“We have to, Tessie. Don’t you see? That way we’ll all have family here. People to take us in. You have to do it, Tess. For your family.” Her eyes take on a dreamy quality. “And all the young men—they’re so dashing and handsome.”
The image of Nils’s easy grin flits into my mind. Would it be so bad, fasting to someone like him? He seems kind and smart and good-humored. And not pretentious at all. He’s nothing like pompous Vale Gardner. And fasting to Nils would give my family connections. And safety.
No, I think to myself. It’s too quick. How could I fast to a young man I barely know?
But then I fully realize what Rosebeth just said. I have to choose—or someone else will choose for me. Though I’m deeply troubled by this, I try to push all the fasting worries to the back of my mind. After all, I reassure myself, surely no one would force me to fast against my will.
No, there’s only one thing that’s important right now.
“Rosie, please... I need you to take me to my family.”
Chapter 15: Rigid Lines
The first thing I see as I near the tent that’s been assigned to my family is Wren, sitting on the ground in front of it, looking desolate. As soon as he sees me, he bursts up and runs to me on his skinny eight-year-old legs, his arms outstretched as he dissolves into tears.
“Tessie,” he sobs, clinging to me, “I thought you died! No one would tell us where you were!”
“Shhh, I’m fine,” I tell him, my own tears running down my face as I pat his unwashed, knotted hair. “Oh, Wren, I’m so happy to see you.” I pull back and smile at him, forcing a look of untroubled reassurance. But even my false smile almost dissolves as I take in the sight of him.
He’s even sicker than he was. The chronic Red Grippe he’s been fighting off for years is slowly pulling him under. His voice is wheezier, his eyes rimmed red, and more of the small crimson spots ring his mouth.
I have to get him medicine, and soon, I agonize. Medicine we’ll never be able to afford. Medicine you have to be a Level Five Mage to afford.
Wren coughs, deep and rattling, and I smooth back his stringy hair. “Everything’s going to be fine now,” I tell him.
But we need money. And we have none. And you need medicine.
“Where will we live, Tessie?”
I don’t know. I don’t know. We’re on the poorest end of a sea of refugees.
I keep my smile bright. “I’ll find us a nice little cottage. Warm and dry. Don’t you worry yourself.”
We’ve no money. We’ve nothing. We’ve nowhere to live. I’m scared, Wren.
I kiss his head, wanting him to believe the fairy tale I’m spinning. Wanting to believe it myself. But I feel lost and desperate and afraid.
“What happened to Patches, Tessie?”
The question hangs in the air between us, dark and terrible.
Our cat. Our lovely calico cat. Probably dead in the fire.
“I’m sure she got away,” I tell him, my voice breaking. “She’s smart. She can make her own way.”
Wren pulls back and looks at me with level grief. “I don’t think so, Tessie. I think she’s dead.”
We stare at each other for one intolerable, horribly honest moment.
“I’m sorry, Wren,” I choke out, my voice ragged with tears, their salt on my lips. “I’m so sorry.”
“I hate them,” he says with a grimace, his eyes hard and fierce with pain. “I hope our Mages kill them all. All those Kelts and Urisk.”
“No, Wren,” I say, trying to soothe him. “The bad ones, maybe. But not all of them.”
“They’re all bad,” he cries, hiccupping from his sobbing.
His words send a chill through me. “Not all of them, Wren. Jules isn’t.”
If he’s still alive.
But Wren is unmoved.
“Jules is our friend,” I remind him. “He tried to help us.”
“I don’t care,” Wren says, pulling out of my embrace, his expression gone hard as stone. “He didn’t save us. Our Black Witch and the Mages did. The Kelts and the Urisk tried to kill us. But they lost, and now we’re going to kill them.”
Uneasy concern pricks at me. I’m thrown by the sharpness of my little brother’s newfound hatred—hatred with such savagely drawn lines.
Chapter 16: Staen’en
“No, Grandfather,” I adamantly insist, my fire rising. “I’m not fasting tonight.”
He’s staring at me with his usual daft, head-in-the-clouds benevolence, which was very endearing when my father was alive. But ever since my grandfather became my official guardian, I’ve found his well-meaning incompetence to be a source of endless trouble.
We almost died because of it. Because he wouldn’t let me use his wand.
“Of course you’ll fast, child,” he reassures me with a condescending pat on my arm.
Frustrated, I glance around our temporary home—a plain military tent, but it’s well-appointed with three sturdy cots, warm bedding, a woodstove that’s keeping out the rainy chill and lanterns to light the gloom.
Warm, safe and dry.
And we’re well fed, too. The fare here is simple, but readily available. The Upper River folk are turning their noses up at it, but I’m thrilled to see the huge bowl of barley soup thick with carrots that Wren’s rapidly consuming, a hefty chunk of buttered brown bread on the small table beside him.
Better food than we’ve had in a long time.
But what happens when we leave here? Where will our meals come from then? Will we be beggars on the streets of Valgard?
Maybe there’s no choice but to wandfast.
No, I’ll find a way, I stubbornly vow. I could go to Mage Aniliese and beg her for a job. I’m a good apothecary already, clever and well-practiced. I could do prep work for her if she’s hiring. The pay probably won’t be much, but we could rent a room until I secure an apprenticeship in Verpacia. And if I can’t work for her, maybe she’ll know someone else who will give me a job.
But Grandfather is insistent. “The Ancient One will send you the right young man tonight, just like He sent our blessed Black Witch to liberate us,” he says with a reverent smile. “If He can do all that, He can certainly provide a fastmate for you. Have faith, Tessla. I’m praying on it.”
My hackles rise. Grandfather’s prayers again. Prayers while he passively waits. I prefer my own prayers to the Ancient One for strength while I actually do things, like keep us fed.
“I need to get myself cleaned up,” I tell Grandfather. “Where is there water enough for bathing? And fresh clothes?”
“Ah,” he tells me with a hopeful smile, “soon. Tomorrow. At the very latest, the day after that. They didn’t expect so many of us. But it’s no matter, waiting one more day.”
* * *
At midday, I go to join Nils and Myles and Rosebeth, resigned to my wretched appearance.
Despite my resolve not to be wandfasted, I’m thrilled to spot Nils again.
I find them all just past the long dining tent, gathered around one of the central fires, benches set around the small bonfires in compact rows. Mostly young people are gathered there, soldiers and refugees alike, the mood one of giddy excitement. Raucous cheers go up every time a grouping of our military dragons flies overhead, heading south to the front lines.
They’re all bright-eyed, and many have managed to wash up and obtain decent clothing. Only some of the Lower River cook boys in the dining tent still look as bedraggled as I do.
Rosebeth is sitting close to the fire next to Myles, the two of them lost in their own happy bubble. Nils stands nearby with Genna and her Upper River friends, the young women laughing and chatting animatedly.
The girls from that night.
I’m rocked by a powerful flashback. The white wan
d. The children screaming and crying. Being dragged away from Wren. The dragon snarling. The fire balled up inside me. Then the terrible cold.
Heart racing, I force myself to breathe deep, struggling to calm down and push the terrible memory away.
Genna’s eyes meet mine and narrow as her smile turns calculating. She leans in and whispers something to Nils.
Nils turns to looks at me and visibly stiffens, his face hardening into a grimace.
I tilt my head in confusion, my stomach clenching into a tight knot.
Why does he look so...hateful?
Nils breaks away from the crowd and strides quickly toward me.
“Is it true?” he demands as he nears. “That you embraced a Kelt?”
Hope drains away and despair rises like black waters.
“Yes,” I say, fighting back a swelling dread. “My friend, Jules Kristian. But it isn’t what you think. He tried to save me—”
Nils’s frown grows furious and he spits at me, the spittle landing on my borrowed tunic. My words catch tight in my throat.
“Staen’en,” he hisses, then turns on his heel to rejoin Genna and her friends.
It’s such an unexpected blow that I can’t move. I can’t breathe.
I look pleadingly at Rosebeth. My shy friend’s lips tremble, her eyes full of momentary conflict. Then she averts her gaze and leans into Myles, making her alliance painfully known. Myles shoots me a brief look of outraged betrayal, then puts his arm around Rosebeth and pulls her to him protectively.
And then there’s Genna. The cruel, gloating look in her eyes knifes clear through me before she turns back to Nils with a flirtatious smile.
I slump down onto a bench, watching all my hopes flit away into a dark abyss.
We’ll be worse than poor, I realize with an incapacitating terror. Worse than Lower River Gardnerians. We’ll be the beggars no one will help.
* * *
I don’t know how long I sit there, the silent pariah in their midst, the object of dark whispering and barely concealed pointing. Sinking deeper and deeper into misery.
Wren. What will happen to Wren?
I know the answer to this full well. I know exactly what’s going to happen to us. It’s like a nightmare about to consume us whole.
Abruptly, everyone seated around me stands, all the soldiers coming to swift attention.
I look up the path and see a large grouping of Level Five Mages, wildly impressive with their silver-striped cloaks, fine uniforms and powerful, confident strides. Including Vale and Fain.
The lower-ranking soldiers around the fire and by the path throw their fists over the silver Erthia orbs that mark their chests. The civilians bring fists over hearts in their own salute as the Mages near, the outpouring of fierce respect palpable on the cool air.
Our most powerful Mages—the Mages who helped the Black Witch liberate all of us.
I slowly rise to my feet and join the standing crowd, my mind a tumult.
Vale’s fiery eyes flare with intensity as he spots me.
Fain is beside him, and his eyes follow the trajectory of Vale’s gaze. He immediately breaks from the ranks of the Level Five Mages and makes for me, like a defiant bird leaving his flock. His expression is congenial, but his eyes blaze with determination.
The other Level Five Mages stop, and the whole crowd turns to watch Fain.
My head jerks back in surprise as Fain falls to one knee in front of me with theatric grace. He drops his head, his forearm coming up before him, fist clenched, in the posture of formal supplication.
Nils and the others are gaping at us, silent and stunned.
Fain’s voice sounds out clear as a bell. “Dearest, loveliest Mage Tessla Harrow. I beseech you for your forgiveness. I, Mage Fain Quillen, am an ignorant fool who is not fit to kiss your shoes. I am the peasant, clearly, not you.”
He lifts his head to shoot Vale a quelling look. “Are you watching, Vale?” he asks. “This is how it’s done.” Then he looks to me and waits, a slight smile tilting his mouth, but genuine apology in his eyes.
I blink at him, stunned and completely dumbstruck for one long moment. Finally, I find my voice. “I forgive you, Mage Quillen,” I reply, overwhelmed and deeply touched by his unexpected and decidedly public support. “Please, Mage. You may rise.”
“May the Ancient One bless you for your graceful forbearance, my sweet lady,” he says as he stands and takes my hand, kissing it with dramatic flair. He lifts his gaze and smiles slyly at me, but there’s something deeper there and unflinchingly serious.
Respect.
Vale is watching us, one eyebrow cocked, his lips tightly pursed, his eyes gone dark and guarded.
With a graceful swirl of his cloak, Fain rejoins the Level Five ranks and gives me an impish wink as they continue on.
Vale determinedly does not glance in my direction, though a ripple of his fire sears over me as he passes.
Chapter 17: Ironflowers
“Tessie...can I talk to you?”
I let out a long sigh, then stop and turn around to find Rosebeth hanging shyly back. She’s biting nervously at her lip, her doll-like beauty and floral-trimmed garments so pretty and fresh, so out of place amid the lengthening shadows and the thunder rumbling in the distance under a darkening sky.
Fain’s public show of support and affection has thrown them all into confusion, everyone around the bonfire visibly reevaluating whether or not I should be shunned now that I’ve made very public inroads into the most exclusive Gardnerian club of all—the Level Five Mages.
One step removed from the Black Witch herself.
Rosebeth pulls nervously at her lovely silk skirt, the little Ironflowers at the hem fidgeting along with her.
“I’m sorry things are going so badly for you, Tessie,” she tells me. “It’s just... Genna’s been so good to me. And Myles...he wants to fast to me.” Her rose petal mouth pulls up in a wavering smile, begging for my approval. Like a timid lamb. “And I so want us to be friends, but...” Her smile trembles away.
“You have to keep your distance from me,” I fill in for her bluntly, but not unkindly. Nonetheless, Rosebeth wilts under my steady gaze.
“There’s nothing I can do, Tessie. Genna hates you so. I wish...” She trails off, unsure.
I narrow my eyes at her. “I saved those girls,” I remind her. “Genna and the rest of them.”
Rosebeth averts her eyes, chewing more frantically on her lip, unable to meet my gaze. “Well, that’s not what they say, Tessie.” She shrugs, hunching down. “Everyone says you stole a wand that you had no business using, and that you could have gotten everyone killed. That you only did it to shield yourself and Jules Kristian, and that the Mages were about to save us and you interfered.”
Anger and hurt roil through me. “Is that what they say?”
She nods, her eyes venturing toward mine, skittish and innocent.
I sigh, my temper dampening, then relent and reach out to touch my friend’s arm. “It’s all right, Rosie.” I give her an encouraging smile that feels thin and false. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll be okay, regardless of what they say.”
No, you won’t, I inwardly scoff at myself. You have nowhere to go. No help. No fastmate to save you. No money. No home. No prospects.
Pain twists at my insides. But there’s no sense in hurting my gentle friend. I want her to be happy and protected, the way I’d want a child protected. I want her to be safe.
“I think you and Myles will be very happy together.” I give her arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad you’re fasting to him.”
Rosie brightens, shedding her momentary sadness like a child given a sweet. “Isn’t Myles so lovely?” Then she wavers, growing momentarily subdued. “It’s too bad no one will have you now, Tessie. Bec
ause of... Jules Kristian. But...” She smiles uncertainly at me. “Maybe there’s still some hope. There’s still Mage Quillen. Perhaps all the rumors about him aren’t true. Maybe he’s sweet on you, Tessie.”
I think of the troubled look in Fain’s eyes when he brought up the rumors to Vale.
No, I realize. All the rumors about Fain are absolutely true.
I smile at her and nod, biting back all the things I really want to say. Bitter, troubled things that would just thrust her into confusion and destroy our tenuous bond.
“You can come in if you want,” I tell her, turning to untie the flap to my family’s tent, knowing I’ll find it empty. Grandfather took Wren to be blessed by one of the base’s priests and sanctified with healing ablutions.
He needs expensive medicine, not just prayer, I sourly reflect.
I pull the tent flap open and my eyes widen in surprise.
“Oh, Tessie,” Rosebeth enthuses from behind me. “Someone sent you flowers. And...and, oh, there’s a present!”
There’s a large package on my cot, wrapped in parchment and tied with ribbon. A beautiful bouquet of Ironflowers graces the top, the flowers glowing a deep blue in the dim light of the tent. A small envelope lies beside them.
Rosebeth watches with dancing anticipation as I cross the tent’s length, light a lantern and kneel by my cot. I can hear her excited breathing just over my shoulder.
I untie the ribbon on the package and gasp as the parchment falls away.
Inside is a wildly beautiful tunic and long skirt made of outrageously expensive Ishkartan goldweave. The black silk shimmers gold and red along the folds as the lantern light hits it. Small rubies grace the neckline and hem.
It’s the most exquisite clothing I have ever seen.
“Oh, Tessie,” Rosebeth gushes. “You’ll be the prettiest one at the fasting. Who sent it? Open the card!”
With shaking hands, I open the small envelope.
Dearest, Loveliest Mage Tessla Harrow,
Please accept this token of my deep and unwavering affection.
Wandfasted Page 10
