Um, no, actually. She’s living with me. Along with a Selkie and two Icarals.
Aunt Vyvian cocks an eyebrow, studying me as she takes a sip of her tea. “You’re doing well in your studies?”
“Yes, Aunt Vyvian.” No, I’m actually barely passing all of my classes and living on about four hours of sleep a night. And having visions of the forest attacking me.
“It’s not surprising you’re doing so well,” she says with an air of satisfaction. “Our family’s always been a clever lot. And I hear that you and Lukas Grey attended the Yule Dance together.” Her eyes beam with approval.
A stinging flush heats my cheeks at the mention of Lukas’s name. I absently reach for the Snow Oak pendant around my neck, the wood of Lukas’s gift pulsing against my palm with enticing warmth.
“That’s a beautiful necklace, Elloren,” my aunt comments, never missing a gesture. “Where did you get it?”
My blush deepens. “Lukas gave it to me.”
Aunt Vyvian’s mouth lifts into a shrewd smile. “It’s high time you fasted to him.”
“I do plan on fasting to him,” I politely lie, the pendant’s humming strength soothing my nerves. “But I must speak to Uncle Edwin about it first.”
“Then it’s a good thing you’ll be seeing your uncle on Founder’s Day,” she says with a tight smile. “You can secure his permission then.”
Time is running out. My hands will be marked by summer.
“I’m sure he’ll give permission soon—”
“I want you fasted to Lukas Grey now,” she insists, losing all vestiges of pleasantry.
“I realize that,” I tell her, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “I’m living with two Icarals.” I inwardly scoff over how completely my aunt’s attempt at leverage has gone awry. But then a sharp apprehension spikes through me, and I immediately regret reminding her of this—I’m scared of bringing her attention to anything pertaining to my North Tower lodging. My aunt cannot find out that Marina is living there with us. Not when she’s the lead advocate on the Mage Council for having the Selkies killed as soon as they come to shore.
Catching my air of defiance, Aunt Vyvian narrows her eyes at me. “I’m surprised you’ve endured living with the Icarals this long, to be quite frank. You’re made of sterner stuff than I imagined. It’s a shame you don’t have the magical ability to match your stubborness.” Aunt Vyvian shakes her head ruefully and lets out a sigh for what might have been. Her expression turns frustrated. “It’s not right that the Bane girl is heir to our magic.”
Ah, that old rivalry. I sit up straighter, glad for the distraction.
“I know you must find me harsh, Elloren,” Aunt Vyvian reasons with a frown, “but I’m keeping the pressure on you. It’s for your own sake, and for the sake of this family. You need to fast to Lukas quickly, before he walks away from this for good.”
Before I can formulate a response, we’re interrupted by the arrival of my brothers. Trystan comes in first, wearing his finest Gardnerian clothing, his smart storm-gray military apprentice uniform marked with a silver Erthia sphere and Level Five stripes. Rafe enters behind him, smiling widely, and I’m dismayed to see he’s wearing our old Kelt-styled woolen clothing from home.
No, Rafe. This is not the time to challenge her.
“Ah, Trystan.” Aunt Vyvian rises to meet my younger brother with a warm smile, making a sharp point of ignoring Rafe. She kisses Trystan on both cheeks. “I’m hearing such great things about you,” she says proudly. “Already accepted into the Weapons Guild at such a young age—the youngest ever. Quite an accomplishment, dear. Your hard work and commitment to your craft deserve a reward, so I have something for you.” She holds out a long package tied with stiff brown string, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Your uncle doesn’t have to know about it.”
Trystan takes the package and tugs at the string, the paper falling open.
A wand.
My heart leaps at this unexpected advantage my aunt has handed to us. Two wands. Two weapons. Trystan’s eyes widen as he runs his fingers over the wand, testing the feel of it.
“You are a Level Five Mage,” Aunt Vyvian declares. “It’s high time you had your own wand, one fine enough to match your natural talents. I’m very proud of you, Trystan.”
“Thank you, Aunt Vyvian.” My brother acknowledges her praise with a slight, respectful bow, his face pleasantly neutral. At moments like these, I’m incredibly grateful for Trystan’s ability to remain completely calm and self-contained, no matter what he’s faced with.
Aunt Vyvian dips her head toward Trystan, but her smug grin fades as she turns to my older brother. “And Rafe,” she says flatly.
Rafe doesn’t let her pointed unfriendliness faze him, his amused smile bright as ever. Aunt Vyvian gestures to the empty chairs, and my brothers join us at the table.
“It has come to my attention,” Aunt Vyvian says to Rafe, her lips tightly pursed with displeasure, “that you were...cavorting with the Lupine girl at the Yule Dance. It seems you made quite the spectacle of yourself.”
“Diana likes to dance,” Rafe says, grinning cagily.
“Does she?” Aunt Vyvian replies, cool as ice. “Well, I’ve sent word to her father about it—a most unpleasant task, I can assure you. I informed him that it is the unfortunate nature of some young Gardnerian men to sow their wild oats, so to speak, outside their own kind, with Selkies and the like.” She turns to me, her expression apologetic. “I’m sorry to discuss this in front of you, my dear. It’s shocking, I know, but this affects your fasting prospects, as well as Trystan’s. Well, maybe not yours, Elloren, as Lukas Grey seems quite intent on fasting to you. Trystan, on the other hand, might have a hard time finding a suitable young woman if Rafe continues running around with the Lupine bitch.”
I flinch at her casual slur, and Rafe’s mouth goes tight with anger. I reach down to clasp the edge of my chair with my wand hand and a blazing heat courses through my lines. I’ve a sudden flash of awareness not just of all the wood in the room, but all the wood in the building. Shocked, I wrench my hand away from the wood, ball my fist and resolve to not touch the chair again.
Aunt Vyvian sips at her tea, peering over the edge of her cup at Rafe. “Both you and Trystan need fasting partners by spring,” she declares. “Cut off all contact with the Lupine female immediately.”
She looks to Trystan, her expression momentarily thawing. “I have a selection of fastmate possibilities lined up for you to choose from, Trystan.” She frowns at Rafe. “But at this point, we may be dependent on the Council’s fasting registry to find you a willing partner.”
“What did Diana’s father say about all this?” I ask my aunt nervously, noticing that Rafe’s silent wrath has shifted to the aggressive baring of teeth.
Aunt Vyvian fixes him with a calculating stare. “He felt that you should stay away from his daughter. Or he’ll need to pay you a visit. Am I making myself clear, Rafe?”
“Quite,” he replies, biting off the word.
“Really, Rafe, what could you possibly be thinking?” Aunt Vyvian looks to the ceiling, as if praying for strength. “Even a Selkie would be a better choice of...companion, than the daughter of the Gerwulf Pack’s alpha.” Aunt Vyvian turns to Trystan and gives him a long-suffering look. “I wish all young Gardnerian men were as morally upstanding as you, Trystan. You are a credit to your race.”
Both Rafe and I turn to Trystan, eyebrows raised.
“You are the youngest here,” she goes on, “but you have shown the greatest maturity. You must guide your older siblings, Trystan.”
“I will do my best to keep them on the right path, Aunt Vyvian,” Trystan promises solemnly.
“And get some practice in with that wand,” she says encouragingly. “A Level Five Mage and a member of the Weapons Guild—you’ll be highly placed in the Mage Guard.�
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Trystan’s serene expression doesn’t budge. “I will be careful not to neglect the natural abilities the Ancient One has blessed me with.”
Aunt Vyvian nods at Trystan with solemn appreciation before turning back to Rafe with a frown. “Rafe, it’s time to stop being so irresponsible.”
“I will try my best to follow Trystan’s example,” Rafe replies, his eyes steely.
Aunt Vyvian holds Rafe’s gaze, neither one of them ceding for an uncomfortably long moment. Eventually, she shifts her gaze back to Trystan, her Golden Gardnerian. “Trystan, I appreciate all your letters. I can’t often be away from Valgard, so I trust you to be my eyes and ears. Please continue to stay in touch, and don’t hesitate to let me know if your siblings need correction.”
“I won’t, Aunt Vyvian,” Trystan says. “I’ll keep a close eye on them for you.”
* * *
Trystan shows up at my North Tower room a few nights later. When I open my door, he motions for me to join him in the hall and slides my white wand out of his cloak pocket. I notice he has the wand Aunt Vyvian gave him sheathed at his side. Every day, my little brother looks more and more like the powerful Mage he is.
“Here, Ren,” he says, holding the white wand out to me. “Take it.”
My affinity lines leap covetously toward the wand, but I hold back from accepting it. “Why? I’ve no power.”
He shakes his head against my protest. “It won’t work for me anymore. It’s like it’s gone dormant, or...” He pauses, a ripple of trepidation passing over his expression. “Like it’s gained control over itself.” He studies me, as if waiting for me to mock this odd statement.
But I don’t. I know very well that there’s something strange about this wand.
The White Wand.
I’m instantly embarrassed to once again be entertaining such an outrageous idea. It couldn’t possibly be the White Wand...but it’s certainly not normal.
I take the wand from Trystan, and a look of relief passes over his face. My wand hand curls around the spiraling handle, and I pull in a deep, languid breath. It feels good to hold this wand. Too good. Better than any wood.
“You know I’m not religious, Ren,” Trystan says, eyeing the wand. “But... I’ve been having dreams. A lot of dreams, about this wand and white birds and a tree. And they always end the same way.” He gives me a significant look. “With this wand in your hand.”
My grip tightens around the wand as a shiver of power spirals through my affinity lines and out toward the wand in a heady rush.
“Trystan,” I say tentatively. “When did your affinity lines quicken?”
“Around fourteen. Why?”
“I... I can sense my earth lines now. And my fire lines. They’re getting stronger—every day, almost. They flare sometimes.”
Trystan nods with understanding. “It can happen very suddenly. I remember one time, we were all having supper, and my water lines just...surged. For a moment, I had the bizarre sensation that the entire room was underwater.”
I arch my brow. “Well, that must have been disconcerting.”
Trystan’s lip lifts in a small, sardonic smile. “It was a bit overwhelming, yes.”
“And your fire lines?” I ask. I know that Trystan has strong water and fire lines, which makes it difficult for him to control his powerful but stormy magic.
“I didn’t have a sense of my fire line until about a year ago,” he tells me.
“So...there’s a chance I might develop a sense of more lines of power.”
“You might. Although two is the most common.”
“But I won’t be able to access it.”
He shakes his head. “You won’t ever be able to access your power, since you’re a Level One. I’ve never known of a Level One Mage who gained access to their power.”
Confusion wells up in me. “Then why would this wand be drawn to me?”
He considers this. “Are you entertaining the idea that this wand is the White Wand of myth?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the legends say that the White Wand sometimes lies dormant for many years. If we’re pretending that the stories are all true, then perhaps your children will have great power, and you’ll pass it on to them. Or perhaps you’re meant to pass it to someone else.”
“Like you just passed it back to me.”
Trystan is silent for a moment, and I can see he’s troubled by his strange dreams and the idea of straying too closely into mythological territory. “Perhaps.”
“The forest is afraid of me,” I tell him, laying it all out in the open. “And just before that, it was openly hostile. I’m truly not imagining this, Trystan. You heard what Tierney said the other night. Have you sensed any of this from the woods?”
“No.” He tilts his head, thoughtful. “But I’ve heard of this type of thing. Only directed at very high-level Earth Mages, though.”
“So, I might have very high levels of earth magic inside me?”
“That you have no access to.”
I let out a long, frustrated sigh. “It’s increasingly strange to be me.”
Trystan lets out a small laugh. “Join the club, Ren.”
I smile at this and look to him with affection. “I’m glad you are who you are.”
Trystan gives me a slight smile. “I feel the same way about you,” he says quietly.
We wordlessly stand there for a moment, bolstered by each other, but my thoughts soon take a somber turn.
“What do you think will happen with Rafe and the Lupines?” I tentatively ask him.
Trystan’s gaze darkens. “I don’t know, Ren.” He shakes his head. “With the possibility of war with the Lupines on the horizon, I just don’t know.”
MAGE COUNCIL
RULING
#200
Aiding in the illegal movement of subland Smaragdalfar Elves into the upper Realmlands shall be punishable by execution. Any Smaragdalfar Elves found on Gardnerian land must be turned over to the Mage Guard immediately for transport to Alfsigroth.
CHAPTER NINE
FOUNDER’S DAY
Dim morning light filters through the windows of the University’s largest dining hall, the vast space gorgeously appointed for Founder’s Day. I shift slightly as I look around, keenly aware of the white wand concealed snugly in the side of my laced-up boot.
Rafe, Trystan, Wynter’s brother Cael, and his Elfin-second, Rhys, survey the dining hall as well, and seem every bit as appalled as I am.
The Gardnerians have completely taken over the event.
All the decorations are Yule-themed, even though we’re the only group at University that celebrates Yule. It’s spectacularly elegant, to be sure, and I have to struggle not to be entranced by it all. Pine boughs create a fragrant, false ceiling and grace the centerpieces around the room, and I can’t help but rapturously breathe in the cool, evergreen scent. Red glass lanterns hang from the boughs and are set on every table over scarlet tablecloths, the color representing Gardnerian blood spilled by the Evil Ones. Deep crimson curtains are draped around every diamond-paned window and spill down to the floor.
It all makes me feel deeply uncomfortable.
I’ve never been so painfully aware of how my people aggressively push aside the customs and beliefs of others as I am in this moment. I darkly imagine tipping over several lanterns to set the decorations on fire, certain all the pine strewn about would become a conflagration in the blink of an eye.
The morning sky is overcast, but the gloomy weather only heightens the beauty of the lanterns’ scarlet glow. Small groups of Gardnerians are beginning to dot the massive dining hall, and there’s a fantastic spread of food laid out on several broad tables—an entire roast boar, sliced thin, with a pronged serving fork stuck in its side; stewed fruits sprinkled with sugar-dusted flowers; a variety of h
ot drinks and warm breads paired with well-aged cheeses. Multiple Keltic, Verpacian, Elfhollen and Urisk workers from all the University kitchens, including Olilly and Fernyllia, are on hand to serve the many visitors.
I turn as both of the huge doors to the main dining hall abruptly swing open, hitting the walls behind them with a resounding thud.
The Lupines stride into the hall with bold, predatory grace, and most of the hall’s occupants draw back with looks of surprise.
A huge, muscular man leads their group, and there’s no doubt that he’s the alpha. He has Diana’s fiery amber eyes, proud chin, dominating aura and golden hair, his beard shot through with gray at the sides. He radiates the most commanding presence I’ve ever witnessed, his charisma dwarfing even that of Kam Vin, the intimidating military commander of the local Vu Trin.
Close behind the man is a tall, lean woman who strongly resembles Jarod. There’s a worried, intellectual cast to her expression as she looks around the hall with a guarded reluctance. Beside her strides another Lupine female, this one with dark hair intermingled with bright red strands. Her skin is deep brown, and she has the radiant crimson eyes of the Northern Lupine pack. She’s holding a small boy with her same coloring and crimson eyes, but his ears are pointed and his hair is a mingling of purple and blue.
Flanking them are four strapping men in tight formation, one striding slightly ahead of the others. This man’s slate gray cheeks are marked with rune-tattoos like Andras’s and framed by steel-colored hair streaked with violet. I realize this must be Ferrin Sandulf—the man with Amaz ancestry Diana told all of us about. Her father’s beta, which makes him second-in-command.
Orbiting them all like a kinetic moon bounces an energetic girl of about ten. She can only be Kendra, Diana and Jarod’s little sister. She’s Diana all over again, only younger and shorter—and with a lot more frantic energy.
The men all have short hair and close-cropped beards and Diana’s mother’s hair is long and blond and pulled back with a tie. And they’re all dressed for movement, in loose earth-toned tunics over pants and sturdy boots—simple dress to allow for ease of the clothing’s removal so they can Change.
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