The Sorcerer Heir

by Cinda Williams Chima

  ALSO BY CINDA WILLIAMS CHIMA

  THE HEIR CHRONICLES

  The Warrior Heir

  The Wizard Heir

  The Dragon Heir

  The Enchanter Heir

  THE SEVEN REALMS

  The Demon King

  The Exiled Queen

  The Gray Wolf Throne

  The Crimson Crown

  Copyright © 2014 by Cinda Williams Chima

  Cover design by Tyler Nevins

  Cover illustration © 2014 by Larry Rostant

  All rights reserved. Published by Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.

  ISBN 978-1-4231-8795-0

  Visit www.hyperionteens.com

  www.cindachima.com

  Contents

  Title Page

  Also by Cinda Williams Chima

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Acknowledgments

  Preview of The Seven Realms Series, Book One: The Demon King

  About the Author

  For Keith Swift Chima: you look at the world slant.

  And that’s a good thing.

  “Where are you off to, Alicia?” Aunt Millisandra asked as Leesha Middleton sidled past on her way to the door.

  “A party,” Leesha said, purposely vague. “I’ll be back late.”

  “Is the party here in town?” Aunt Millie asked. “Will there be drinking? Will you be careful?”

  This was unusual. Aunt Millie wasn’t a particularly intrusive chaperone, given that she had a very clear memory of what it was like to be young, and a very poor memory of anything that had happened in the past year.

  “The party is at Seph McCauley’s house,” Leesha said. “I don’t know about the drinking, but I’m always careful these days.”

  Aunt Millisandra looked over the rims of her reading glasses. The glasses weren’t functional—they had no glass in them. Aunt Millie didn’t love the way the glass reflected, but she liked the look otherwise. “You look ravishing, my dear. It must be a very fancy party. I haven’t seen you wear that dress before. And the leather goggles—is that a new fashion?”

  “It’s a costume,” Leesha said, brushing at her vampish dress. “For a Halloween party.”

  “A costume,” Aunt Millie said, emitting a shower of sparks, signifying delight. “Is it really Halloween?” She looked around wildly. “Is it beggars’ night? Should I have candy? Oh, dear.” She brightened. “I did make muffins the other day. Maybe we can—”

  “No, Aunt Millie,” Leesha said, batting out the sparks that landed on the settee. “It’s not beggars’ night. No worries. I’ll, ah, bring home candy.” Aunt Millie had many stellar qualities, but she wasn’t much of a cook. The muffins could have stood in as hockey pucks. Leesha had diverted them into the trash almost immediately. Living with a wizard who was a few cards short in her mental deck wasn’t always easy.

  Blessedly, Aunt Millie moved on. “What are you supposed to be?”

  “I’m a—a sort of Victorian vampire,” Leesha said.

  “It’s quite fetching, dear,” Aunt Millie said. “Especially the décolletage. But...” She pressed her lips together in disapproval. “You have such lovely jewelry, Alicia; why is it that you always wear that snake pendant?”

  Leesha touched the pendant nestled between her breasts. It was a gold snake eating its tail. A talisman against evil. “It’s a reminder to be careful who I partner up with.”

  It was also a reminder of the cost of betrayal. She’d betrayed Jack Swift to the White Rose warriormaster Jessamine Longbranch. She’d partnered up with the wizard Warren Barber, whom she hated, and betrayed Jason Haley, whom she loved. Now Jason was dead, cut down by the wizard Claude d’Orsay in a battle between the underguilds and their wizard oppressors.

  Nearly two years had passed, but there would be no do-overs.

  Fortunately, Aunt Millie again meandered onto a new topic. “It makes sense to be choosy, especially if you plan on biting anyone. Or being bitten. The human mouth is one of the most—”

  “Not going to happen,” Leesha said, cheeks burning. “I’m just hanging out with some friends.”

  Aunt Millie’s face settled into disappointed lines. “I had hopes,” she said. “You haven’t had a gentleman caller since you misplaced that young man I found for you.”

  “I didn’t misplace him,” Leesha said sharply. “I’ve told you. He disappeared while we were out walking in London. Maybe I’m not as charming as I thought.”

  “Alicia Ann Middleton, you are the most charming young lady I know. No young man would willingly leave your side.”

  Unless he was attacked and dismembered by the walking dead. Leesha shuddered.

  No! I’m not going to think about that. That never happened. Why can’t I develop amnesia like every other victim of trauma?

  “His family hasn’t seen him since either,” Aunt Millie said. “They’ve been terribly persistent. Why, they’ve even made some rather nasty accusations about you, dear. I think they should look closer to home for culprits. London can be a dangerous place, what with all those graveyards and barrows and ley lines.”

  Right. Ley lines, Leesha thought. “Let’s not talk about that, Aunt Millie. It doesn’t make sense to dwell on things you can’t do anything about.”

  That was her new rule, and it seemed to
apply to so much of her past. I used to be so coldhearted and ruthless. What’s happened to me?

  As if she’d overheard Leesha’s thoughts, Aunt Millie said, “I’m worried about you, Alicia. You haven’t been yourself since you went to London.”

  I haven’t been myself since Jason died, Leesha thought. “I’m fine,” she said aloud as she wrapped a black velvet cape around her shoulders. “Don’t wait up. I’ll be back late.”

  Trinity, Ohio, was a small town (!), so Leesha walked the few blocks to Seph McCauley’s house. The house actually belonged to his mother, the enchanter Linda Downey, but lately his parents, Downey and Leander Hastings, the wizard, had been spending most of their time in Europe. At one time, Leesha would have envied Seph, living on his own, doing as he pleased, but right now she welcomed the distraction of having Aunt Millisandra around. The constant risk of incineration kept her on her toes.

  You need something to do, Leesha thought. Something to do besides mope. A quick fling might be just the ticket. Her heart beat faster. Maybe she would meet someone at this party. Someone who’d never heard of the pathetic Leesha Middleton. Who wouldn’t want to rehash old news or dig up the bodies of the dead.

  She needed someone fresh.

  The McCauley-Downey-Hastings home stood in a lakeside neighborhood of Victorian summer homes, built in an era when the rich birthed cottages like a cat drops kittens. Cars already lined the narrow streets nearly all the way to Aunt Millie’s. Leesha heard the party long before she saw it: usually a good sign.

  Leesha’s former boyfriend, the warrior Jack Swift, was directing people in the foyer. He was co-hosting the party, along with his soul mate and sparring partner, Ellen Stephenson. Jack wore a leather vest, velvet pantaloons, and tights that showed off his warrior build.

  “Looking good, Jack,” Leesha said, flouncing her skirts, showing her glamoured fangs. Sliding easily into her usual role. “Care to expose your jugular?”

  Jack took a step back and raised his weapon for a two-handed sweep—it was a pear-shaped stringed instrument.

  Leesha couldn’t help laughing. “What are you supposed to be?”

  Jack sighed. “I’m a minstrel,” he said glumly. “Not my idea.”

  Leesha could guess whose it was. “Hmm. Well, maybe you’re a warrior pretending you’re a minstrel,” she said. “Maybe that’s how you get inside the castle walls.”

  Jack snorted, but the corners of his mouth twitched. Leesha knew he liked that idea.

  She greeted a few Anaweir high school friends who’d either stayed in the area or come home for what promised to be a stellar Halloween party. Scanning the crowd, she saw that it was mostly people she knew, a handful of non-magical Anaweir mixed in with the younger generation of gifted Weir from all over the world. The gifted belonged to one of the five magical guilds: warriors, wizards, sorcerers, seers, and enchanters. They were like five feuding gangs linked together by their dependence on the Dragonheart, the well of power controlled by Madison Moss, a.k.a. the Dragon. She’d been ruling in absentia for the past two years while attending art school in Chicago.

  You could give college a try, Leesha thought. Aunt Millie had been pushing that, as an alternative to a grand tour of Europe or a year at an ashram. But could she really hang out with a bunch of freshmen?

  Q:You graduated from high school when? What have you been doing all this time?

  A:Preventing power-hungry wizards from taking over the world. Also, betraying nearly everyone I care about. Losing the only boy I ever loved. You?

  Leesha wandered out into the conservatory. Guests in elaborate costumes danced to a wide-ranging playlist. In the makeshift stage area, people were dragging power cords around, setting up for a band. One of them was oddly dressed for a roadie, wearing a velvet cape, vest, and cravat.

  “Fitch!” Leesha said. “I didn’t know you’d be here. They don’t have parties in Cambridge?”

  “Not like this party,” Fitch said, scrambling to his feet from where he’d been fussing with some sort of a connection. They shared an awkward two-handed handshake that evolved into an awkward hug.

  “Will’s here, too,” Fitch said. “He drove up from Columbus for this. I think he’s in the kitchen. Jack put him to work, too.”

  Will Childers and Harmon Fitch were wary of Leesha—and who could blame them? She’d sold off their lifelong friend Jack to magical traffickers. Then there was that kidnapping incident in the UK. But they’d fought on the same side in the Battle of Trinity, and they were keenly aware of Leesha’s losses in that war.

  Fitch retrieved a top hat from the edge of the stage and clapped it on his head. It was probably a costume, but then again it could have been Fitch being himself.

  “The red hair is a good look for you,” Leesha said, playing it safe. “And I love that suit. Where did you find that?”

  “Thrift shop in Boston,” Fitch said. “East-coast thrift is top of the line.” He looked her up and down. “You look nice,” he said.

  “Nice?” Leesha raised an eyebrow.

  He recovered quickly. “I meant, you look devastatingly gorgeous.”

  “That’s better,” Leesha said. “Are you just here for the weekend?”

  Pain flickered across his face. “No, I’m here indefinitely. I’m taking a break from school.”

  “Taking a break?” Leesha cocked her head. “Now? Aren’t you a sophomore? Isn’t it the middle of the semester?”

  “It is,” Fitch said, “but my mom’s in the hospital again, and my sibs require their older brother’s firm hand and wise counsel right now.” Fitch was the oldest of six kids. His mother had an autoimmune disorder and had been in and out of the hospital for years. It made it hard for her to support the family; they always lived hand-to-mouth.

  Leesha put her hand on his arm. “That really sucks.” She could guess how brutally hard it must be for Fitch to step away from a full-ride scholarship to Harvard.

  “It’s fine,” Fitch said. “I’ll go back eventually. I’m back working in IT for Trinity College, and they’ve arranged for me to continue my research and take a few classes.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I thought maybe you’d have left Trinity for someplace a little more exciting by now.”

  “I’m helping Aunt Millie with some things. That’s enough excitement for me these days.” She scanned the crowd. “Did Rosie come back for the party, too?”

  “No.” After a beat or two, he added, “We broke up.”

  “Oh.” Way to put your foot in it, Leesha thought. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Fitch shrugged. “She’s spending next year at an alternative school in Nepal. She wanted me to apply with her, and when I said no, she said I was choosing to be part of the problem. Things just escalated from there. Or deteriorated, depending on your viewpoint.”

  A young girl dressed as a black cat rocketed around the corner carrying a massive roll of duct tape. “Fitch? I’ve got the cord taped down all along the wall. Is there any—” She broke off when she saw Leesha. “Oh! Hi, Leesha.”

  “Hey, Grace,” Leesha said, grinning. “Great costume.”

  “You think so?” Grace wrapped her tail around her wrist. “It’s just something I came up with from stuff I had around.”

  “Those are the best kinds of costumes,” Leesha said. She gave her skirts a twitch. “This is actually my old prom dress.”

  “They let you wear that for prom?” Grace exclaimed, then laughed when she saw that Leesha was kidding.

  Leesha couldn’t help liking Madison Moss’s often-grouchy little sister—maybe because her mood so often mirrored Leesha’s. Madison had uprooted twelve-year-old Grace from Nowheresville, Ohio, and brought her up to Trinity to go to school. Then parked her with their cousin and gone off to art school in Chicago. No wonder Grace felt out of place and abandoned.

  Kind of like me
.

  Jack walked past, carrying an amplifier, followed by Ellen, leading some strangers through the crowd, onto the terrace. They were all carrying musical equipment, so Leesha guessed this must be Fault Tolerant, the band Ellen had been raving about since she’d seen them at a club in downtown Cleveland.

  The band members were all students at Gabriel Mandrake’s “special school” for magical mutants (the PC term was savant). Originally members of the mainline magical guilds, they’d survived a mass poisoning at a commune in Brazil that had altered their Weirstones in unique and sometimes dangerous ways. Maybe that’s what made their music so exciting. Leesha was looking forward to hearing them.

  She drifted closer, watching them set up, and realized that she recognized one of the band members, a tall, broad-shouldered boy with ink-black hair and smoldering blue eyes. A smoking-hot guy, in fact, and she had an excellent memory for that breed. She’d seen him at the sword-fighting demonstration at the Medieval Faire in Trinity. He’d fought Jack and Ellen both at once. He’d lost, but he hadn’t embarrassed himself—not at all. In fact, Leesha thought, I’d rather watch him lose than watch a lot of other guys win.

  What was his name?

  “Jonah!” the drummer called over to him. “I thought you said you sent me the set list!” She peered at a tablet computer mounted next to her kit.

  “I did,” he called back. “I can send it again if you want.”

  Jonah. That was it. Jonah Kinlock.

  Leesha couldn’t say exactly what made him so engaging. He hadn’t spent much time on his look: his timeworn T-shirt fit like a second skin and was tucked into battered jeans, the kind that start out indigo blue and then fade to a soft cornflower as they shrink to fit. Over the T-shirt, he wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves half-rolled, black leather gloves, and worn sneakers.

  Maybe it was the way he moved, the way he chewed on his lower lip while he adjusted the tuning on his guitar, the interplay of light and shadow created by the planes of his face. There was something savage and elemental and feral in him. The fact that he was a savant only added to the intrigue.

  I always go for the dangerous boys, Leesha thought.

  “You’re staring,” Fitch said, nearly in her ear. “And you’re not the only one.”