“In that case,” Commander Vin says, “it is high time you were both well trained. Elloren Gardner, you will come with me and a portion of my guard.” She looks at Yvan. “Yvan Guriel, you will travel east with our Kin Hoang division.”
Panic rears inside me, and my eyes fly to Yvan’s, our hands tightening protectively around each other’s.
“We’re staying together,” Yvan stolidly insists, rebellion firing in his eyes.
“You cannot,” Commander Vin counters. “You must see that. We have to separate you.”
I glance around, feeling suddenly cornered as I realize what they’re trying to do.
They want to make it harder for the Gardnerians to kill us both. But they also want to protect Yvan, the blessed point of the Prophecy, from me.
In case I turn into the Black Witch of their nightmares.
I inwardly rail against Commander Vin’s cold, unflinching logic, even as I grapple with the fact that, in part, she’s probably right.
“I won’t leave you,” Yvan protests, his eyes burning gold.
You need to. For your own safety. “Yvan, this is bigger than us.”
The Western Realm has fallen. Everything has shifted to the East—both the flow of refugees and the coming war. And Yvan and I are potentially the head of the spear in that war.
We are the front lines.
A tear slides down my cheek even as something tough and jagged as the Spine rises within me. Yvan reaches up to gently wipe the tear away with his thumb, his eyes blazing.
“I love you,” I tell him as the rest of the room falls away into insignificance.
He pushes his fingers back through my hair and cups my head in a way that speaks of a sudden, covetous fervor. “I love you, too.” He pulls me close and encircles me with both his arms and his wings.
We cling to each other, his heartbeat sounding against mine. I close my eyes, and for a brief, blessed moment, we’re the only two people in the room.
“Wait for me,” he whispers.
I nod against his tear-slicked cheek, and it’s impossible to tell which tears are his and which are my own.
“Yvan Guriel,” Commander Vin says, her tone filled with urgency. We both turn to her. “We need to remove you from the Western Realm. Now.”
Two gray-clad Kin Hoang sorceresses step forward, and my heart pounds against my chest. Yvan and I cling to each other.
“Where will you take him?” I ask, imploring.
“Somewhere safe,” Commander Vin assures me. “Somewhere isolated, where he can train. We cannot tell you where that is, Elloren Gardner. You must understand.”
In case the Gardnerians find me. In case I’m the wrong point of the Prophecy after all.
I look to Yvan, tears falling. “So, this is goodbye, then.”
He reaches out to stroke my hair and looks at me intently, as if he’s trying to memorize my face. “Be strong,” he says, both of his warm hands on my face now.
“I will,” I promise through my tears.
And then Yvan brings his lips to mine one last time and sends his fire through me with such force that the heat still blazes through me even after he breaks the kiss.
He gives me one last impassioned look, then gently pulls away and turns to the Vu Trin. “I’m ready,” he says.
The Kin Hoang fall in around him, and I watch him leave through a sheen of tears, his back decidedly straight, his wings freed, as he strides into the glowing blue haze of one of the cavern’s many exit tunnels, the Kin Hoang following close behind.
And then he’s gone.
* * *
I’m crying in earnest now, hollowed out.
Jules Kristian’s arm comes around me, and I fall into him.
“Did you know?” I cry into his tunic.
“No.”
I shake my head back and forth against the rough wool on his shoulder, then look up at him with disbelief. “I don’t know if I’m equal to this.”
Jules meets the gravity of my stare. “You will be. In time.” He smiles ruefully. “You did wish to be clever and powerful.”
I bark out a futilistic laugh at the absurdity of it all.
“You have to be careful what you wish for, eh?” he says.
I nod, drawing comfort from his kind words and gentle humor in the face of all this.
“What a startling turn of events,” he says, shaking his head. “I am glad it’s you, Elloren.”
Me, of all people.
The Black Witch.
Jules reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a small bouquet of Ironflowers, the glowing blue blossoms a match for the sapphire Noi runes glowing around the room.
“Lucretia wanted you to have these,” he says, growing reflective, eyeing the blooms. “The Ironwood tree has an interesting life cycle. It spends one long year on the forest floor as a delicate, fragile flower. Easily broken. Easily destroyed.” His eyes meet mine. “But if it survives, it seeds to become a strong, deeply rooted tree.”
I take the flowers, their glow washing over my hand like a splash of paint. “These flowers,” I tell him, eyeing the luminous blossoms, “they were used to fight demons in our myths.”
When I look up at him, his expression has grown serious. “The true demons of this world come in many guises, Elloren Gardner. Go find them,” he says, his tone unyielding. “And go fight them.”
Bolstered, I take one last look at Jules, then straighten and turn to face Commander Vin. “Let’s go.”
EPILOGUE
Hours later, I’m dressed in Noi battle armor and being silently led through a series of descending, tunneling passageways, the White Wand sheathed at my side.
I follow the long line of Vu Trin sorceresses, my eyes set on the straight back of the young sorceress before me as I try to beat back the claustrophobic sense that we’re inescapably burrowing down toward the very center of Erthia.
Eventually, the corridor spills out into an enormous cave that I take in with no small amount of awe.
Crystalline stalagmites and stalactites rise and fall all around us, their translucent surfaces glinting blue in the Noi rune-light. The mineral formations have been cleared away in the center of the cave, the hard floor a flattened swirl of crystal.
A throng of Vu Trin sorceresses and a smattering of young Smaragdalfar men and women mill about, stacking crates of weapons. Off to the side, a line of horses is saddled and tethered, most of them weighted down with the heavy packs needed for a long journey.
But none of this is what draws my eye like a moth to lantern light, my breath catching tight in my throat.
In the center of the cavern stands an arc of rotating Noi runes forming the outline of a passageway. A line of blue light scythes from rune to rune, spitting out slim veins of sparking lightning over the expanse of the rune-portal’s frame. The center of the portal is wavy and rippling, like the surface of a golden lake.
Two white-haired, elderly Vu Trin soldiers stand at the portal’s sides. One of the women supports herself on a long rune-staff and is tapping what seems like a series of codes into the portal with a flat, rune-marked stone.
A pat on my arm pulls my attention away from the huge portal and toward a serious young sorceress, the reins of a horse tightly gripped in her hand. She motions curtly for me to mount, the other soldiers in our party already pulling themselves astride horses.
I climb on top of the ebony mare and ride toward the looming portal with Commander Vin and our party’s small contingent of soldiers.
I slow my horse to a stop before the looming portal and look toward it with mounting apprehension.
I’ve no idea where it leads.
Commander Vin rides up beside me and turns to look at me. The motion crinkles the neckline of her tunic, revealing a small tattoo just below her collarbone.
A white
bird.
“Are you ready, Elloren Gardner?” she asks.
I reflexively reach for the comfort of the White Wand as I take in the shimmering portal before me.
I think of Uncle Edwin and my brothers. Of Fernyllia and Fern. Bleddyn and Olilly and all the kitchen workers. I think of Wynter and Ariel, Cael and Rhys and Andras. The Lupines, Tierney, Aislinn...
Everyone I love.
And Yvan.
I grasp the Wand firmly and turn to Commander Vin. “I’m ready,” I say with conviction.
She glances down at my fastmarked hand clenched around the Wand’s handle. A satisfied smile turns up the corners of her lips. She straightens on her horse and motions toward the portal before us.
“Then enter, Elloren Gardner.”
I tighten my grip on the Wand, drawing comfort from the feel of the spiraling wood. My affinity lines flare—earth, fire, air and a slim trace of water.
Full of resolve, I prod my horse forward, the Ironflowers Jules gave me tucked into the collar of my tunic. The portal’s wall of shimmering gold ripples as I approach, flashing silver as I ride into it.
I’ll be different from you, Grandmother, I inwardly vow as the Western Realm fades away behind me. And I’ll be back for Marcus Vogel.
I’m going to take him down.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Light Mage by Laurie Forest.
MAGE COUNCIL
RULING
366
All Icarals in the Western and Eastern Realms of Erthia are to be hunted down and executed.
Assisting in the concealment or escape of Icarals is hereby declared one of the worst possible crimes against the Holy Magedom of Gardneria.
It shall be punished without mercy.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First of all, thank you to my husband, Walter, for his unflinching and enthusiastic support. I love you.
To my epic daughters—Alex, Willow, Taylor and Schuyler—thank you for supporting me in this author thing and being so all-around great. I love you.
Love going out to my late mother, Mary Jane Sexton, and to my late close friend, Diane Dexter. In the moments that seemed most daunting, I remembered how much you both believed in me and this series. Your feisty legacy continues to inspire me.
Thank you to my mother-in-law, Gail Kamaras; my sister-in-law, Jessica Bowers; and Keith Marcum, for all your support. I love you guys.
A shout-out to my brilliant author brother, Mr. Beanbag, for always being awesome and always being supportive of me. Love you.
Thanks also go out to my nephew, Noah, for your support and humor. You rock!
To authors Cam M. Sato and Kimberly Ann Hunt, my international writing group cohorts—thank you for sharing your incredible talent and friendship with me week after week. I feel privileged to be on this writing journey with you both.
Thank you to author/editor Dian Parker for sharing your incredible talent with me, and to author Eva Gumprecht for being an inspiration.
Thank you to Liz Zundel for sharing your writing talent and for your friendship. Love you, Liz. And thank you, Betty—much love going out to you.
Thank you, Suzanne. Your support this past year has been everything.
A million thanks to my fellow authors at Harlequin TEEN. I’m not only starstruck by all of you and your talent, I’m also so grateful for your support and friendship.
To the authors of Utah (a new favorite place) and the librarians of Texas (I was told you all rock, and now know the praise is spot-on)—I am so happy to know all of you. Thank you for all the support.
To YALSA and all the librarians who have supported me and my series—you are the definition of awesome.
Thank you to Jessie. And thank you to authors Ileana, Shaila, Jennifer, Summer, Ira, Erin, Stephanie, Keira, G., Abby, McCall, Liz, Lia, P., Joel, Laura, R., C., Meg, Sierra, Jon, J. and V. and thank you to all the other authors who have supported me throughout the past year. I feel so lucky to know you and to have the privilege of reading your phenomenal books!
Thanks going out to Lorraine for so much positive support. Love you, college roomie :)
Thank you to the Burlington Writers’ Workshop and the 2017 debut group for all the support, and for sharing your endless talent and creativity with me.
Thank you, Mike Marcotte, for all the tech support with my website.
A shout-out to Seth H. Frisbie, PhD, for being the coolest scientist out there and helping me bring real-world chemistry into my fantasy Chemistrie chapters.
Thank you to local authors Rickey, Kane and Ryan, and to all the other Vermont authors (you are legion) who were so supportive of me and my series throughout the last year. I’m so grateful to you all. Also, thank you to the Vermont College of Fine Arts for all the support throughout the year. You are a magical place of inspiration. And thank you to the League of Vermont Writers for being awesome.
Thank you to Dan and Bronwyn (I love you guys), and thank you, John G., for your support and friendship.
To all the librarians at the Kellogg Hubbard Library for being so enthusiastic and supportive of my series—a giant thank you. And thank you to librarian Loona for all the support.
Ashley and Milinda—thank you for all the equestrian information (and for not laughing too hard at my supreme horse ignorance).
Thank you to all the bookstores that have been so enthusiastic about this series, including Phoenix Books in Burlington, Vermont; Bear Pond Books in Montpelier, Vermont; and Next Chapter Bookstore in Barre, Vermont. Also, thank you to the booksellers working in the YA section at the Burlington, Vermont, Barnes & Noble, for your boundless enthusiasm.
To all the bloggers and readers who have been so supportive of me online—you are all so fun and great. I’m enjoying being on this series journey with you all. Thank you for all the notes and letters and great ideas!
To my sensitivity readers: Thank you for making this book so much better with your insightful suggestions and inclusive vision. Any flaws that remain are completely my own.
Thank you to two of my favorite authors, Tamora Pierce and Robin Hobb, for your support and praise. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.
Thank you to my phenomenally talented audio readers for the series—Julia Whelan, Jesse Vilinsky and Amy McFadden.
And a huge thank you to everyone at Harlequin TEEN and HarperCollins who have supported both me and this series. I can’t believe I get to work with people of your caliber.
Thank you to Natashya Wilson, editorial director at Harlequin TEEN and Gabrielle Vicedomini, editorial assistant, for everything. And thank you to my phenomenal editor, Lauren Smulski, for making every one of my books miles better.
Thank you to Reka Rubin and Christine Tsai on the Harlequin subrights team, for being such huge fans of The Black Witch Chronicles, and for your efforts to bring my books to readers all over the world.
Thank you to Shara Alexander, Laura Gianino, Siena Koncsol, Megan Beatie, Linette Kim, Evan Brown, Amy Jones, Bryn Collier, Aurora Ruiz, Krista Mitchell and everyone else in marketing and publicity who helped to promote this series.
To Kathleen Oudit and Mary Luna of Harlequin’s talented art department—I can never thank you enough for my spectacular covers and map.
Many thanks to the sales team for their support—and especially Gillian Wise, for your boundless enthusiasm for The Black Witch Chronicles.
A big thank you to Harlequin TEEN’s digital promoters/ social media team: Eleanor Elliott, Larissa Walker, Monika Rola and Olivia Gissing.
And lastly, thank you to my wonderful agent, Carrie Hannigan, and to everyone else at the HSG Agency, for all your support and for believing in The Black Witch Chronicles for so many years. Much love going out to all of you.
the iron flowerlaurie forest
Light Mage
by Laurie Forest
&n
bsp; PROLOGUE
They’re scared to let me see him. My demon child.
The elderly Vu Trin healer, Sang Loi, quickly wraps him in a dark blanket, hiding his wings from sight. She hugs him close to her chest, eyeing me with apprehension. Three black-garbed Vu Trin sorceresses flank her, watching me closely, their hands loose on curved swords.
Waiting to see what a Gardnerian will do to an Icaral child.
An Icaral demon. One of the Evil Ones.
And not just any Icaral—this child may be the Icaral of Prophecy. Destined to battle the Gardnerian Black Witch. The Seers of every race are clear on one thing—somewhere out there, the Black Witch is rising, and deep in the world’s shadows, an Icaral is about to rise as well. A male Icaral, who will someday come into his power and fight against her.
His victory would be death to Gardneria. My country.
And this Icaral may very well be my son.
“Give him to me,” I demand, my voice shaky. I’m propped up on my elbows, the sweat of a hard labor cloaking my back, my hair plastered to my head in wet tendrils, the pain of birth still reverberating through my body. “I want to hold him.”
Sang and the row of Vu Trin sorceresses look to Chi Nam, their powerful rune-sorceress.
My gaze shifts to her as well. “He’s just a baby,” I rasp out to white-haired Chi Nam. “Not a weapon. And he’s my child. Not yours.”
Chi Nam leans heavily on her rune-marked staff and gives me a grave, considering look, then motions to Sang with a quick nod. The healer folds the blanket back and places the small, warm bundle into my arms.
My son’s eyes glow like fire. Black wings, paper-thin, struggle to fan out from his back. His tiny hand wraps around my finger, the world circles around me at a dizzying speed, the enormity of it all pressing down, pushing the air from my lungs. Stripping away the last shred of everything I once believed.
I’ve become a pawn in a war that could be the unmaking of us all. And so has my child.
The White Wand sits on the table beside me, innocent as a branch, but I can feel it grasping for me. Drawing me near. A constellation of prismatic, shimmering light bursts into view and whorls around the Wand as the vision of a starlit tree pulses in the back of my mind.
The Iron Flower Page 56