I hold up the wand and flash a playful smile at Gwynn. “I thought you might enjoy seeing it again.”
She sucks in air and freezes. “Please,” she breathes, “put it away.”
I’m instantly cast into confusion. “Why?”
Gwynn eyes the wand with extreme wariness. “It’s...well, it may not be the White Wand, like we were playing at...but it’s a real wand.”
My eyes widen. I quickly slide the wand back into my boot and yank my skirt’s hem over it. “Great Ancient One, Gwynn!”
“Lower your voice, Sage,” Gwynn pleads.
“I cannot have a real wand,” I urgently whisper. “I don’t have Council permission. Where did you get it?”
Gwynn eyes me guiltily. “Please don’t be so put out. I stole it from the armory—”
“You stole it?”
“I replaced it with a carved replica,” Gwynn says, blushing. “And then those Council envoys took the one I made. It’s obvious no one gave it any mind, as no one ever mentioned it again.” Her expression loses its defensive edge and melts into apology. “I don’t know what possessed me to be so reckless. I was caught up in that whole fantasy.” She gives me an imploring look. “Please, Sage. Just hide it away somewhere. Or destroy it. Truly, it was one of hundreds of wands that go through that armory. And this one was close to useless anyway. Father said it was as good as a toy even before I took it.”
But it’s not a toy. It’s a real wand. And I remember the terrifying tale she wove around it—glamoured demons hunting for it, ready to kill anyone in their path, the Wand wanting to escape Valgard to hide in Halfix.
Gwynn’s expression tenses with real worry, but some of my alarm recedes as reason takes hold. If it’s a useless wand, without power, no one is going to come searching for it after all this time. “I won’t tell anyone about it,” I relent, wishing she had told me the truth long ago.
Some of the tension drains from Gwynn’s brow. “Thank you.” She gives me a heartfelt look of gratitude.
The heavy clomping of horses’ hooves draws our attention toward the road. It’s a busy place, Verpax City, and I find myself mentally calculating what proportion of its inhabitants are Gardnerian. I’m picking out the black-garbed Mages, about half of the people out today, and that’s when I see them.
A devastatingly handsome young Gardnerian man is walking down the other side of the street with a Gardnerian girl on his arm, the two of them laughing and smiling like besotted lovers. The girl is beautiful, her black tunic form-fitting and scandalously trimmed in sparkling purple gems that set my affinity lines instantly flaring. The couple draws nearer, and my gaze locks onto the young man’s dazzling green eyes.
All the breath tears from my lungs as a wild disbelief crashes into me.
Tobias.
The awful realization claws clear up my throat. My fastmate. With Draven. I recognize her with sickening certainty. Draven from the fasting, her willowy, doe-eyed beauty only brightened and enhanced with time. The same hateful girl who had a crush on Tobias. Who was distraught when he was fasted to me instead.
Tobias’s eyes meet mine, and he throws me a contemptuous look before making a show of turning and smiling widely at Draven. Draven laughs and bats her eyelashes as she flirtatiously touches my fastmate’s hand.
My eyes blur with devastated tears.
“Oh, Sage.” Gwynn leans in to rest her hand gently on my arm. “I almost wrote to you about this.” She eyes the happy, flirting couple, then looks back to me, steely-eyed. “You’ve already won, Sage. Don’t forget that. Tobias is fasted to you.”
Hurt knifes through me. “How long have you known?” I can barely get the words out. “How could you not tell me?”
“I didn’t have the heart...” She bites her lip, then looks resentfully back toward Tobias and Draven. “It doesn’t matter how she behaves, don’t you see? She can’t have him. He’s yours.” Her hand tightens around my arm, her large eyes going rigid with determination. “You’ll claim him. That’s what you’ll do. You’re far more beautiful than she is.”
“No one is more beautiful than she is!”
Gwynn is undaunted. “You just need to get him alone...and win him over.”
Tobias and Draven pause to look at some trinkets on display in front of the jeweler’s shop adjacent to the smithery. A tear spills down my cheek, and I wipe it roughly away. Tobias must know that my entire family is here, including my young brothers and my sisters. For our sealing.
“I shouldn’t have to win over my own fastmate,” I counter, my voice breaking as I watch them. I turn back to Gwynn and search her eyes, desperately grasping for hope in a world suddenly turned completely on its head. “And how could I possibly win him over from her?”
“Sit next to him at supper,” Gwynn tells me, her delicate jaw set defiantly tight. She leans closer and speaks in a low whisper. “Touch his thigh.”
Shock roils through me. “His thigh!”
“Trust me,” Gwynn says, her cheeks lighting with a flush. “Run your hand up his thigh. He’ll forget all about Draven. Then get him alone.”
“But... Gardnerians aren’t supposed to...” My voice trails off to a constricted whisper. “We’re not supposed to do things like that...”
“Well, you will,” Gwynn states firmly. “If you want to make him forget Draven ever existed.”
My face and neck have grown sickeningly hot from misery and embarrassment. I take in Gwynn’s decisive expression. She’s so sure, so full of secret, guarded knowledge about men. I remember the heated glances that passed between her and Geoffrey. How besotted he seemed.
“How high?” I ask in a choked whisper, as beautiful Draven chimes out a laugh from across the street. Desperation cuts through me. “How high up his thigh?” Surely not that high...
Gwynn sets determined eyes on me. “As high as it takes to win him back.”
I struggle not to sob right there in the open. I shouldn’t have to win Tobias back! I shouldn’t have to do this...outrageous thing. He’s my fastmate. He’s supposed to love me.
Draven shoots me a devious grin that hollows me out. Then she turns and walks off with my Tobias the way they came, the two of them quickly swallowed up by the street traffic as my world threatens to completely fall apart.
“Why so glum?”
I give a start at the male voice.
An Elfin youth around our age is leaning rakishly over the iron fence. I blink at him, disoriented by his sudden presence. He’s slender and as coolly beautiful as a glacier, like all the Alfsigr. But he’s also screamingly different. A glittery cloud of rainbow metallic dust highlights the shimmer of his Elfin eyes, and he has a relaxed posture that’s decidedly un-Elflike. There’s a constellation of ruby gems fastened to his braids and multicolored hoops rimming his long ears, and his blindingly white Elfin tunic is edged with looping red, purple and gold stitchery.
And he has a prismatic, silver aura about him that takes my breath away.
“I could cheer you up,” he offers, his Alfsigr accent fluid and lilting, his silver eyes dancing.
Before Gwynn or I have time to react, he tilts his head and grins at me, and suddenly all the color of the world contracts toward his gaze. I’m instantly bolted to it, my mouth hanging dumbly open as the riot of reflected color in his eyes practically ransacks my light affinity and takes it hostage. It’s like falling into a sunlit lake filled with broken glass. For a moment, the pain of Tobias’s rejection fades to nothing, and I float suspended in a world of prismatic beauty, veins of violet lightning pulsing through it.
His eyes flash with recognition. “Great gods, you’re a Light Mage. How incredible.”
The prismatic colors all around me intensify, intricate silver runes forming inside each shard, coming to life and rotating like intricate gears. It’s mesmerizing. So beautiful...
I’m barely
aware of a hard voice calling for me from the direction of the inn.
“Oh, they’ve left you vulnerable, haven’t they?” The Elf’s words are a sultry caress. “Probably never even put a wand in your hands.” He sighs, and I can feel it ripple through me. “Focus on me, ti’a’lin. I’ll set up a protective ward.”
A faint tingle of warning whispers in the back of my mind, but I ignore it. I’m enticingly lulled, swimming in silver as he brings his eyes closer. His eyes. His lovely eyes. Full of spiraling silver runes that whirl toward me and light up my vision. I can feel the runes sizzling down my affinity lines in rolling, concentric patterns as I float in his gaze, only vaguely aware of something pressing against the palm of my wand hand.
“You have rune-sorcery, did you know that, ti’a?” His voice comes from everywhere in the prismatic lake. “All Light Mages do. But they never taught you how to use it, did they? Or else you’d have warded yourself.”
New runes start to form in the center of my sight, drawn suspended in the air and glowing like silver fire.
A door slams, and I’m wrenched from the prismatic lake, reality crashing down as the real world floods into my vision. I recoil back against my chair, my head spinning from vertigo, fright slashing through me. The Elf is pointing what must be a rune-stylus at me.
Shock overtakes me. An Elfin rune-sorcerer.
“Get away from her! Now!”
Edyth Gyll’s Level Four husband, Mage Korin Gyll, is stalking toward us, two young Level Three Mages just behind him. Gwynn and Edyth trail the Mages, their expressions full of outrage, and I realize Gwynn must have gone to summon their help.
How long was I under the Elf’s thrall?
The three Mages pull their wands on the glittery Elf, and I notice that every other breakfasting Gardnerian has retreated behind the line of Mages or fled. I blink at them all in confusion, struggling to steady myself, my head spinning as I grasp at the edge of my seat to keep from falling clear over.
The Elf smiles at me and slowly straightens. His silver eyes flick toward all the pointed wands as if he finds them incredibly amusing as he idly twirls the stylus in his hand.
“What did you do to me?” I rasp out, outrage warring with fear.
The Elf gives a short laugh and bares his perfect teeth at me. “You’re a Light Mage. I’m a rune-sorcerer. The combination can kick up a thrall that could be dangerous to you, drawing all of your power away from you and into me. You needed to be properly warded to keep that from happening, so—”
“I said, get away from her!” Korrin Gyll booms.
The Elf coughs out a laugh and gives Korrin and the other Mages a narrow look of appraisal. “Such a jolly lot, you Gardnerians.” He takes in the lodging house with a sweeping glance. “That is why I love this place. The welcoming air.” He grins at them, plucks up a small scone from my table and takes a cheeky bite from it. His eyes briefly widen as he nods with somber appreciation. “Mmm. Wonderful food. I adore currants.” He looks to Edyth Gyll, who’s glowering at him furiously. “Did you cook this?” The words are slightly muffled with scone. “It’s quite good—”
“This place is for Gardnerians,” Korrin Gyll snarls. “Not heathen filth.”
Another laugh bursts from the Elf as he looks Korrin over with contempt. “Don’t you ever get tired of all that black? Shining One’s piss, I get tired of all this white.” His eyes suddenly go wide, and he twirls his scone in the air, his lip lifting. “We should have a special holiday! The Alfsigr could dress all in black, and your lot could wear silver and white. So glorious and confusing.” He turns and rakes his gaze over me. “You would look stunning in silver brocade.”
I’m afraid to look directly at him, so I glare at him sideways, still horribly dizzy. “Don’t use your sorcery on me again.”
“I couldn’t if I tried,” he flippantly answers. “I warded you.”
“What does that mean?” I demand, scared of him.
“I told you what it means,” he throws back condescendingly. Something further down the walkway catches his eye, and his mouth tightens into a grimace. He rolls his silver eyes and breathes out what sounds like a low oath in Alfsigr.
Five Alfsigr Elves are storming down the walkway, coming in like a blizzard of white. They’re armed with swords, with bows and quivers strapped to their backs, and they wear silver-plated armor. One of them is taller than the others and has the same chiseled features as my tormentor.
The glittery Elf flashes a too-wide smile at the tall Elf. “Ah, Yllyndor. My humorless brother.” His eyes flick to the Elf standing rigidly beside Yllyndor. “And Kryl’lin. His equally humorless second.” He shoots me a look of deep forbearance, the silvered pull of his gaze much fainter now. Barely there. And the silver aura around him is gone as he smiles at me. “This morning keeps getting brighter and brighter, my sweet Crow. Don’t you think?”
Before I can even formulate a response to the slur, Yllyndor has launched into a livid stream of High Alfsigr and is gesturing sharply toward all of us Gardnerians while the glittery Elf tries to get in a word edgewise, scratching the back of his head in frustration when he’s unable to. Kryl’lin is grasping his sword hilt tightly, as if ready to murder the glittery Elf at the slightest provocation.
“We are taking you into custody,” Yllyndor sternly announces in the Common Tongue, as if to notify everyone listening of his intentions.
“Ha!” the glittery Elf coughs out in disbelief, one hand on his slender hip. “To be dragged back to Alfsigr lands and thrown into prison? I think not.”
Prison?!
The tall Elf lets loose another stream of unforgiving Alfsigr.
“I can’t steal my own inheritance,” the glittery Elf shoots back sarcastically. “And you have no jurisdiction here, Yllyndor. I have an open-ended residency permit and good luck getting that rescinded. You may be powerful, but you’re no match for the bureaucratic nightmare that is Verpacia.”
Yllyndor stares coldly at his brother.
“I’m getting the distinct impression I’m not wanted here,” the glittery Elf rues to me as he polishes off his small scone and expeditiously slaps his hands free of crumbs. He straightens and addresses the entire crowd, his voice clear as a bell. “I must take my leave, although I know it will grieve you all to hear it. Good day, you incredibly festive people.”
Then he turns on his heels and walks into the momentarily emptied road, whistling to himself as he goes.
Without warning, Yllyndor whips out an ivory stone imprinted with a silver rune. He extends his arm and points the stone toward his brother, his thumb sliding over its center.
A stream of silver light bursts from the stone, and I recoil back as the light spears toward the sparkly Elf’s back. It slams into him with an explosion of white light, the Elf’s garb lighting up with glowing silver runes. I gasp as the white light explodes a second time into silver sparks, causing passersby to shriek and rush away as nearby horses spook, one rearing as its Keltic driver yells and pulls hard on the reins.
The sparkly Elf turns slowly to face down the other Elves.
His air of cheeky sarcasm is gone. Hard defiance lights his steel-cold eyes now, a mirthless smile on his ivory lips.
“I am well-warded, you close-minded, tedious, intolerant fools.” He launches into a vicious stream of Alfsigr, then stops, turns and looks directly at me, pointing a finger emphatically. “You are wasted where you are.” His nostrils flare as he shoots his brother another look of pure fury before turning back to me, a hard flash of rebellion in his eyes. “You should try a dress in violet, Light Mage.” A note of bitterness darkens his tone. “Truly, ti’a’lin, black is not your color.”
He throws one last look of hatred at his brother, then turns and strides toward the smithery. I can feel his fury practically vibrating on the air.
Gwynn breaks down crying and rushes to me. Edyth Gyll follo
ws close on her heels, both of them fussing and trying to comfort me as my equilibrium slowly returns. The Elves are apologizing to Korrin Gyll, the tall Elf assuring him that he’ll inform the Alfsigr royal council. I can barely follow their tense conversation, I’m so thrown by the young Elf’s confusing words and distressing level of power. Eventually, the Elves finish speaking with Korrin, send joint hard glances toward the smithery, then take their leave.
“Why can’t they arrest him?” Gwynn implores. “Who is he?”
Mage Gyll shakes his head. “He’s the most powerful Alfsigr rune-sorcerer to come along in ages. His name is Rivyr’el Talonir. He’s the son of Alfsigr royalty and the disgrace of his family.” He glares at the smithery. “I’ve never known an Elf to act like he does. He came into his inheritance, left Alfsigr lands and promptly went insane.”
“He said he warded me,” I tell Mage Gyll, my voice shaky.
Mage Gyll gives me a dismissive look. “There’s no need to ward you, child. You can’t possibly have enough magic in you for a ward to catch hold.”
I shrink down, not understanding any of this.
That Elf did something to me, though, I worriedly think to myself. And after he did it, his aura was gone, and so was the wild pull of his silver eyes.
Edyth Gyll casts a hateful look toward the smithery and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Come, luv. You’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”
Safe from these frightening, unpredictable foreigners and their dangerous sorcery. Safe with my own people.
Tobias’s betrayal slices into my thoughts, but I force the horrible remembrance down as Edyth and Gwynn guide me up on shaky legs and lead me towards the inn.
Once Tobias and I are sealed, all will be set right, I tell myself, feeling bereft. And he’ll forget Draven and protect me from all the threats of the world.
“Crow Princess,” Rivyr’el’s insolent voice rings out from across the street.
I flinch, my pulse tripping higher, and turn even as Edyth and Gwynn both urge me not to look at him.
Light Mage (The Black Witch Chronicles) Page 8