The Shadow Wand

by Laurie Forest

  Tears sting my eyes as realization washes over me and grief rises in its wake. Why didn’t you tell us what was in your heart, Uncle Edwin? I agonize. You should have told us.

  Aunt Vyvian yanks my hair again, and I grit my teeth against the swell of anger.

  “He had us so fooled with all his pretense,” she sneers. “His bumbling ways. All the while, he was lying in wait, with plans to corrupt our family with that Urisk whore. But Edwin’s betrayal ends here. As does yours.”

  She releases her grip on my hair and straightens, her expression rearranging itself into a calm, collected mask, but the fury in her eyes remains.

  “You’re to be kept under guard at all times,” she says. “We’re all in agreement—Evelyn, Lachlan, Lukas, and I. Lukas is to breed on you as many times as he can. Because Mother’s line will go on. Our people’s legacy of power does not rest with the Banes.” She raises the hairbrush and resumes brushing the back of my hair, this time with normal strokes, but my whole body is tense, fire blazing through my lines as I wait for her to rip my hair clear out of my head.

  “You and Lukas will mingle your blood to bring forth Mages of incredible power,” she says with import, as if she’s suddenly in some type of twisted solidarity with me. “Your child, Elloren, will be the next Black Witch.”

  I spit out a laugh of defiance, my fiery hatred of her scalding through me.

  Aunt Vyvian’s eyes widen a fraction, as if she’s finally seeing me with crystal clarity. Her smile returns, the smile of a player who knows she’s ten steps further along in the game than her opponent. “We have a good idea where your brothers are, Elloren,” she says, smooth as silk.

  My heart constricts, my defiance instantly imploding. Rafe. Trystan. Where? Where are they?

  She resumes brushing, gentler this time, then takes up Sparrow’s braid work at the sides of my hair with nimble fingers. “We have spies everywhere.” Her eyes flash as fear knifes through me. “I want to see those Sealinglines flowing down your wrists tomorrow morning,” she says lightly. “If you fight Lukas Grey or refuse him in any way, if you try to escape, or if you ever step one toe out of line ever again, I will see that your brothers are hunted down and slain in the bloodiest way possible. Do you understand?”

  My pulse rushes in my ears as fear streams through me. I nod, suppressing the slight tremor that’s kicked up.

  Aunt Vyvian has lost her vicious look, her smile now one of triumph.

  Enjoy your moment while it lasts, you witch, I inwardly hurl at her. You won’t have to wait for our children to manifest the Black Witch heritage.

  I am the line.

  I am the power.

  Aunt Vyvian works another braid into my hair and places a few more gem leaves into the woven design as power courses into me from the ground to lash through my affinity lines. My aunt sets down the comb and gives me a pleased smile, her dominance reestablished, her family’s shocking rebellion squelched. And a new trajectory set where she can look forward to reclaiming her high social standing.

  She inclines her head. “Girl,” she calls sharply, and, miraculously, Sparrow enters the room, head lowered.

  I’m amazed by how perfectly Sparrow has honed her submissive servility, and also deeply disturbed by this. I realize that this talent has probably come at a brutal price. And I wonder what Sparrow’s life story is.

  Sparrow waits, head down, her face blank.

  “Finish up here,” Aunt Vyvian blithely orders Sparrow as she dismissively sweeps her hand toward me. “I’ll be back with the dressmaker at the seventeenth hour.” She straightens and smooths out her skirt. It’s as if I’m no longer in the room. A prisoner, with no say at all.

  “Yes, Mage,” Sparrow says with a deferential dip of her head.

  Aunt Vyvian’s gaze rakes over me, victorious.

  And then she turns and sails out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

  I let out a great shuddering breath as I stare at Sparrow’s reflection in the mirror, my fire affinity lines fair exploding with stinging flame. I look down and realize my hands are trembling.

  Perhaps noticing this, Sparrow turns to the tea service beside us, picks up a teacup, and sets it lightly down in front of me, then pours me a fragrant cup of vanilla tea.

  The steam wafts up as she pours, the sweet, comforting scent steadying me. I pull my trembling hands into my lap, massaging the palm of my wand hand as I inwardly tighten my fire affinity lines, attempting to gain some semblance of control.

  My eyes meet Sparrow’s in the mirror.

  “She killed my uncle,” I tell her, my voice coarse and unforgiving.

  Sparrow pauses for a moment, teapot in hand, her voice calm and controlled when it comes. “And they’ll kill everyone else you care about if you don’t survive to fight them.” Her amethyst eyes hold mine in the reflection with a poignant intensity that lays bare in the clearest of terms how high the stakes are.

  Vengeful tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I nod stiffly back at her.

  “You’ll best them,” Sparrow tells me as she pours some milk into my tea, her reflection flashing me an ironhard look. “Because you have to.”

  “I don’t know how to control my magic,” I admit, my breath tight in my throat.

  “Then you’ll learn,” she replies, setting down the pot and mixing the milk into my tea with a silver spoon. She picks up a porcelain plate holding two currant scones from the side table along with a silver dish of clotted cream, sets it all down on the dressing table before me, and begins to lather the thick cream onto one of the scones for me.

  “Please stop,” I say, holding up a palm, suddenly not able to bear her waiting on me. I’ve done nothing to deserve her fawning attention. “Please stop serving me and sit down.” I motion toward the cushioned chair beside mine, my voice strained. “Draw the blinds if you have to, but please, sit down and have some tea. And some food if you’d like.”

  Sparrow stops and considers me, her eyes narrowing. But then she sets down the spoon, goes to the window, pulls the blinds shut, and returns to the side table that holds the tea service. She calmly pours herself some tea then takes a seat beside me. I take a sip of the hot tea as she prepares a scone for herself and takes a neat bite of it.

  For a moment, we drink tea and eat the scones in a weighty, companionable silence, considering each other.

  I set down my cup and glance at my fastmarked hands, the knot of stress in my stomach tightening. Soon those lines will flow down my wrists.

  Tonight.

  Thoughts of Yvan crop up, sending an ache through me. Yvan’s intense, compassionate eyes. His beloved voice. His kiss.

  How much I loved him.

  “Lukas and I have to fully seal this fasting,” I tell Sparrow, my face heating as I broach the forbidden topic. “There’s no other way.”

  Sparrow nods, a stoic gravity in her expression. “No. There isn’t.” She hesitates, giving me a shrewd look, but it’s not unkind. “Is there someone else?” she gently asks.

  Anguish rises and my voice cracks under the weight of it. “He’s dead.”

  She’s quiet and still for a long moment. “I’m sorry,” she finally says.

  I nod, tears clouding my vision, not able to speak for a bit.

  Sparrow goes back to sipping her tea, and I realize she shares my aunt’s regal elegance. She’s so lovely. Stunningly lovely. With her lavender hair and hue, her graceful, aristocratic bearing. She is, without question, one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen.

  My thoughts darken as I remember how Mage soldiers used to prey on the Verpax University kitchen workers. Especially the young, pretty ones.

  “How do they treat you here?” I ask, the blunt question rising, unbidden.

  Sparrow stills, then lowers her teacup and returns my frank look. “Lukas is good to me.” She grows though
tful. “I suspect he would be even if we weren’t allied. He wants things done correctly. But he’s fair. And he doesn’t think the Urisk should be held down like we are.”

  I’m deeply heartened by this, but also not surprised. I remember Lukas’s apparent friendship with Elfhollen Orin. It’s becoming increasingly clear that Lukas has a rebellious streak that’s leagues wide.

  “And the rest of the family?” I press.

  She gives a subtle wince, the line of her mouth tensing. “Evelyn Grey is unkind and so is her fastmate. But Lukas’s brother...he’s a particular problem. His...attentions...are hard to avoid.” Her meaning is clear from the pained disgust that tightens her gaze and the outrage inflecting her tone.

  I remember Silvern Grey’s haughty, unforgiving air as righteous anger flares inside me. “Sparrow...”

  She shakes her head, as if forcing my concern away. “We’re leaving in time,” she says, her lip suddenly quivering, and it pierces me, this glimpse of her pain. She shakes her head again, grimacing. “Silvern...tried to go after me this morning.” She takes in my look of horrified distress, her own expression one of lingering revulsion. “It’s good we’re leaving. If I stayed here much longer, I would have to get Lukas involved to keep his brother away from me, and that would...complicate things.”

  I nod grimly, clear that the stakes are higher for Sparrow than I comprehended. Yes, I’m about to bind myself in every way to Lukas Grey so that we can slip past the Holy Magedom tomorrow morn and flee from this dangerous place. But this course of action means escape for Effrey and Sparrow and Aislinn too.

  Escape from this whole sordid, twisted society.

  The perfect, pious Holy Magedom.

  My firelines simmer hot as I cradle my teacup, the trembling in my hands now gone. I don’t know how Lukas is going to get Aislinn out, but I trust him at his word. And I trust that he’ll try to get Sparrow and Effrey out, as well.

  “How did you get here?” I ask Sparrow, wondering why she’s not still employed by the dress shop.

  Her gaze turns flinty. “Fallon Bane sensed rebellion in me. That day you came to Mage Florel’s shop and defied Fallon, I smirked. She noticed. And then, I worked on your dress.”

  A light-headed rush sweeps over me as I remember that day when I insisted on Mage Florel using a fabric for my dress that Fallon had laid claim to.

  “Ancient One,” I breathe, swamped with remorse. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Sparrow sharply insists. “It was all Fallon’s doing. She drove Mage Florel out of business and indentured Effrey and me. Then she had us shipped to the Fae Islands. A few months later, Effrey and I escaped by boat.”

  Great Ancient One, I think. By boat? The Voltic Sea is notorious for its dangerous, unpredictable currents. Not to mention the occasional kraken. I try to imagine Sparrow and gentle little Effrey clinging to a flimsy boat, lashed by a cold current, risking their lives to escape the Fae Islands.

  “Tell me what it was like,” I say. “On the Fae Islands. If you’re able to.”

  I want to know the truth. The full truth about where the expensive silks of my Sealing dress were made. Where much of the food I’m eating has been grown. I know there are vast stretches of factories and farms on the Fae Islands. And the Gardnerians paint a glowing picture of these faraway endeavors—the Urisk kept busy and blessedly productive as they serve the benevolent Holy Magedom.

  “Please,” I press. “Tell me the truth of it.”

  Sparrow stares at me, as if sizing me up. Then she sets her tea aside, folds her hands together in her lap...and tells me her full and unabashedly ugly story.

  * * *

  Later that evening, I’m standing in front of my reflection, this time before a long, gilded mirror in the opulent changing room just off my bedroom’s side, the entrancing scent of the Ironflower perfume I’ve been dabbed with gracing the air. Veins of lightning periodically fork across the room’s small window, the storm continuing to hold off.

  Aunt Vyvian and Mage Zinya Blythe, Evelyn Grey’s white-haired dressmaker, look me over with icy appraisal, their glacial stares reflected back to me in the mirror.

  My aunt looks like a star-dusted night.

  She’s changed into a glittering affair of midnight velvet decorated with the familiar Gardnerian constellations formed from diamonds, the star patterns echoing stories from our holy book. And diamond jewelry set into the shape of the Galliana’s Raven constellation, which resembles a bird spreading its wings if you connect the stars, graces my aunt’s ears and neck.

  I set my gaze back on myself in the full-length mirror and take in the elegant, lethal creature before me.

  My hair is splashed with a sparkling riot of emerald leaves, a wreath of gem foliage gracing my brow, the bruising on my face and neck gone from the Arnican tonic that’s been provided for me.

  And my Sealing tunic and long-skirt...

  They’re perfectly fitted, and all deep forest greens, this much color allowed only for Sealing ceremonies, the verdant Sealing color meant to highlight and enhance the deep-green shimmer of Mage skin, the so-called mark of the Ancient One’s favor upon us. Embroidered, emerald-dusted leaves swirl over me, my tunic tied snugly back and laced with a black silk ribbon. My eyes are heavily lined with black kohl, my lips and eyelids and nails painted dark green.

  The overall effect is riveting. Severe and powerful and beautiful.

  And the Wand of Myth is tucked under my skirts, wrapped in its cloth and pushed into my emerald lace stocking, snug against the side of my right thigh, my wand hand itching to take hold of it.

  “You’re lovely,” Aunt Vyvian says, seeming momentarily overcome in spite of herself. And I note that the dressmaker seems a bit drawn in by me as well, her frosty green eyes softening in appreciation.

  A feeling of surrealness washes over me as I stare back at myself and remember the last time I was transformed by Aunt Vyvian and made to look like my powerful grandmother.

  And now I am the Black Witch.

  I wonder, if there was some alternate Erthia where I was not raised by my uncle but by Aunt Vyvian instead...

  What type of monster would I be?

  “She’s ready,” Aunt Vyvian says to Mage Blythe, her eyes homing in on me. “Leave us.”

  Mage Blythe politely dips her head and exits along with Sparrow, who quietly closes the changing room door behind her.

  Aunt Vyvian comes up behind me and fingers the lacing down my back as my spine tingles with revulsion in response to her proprietary touch. Then she smiles at me in the mirror, unties the top lace, and yanks the strands even tighter, tighter than is seemly, my shape on brazen display, my breasts now straining against the silken tunic as she ties the laces.

  “This is the moment,” she croons as I struggle to pull in a full breath, “that I’m supposed to tell you what to expect on your Blessed Sealing night.” She leans in and gently brushes a few stray tendrils of my hair back behind my shoulder. Then she arches her brow suggestively and lowers her voice to a purr. “It is my duty, as your oldest female kin, to impart the secrets of the Sealing chamber so you know what to expect from a man’s attentions on this sacred night.” Her smile fades and is replaced by a look of animosity, her gaze pinned to mine in the mirror. “But I will impart no such knowledge to you. It is my fondest wish that he shocks you in every way. That he binds you if he has to. Beats you if he must. And is as rough with you as possible.”

  Suddenly, she reins herself in. Her eyes still blaze with hate, but her mouth turns up in a cruel smile as she reaches out and runs one perfectly manicured finger over the fastlined hand at my side.

  I flinch away, resisting the urge to strike her.

  “I want to see those lines thick on your wrists tomorrow morn,” she tells me. “After he’s taken you repeatedly.” She straightens and sighs. “But you’ll get no advice from me
this eve. No quiet, soothing conversation to prepare you for what’s to come. You certainly deserve none.”

  She leans over my shoulder, eyes narrowed maliciously as she voices the traditional Sealing phrase, teeth bared. “Sanguin’in, Elloren.”

  Bloody the sheets.

  And then she gives me one last chilling look, turns, and sweeps out of the room in an elegant cloud of menace, shutting the door behind her.

  Furious, chaotic magic is lashing so hot through my lines that I suddenly yearn to go find Lukas, but I can’t. Because while I’m being kept prisoner here, he’s preparing for our escape. As Sparrow and Effrey and probably Thierren will be all through the night.

  While Lukas and I become true fastmates, binding ourselves to each other in every way.

  Sorrow overtakes me as I stare at myself in the mirror. I remember the feel of Yvan’s arms and wings around me when I last saw him, and the words he whispered in my ear.

  Wait for me.

  My heart constricts, the swell of grief momentarily unbearable.

  He’s gone, Elloren. You have to let him go.

  I battle back the tears as I force my grief for Yvan roughly to the back of my mind. And when my eyes settle once more on my reflected visage, an impassioned, hardened look stares back at me.

  There are threats from every side bearing down on me, Vogel and his Shadow Wand about to close in.

  And Yvan would want me to survive all of it.

  Because he loved me. And because he always knew that this fight is bigger than us.

  I know all these things with as much rock-solid certainty as I know one other thing. Something that I know Yvan would want me to grasp tight hold of, as well.

  There is no time for grieving if I’m going to survive.

  CHAPTER THREE

  FEALTY

  ELLOREN GARDNER

  Sixth Month

  Valgard, Gardneria

  Tick, tick, tick.

  A small clock set on the dressing room’s Ironwood armoire ticks down the minutes left before Lukas and I are formally sealed...before I have to face Vogel. I take one last look in the full-length mirror at the leaf-decorated, glitteringly verdant creature I’ve become.