friendship had come a long way in the months before Mabel kidnapped me, Priscilla rarely touched anyone.
“You’re alive!” she said, pulling away. “I’m so glad you made it out of the West. Camille has been keeping me updated, but I never dreamed I’d see you here.”
When we parted, I couldn’t help but notice freckles on her nose. Her hair, normally so lustrous and silky, poofed around her face in undecided, frizzy waves. I could scarcely believe the red blemish on her chin. A light seemed to radiate from within her, banishing the sadness that had always lingered in her haughty gaze. She’d never been so beautiful before. The less-than-perfect edges that transformation normally hid actually gave her a natural appeal far greater than her usual perfection. At least I thought so.
“How are you?” I asked. “You seem so…”
“Different?”
“Happy.”
“I am happy.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear. “I love it in the Eastern Network. It’s different, and I’m of great use here. Not to mention that it’s far from my parents, who would never dream of coming to the beach,” she added with a wry smile. “Mother wouldn’t like the ocean. She’d think it dirty and unbecoming of a well-bred witch.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Who was this new bright girl?
“Strange, isn’t it?” she asked, motioning to the empty ships. Flame billowed from almost all of them now, clogging the pristine sky with black clouds of noxious smoke.
“Not so strange,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. “Looks like Mabel’s just putting her plans into motion. When are you coming back?”
Priscilla bit her bottom lip. “I don’t know,” she admitted, looking over my shoulder to where Niko and Marten stood in discussion. “I love it here, and I’ve been able to help so many of his Guardians. I’m not as useful in the Central Network. I hated feeling helpless and … bored. Scarlett was wonderful, don’t get me wrong, but I was never very interested in education.”
“I’m sure your job is all you love about this place,” I drawled, letting my eyes trail toward Niko.
Priscilla grinned, a light blush on her cheeks. “It’s a lovely place,” she said lightly, as though she didn’t want to say yes but couldn’t say no. I laughed.
“You and Niko would make a great match. Both of you enjoy etiquette, which is strange.”
Priscilla’s face fell into an expression of deep thought. “Niko and I are good friends. We’re also in an emotionally charged environment, so nothing concrete has happened.” Her tone changed, softening. “He’s been through a lot and needed a friend. I’m in a new place and needed a friend also. It turns out we have a lot in common, and that’s where we’re at. And that’s all. For now.”
“Ah,” I said. “There’s the Priscilla I know. Careful and cautious.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Can you blame me?”
“No,” I said after thinking about it. “Not at all.” She’d lived a strict, structured life with her parents, drowning in riches and rules. Trust and unconditional acceptance had never been her forte.
Marten and Niko approached us, walking slowly through the sand, their conversation laden with the vocabulary of war—phrases like show of force and anticipated casualties. Niko greeted Priscilla with a deep warmth in his eyes, but they made no move to touch. She smiled, her red hair wind-tossed and beautiful. Niko’s abiding sense of passion and Priscilla’s need to be loved without rules could—and hopefully would have the opportunity to—make them a lovely pair.
Marten and Niko clasped arms. “Gather your witches,” Marten said. “I’ll be in touch after Derek and I sort out a plan this evening. We’ll give you your orders then.”
I embraced Niko and Priscilla in farewell and transported away, leaving them standing together on the beach.
Chatham Castle had never felt like home before. Not with its stiff-backed servants, elaborate decorations, and chilly stone walls. But when I sank into my bed that evening, not even I could deny how wonderful it felt to be back at the castle.
The fact that I could lose all of it loomed in my mind, but I forced the depressing thoughts away. A Chatterer scroll lay open on the floor, flashing the headline Battle over the Western Covens Begins.
A small scroll the size of my thumb waited on my pillow. I pulled it open to find a familiar scrawl on the inside.
I’ll be back soon, little troublemaker.
“Merrick,” I said with a smile, a warm flush rippling over my skin. The note didn’t really say anything, but it told me everything. It was his subtle way of communicating that he was all right. And, just maybe, that he missed me.
“Bianca,” Papa called, his deep voice reverberating down the hall of our apartment and into my room. “Come out here. We need to speak with you.”
I slipped out of my bedroom and came to a halt. Marten, Stella, and Papa stood around the table. Dripping candles held open a yellowing map of Antebellum. Stella’s eyes glowed from more than the candlelight—something wonderful must have happened. A definable current of excitement ran through the air.
“This better be good, Derek,” Tiberius muttered as he strode into the room from the hall. Reeves sent him a disapproving glance when he didn’t remove his shoes. “I don’t like being pulled off the front line. It’s mine.”
“Trust me, old friend,” Papa said, clapping him on the shoulder. “This is good news.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Tiberius shoved me into the wall. “Good to see you too, rotten child,” he said, covering my face with his hand when I tried to fight back.
Papa spread his arms and leaned his palms on the table. “We have the counter magic.”
My heart leaped into my throat. “What?”
Stella’s foot tapped a cheery little rhythm while she exchanged a delighted glance with Marten.
“You were there when Isadora said to me, I suspect you’ve had it all along,” Papa said, straightening. “What did she say next?”
I wracked my brain. “Good luck. She said good luck, didn’t she?”
Papa shook his head, his eyes shining. “No. She said, Good luck to you, Highest Witch. Remember now?”
“Yes…”
Papa tapped his fist on the table. “I should have seen it earlier, but I’ve been too busy, too distracted with the war to really make the connection. The magic of the Book of Light is contained in one of the two Esmelda Scrolls.”
My mind spun. The ability to read the Esmelda Scrolls was a privilege only given to the Highest Witch of the Network—currently Papa. The scrolls contained the law of the Central Network as set forth by Esmelda after the formation of the new government. And, apparently, the counter magic that could save the world from Almorran fire.
Papa anticipated my thoughts. “There are two scrolls,” he said, holding up two fingers. “One of them holds the law and
writings of Esmelda. The other?”
“The Book of Light?”
He grinned. “Yes. The Book of Light. I’d perused it before but never paid much attention. Mildred had just died and Mabel attacked. It wasn’t pertinent in the same way the law was. But now it all makes sense. Esmelda had just brought a Network out of war,” Papa said, gaining more energy with every word. “She’d seen the destructive power of Almorran magic and knew the harm it could do, so she preserved the counter magic in the second scroll just in case. She must have known that the Book of Spells wasn’t destroyed.”
“And she provided an extra layer of protection for it by ensuring that only the Highest Witch had access to the scrolls,” Marten said. The puzzle pieces began to come together in my mind, and I felt a thrill that seemed a lot like hope.
“What does this mean?” I asked, breathless.
“It means it’s time for domination,” Tiberius growled, slamming his fist onto the table. “Let’s go show Mabel who’s in charge now!”
Alarm rippled through Stella’s face until Papa put a hand on Tiberius’s shoulder and shoved him into a chair. “Sit down and calm down,” he said. “We aren’t going to throw away this opportunity to destroy Almorran magic by acting on rash emotions. Marten and I have developed a plan.”
Marten motioned to the map. A tiny Central Network flag lay across the Western Covens, and a Western Network flag lay near the Borderlands, a thin tract of unclaimed, desolate space between the two Networks.
“As all of you know, Mabel has assembled her West Guards here,” Marten said, running a finger down the Borderlands, “and is currently in control of the Borderlands. I believe her plan is simple: She’s throwing her entire West Guard force into the invasion of the Central Network. The Eastern Network, even with our help, is on its dying breath. Their Guardian force is small and weak. Mountains protect the Northern Network. Their witches live too far north for her to worry about invading there yet. Worrying about them would be a waste of her time at this point in the game. If she beats the Central Network, however—”
