by Katie Cross
“Where’s Isadora?” I asked, unwilling to give in to the grim reality that this was war, and not just a horrid battle. “She’ll know! She was going to look into something for me and—”
“Isadora is with your father and has been since early this morning. She must have seen the inevitable because she appeared in the middle of a meeting and demanded to speak with him in private.”
It brought me little comfort. If anything, it made everything so much more bleak. No witch possessed more powerful foresight than Isadora. Leda’s ability to see possibilities for the future looked like a child’s toy compared to the things that Isadora saw and understood. If she had seen this coming and hadn’t offered an escape, it meant there was no way out but through the fight.
“We’re really under attack from two Networks, then,” I said, sinking into a chair.
“One of which is using a magic we’re having a hard time countering,” she added with a shake of her head. “I don’t know everything that’s happening there, and I’m not sure Derek or Tiberius or Zane do either, but I can assume that Mikhail isn’t at the disadvantage we would have expected for a Network that broke such a powerful agreement.”
“What about Papa?” I asked, sounding hoarse. “When did you last hear from him? Is he all right?”
A flash of concern flickered across her face. She drew in a deep breath, and it faded. “An hour ago.”
I felt some relief. A pounding knock sounded at her door, and Coven Leader Clive called through the wood, “High Priestess! A word, please!”
“Worm,” I muttered.
“Chatham Castle is safe from foreign invaders for now,” she said under her breath. “But that doesn’t speak much to snakes nearby, does it? No doubt Clive wants to stir up all kinds of ugly protests now.”
I managed a smile, and she returned it. When she stood, some of the mettle that reminded me of Mildred had come back to her expression.
“Go help the effort here however you can, Bianca. But stay in Chatham. The last thing your father needs is you acting like a hero in the Southern Covens. Do you understand?”
I nodded. The familiar command wounded my pride. It’s not like I sought opportunities to jump into dangerous circumstances. It seemed they found me. Recalling the brutal hatred in the eyes of the South Guards as they ran at me, screaming, made me never want to go back.
“I won’t.”
She paused. “Make me a promise?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t go into Letum Wood alone.”
I blinked in disbelief. “Ever?”
She nodded. “Don’t go running by yourself or venture into the forest for now. It’s not going to be safe for some time. Derek couldn’t handle anything happening to you right now.”
My chest seized with pain at the idea. “But Stella—”
“You can do your runs around the gardens or practice sword fighting with the Guardians stationed here, but I must demand that you not run alone in Letum Wood. Besides, we’re at war now. As the High Priest’s daughter, you’d be quite a prize for either the Southern or the Western Networks.”
I swallowed, thinking of Isobel’s concern for me. How could I make such a promise? Letum Wood was the only home I had left. Chatham Castle was simply my residence; Letum Wood was where I belonged. Running there kept my magic under control.
“Promise me now,” Stella said firmly. “I need to hear you say the words. I trust you enough that I won’t make you take a vow.”
Clive banged on the door in the background. “High Priestess!”
“What … I … I promise I won’t run in Letum Wood alone,” I whispered faintly, unable to deny her request. My heart trembled.
I must demand that you not go into Letum Wood alone.
She let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you. That means a lot to both me and your father. Go help your friends again,” she said. “I’m calling all Coven Leaders tonight with the bugle, and I have a handful of frightened Council Members to deal with.” A third round of heavy banging shook the front door. “And Clive on top of it,” she muttered with a bitter roll of her eyes.
I transported away while watching Stella walk to the door, her shoulders back and her bearing as calm as I’d ever seen.
The Witchery became a prison.
Three days into the fighting, Brecken’s mother, Tabby, received a notice that he’d been injured. He remained alive but stuck in a wounded area. Due to the danger, family members still weren’t allowed to transport to the Southern Covens. Camille had come back to the Witchery that night pale and terrified. Seeing the stark fear on her face had brought it home for all of us. I thought of Merrick and Papa every night when I went to bed, afraid of what I’d dream.
Would Stella tell me the same news about Papa or Merrick one day?
“I’m too worried to eat,” Camille said early one morning when Leda set a tray in front of her. “I can’t stop thinking about Brecken.”
It was the last day of the last month of winter. Hints of spring lingered on the air despite the battle over the Southern Covens that had raged for four full days. Surrounding Covens had started preparing the moment they heard of the attack: blocking roads, setting up sentries, hiding witches who would set spells on the South or West Guards before they could set flame to unsuspecting villages. The defenses kept the South Guardians in the Southern Covens, but just barely.
The West Guards, on the other hand, were terrorizing the entirety of the Central Network. We couldn’t guess where they’d show up next. Three West Guards had set a library on fire in the Northern Covens, while three others killed an entire field of cattle in the Western Covens. They weren’t always genocidal, but they struck fear deep in the hearts of all our witches.
“You won’t be much use to Brecken when he returns if you don’t have any energy or health yourself,” Leda said to Camille, but she’d already used that line of reasoning at dinner the night before, so Camille shook it off.
“I’ll be so relieved it won’t matter. I’ll just throw myself into his strong arms and … and …” Camille’s eyes welled up with tears when she stumbled. “K-kiss his face until he passes out!”
In a move so unlike her that it testified to our desperate times, Leda forced a patient tone and said, “Fine, Camille. Don’t eat for Brecken’s sake. Eat so that you keep his mother from worrying about you. Tabby doesn’t need to stress over you while she’s worried about Brecken. Once you’ve eaten, you can go visit her. That always cheers you up.”
That did the trick. Camille sucked in a breath, composed herself, stared at the bowl of porridge, and picked up the spoon with a little sigh. Leda gathered her books and stuffed them into her shoulder bag.
“Are you leaving now?” I asked.
“Yes. Jansson sent Rupert to organize the relief in the Letum Wood Covens, so I’ve taken over as Assistant for a while. I’ll be back tonight.” She cast a wary eye on Camille, then looked at me in silent command to watch over her.
Dealing with the panic along the Eastern Network borders had sapped nearly all my energy. Marten returned every morning with enough time for me to report the location of the worst of the hysteria, the steps I’d taken to fix it, and any other emergencies that had to be dealt with before he returned to the Southern Covens to help Papa. Thanks to his power and magical ability, Marten had stopped an entire contingent of South Guards from attacking one of our makeshift hospitals where Apothecaries worked frantically to keep up with the dying and injured. Unfortunately, we needed Marten’s influence and quick mind in the battle, leaving me to deal with the Ambassador’s role alone. To my surprise, I didn’t mind it so much. It passed the time.
Though my days felt hectic—visiting towns along the eastern borders, worrying over Camille, trying to coax Michelle out of her anxious silence, and stalking Stella for updates—I itched with restless uncertainty. It seemed as if the rest of the Network felt the same way. We had been at peace with our neighbors for so long that none of us knew how to cope with
this strange new reality. Guardians dying. An increased production of caskets. Families displaced. It was both surreal and all too real.
As soon as Leda left, Camille gave up on eating and shoved the porridge away. “I’m going to see Tabby,” she declared, standing. “You can have my porridge, Bianca.”
But I couldn’t even stomach the thought of eating my own. “Of course, Camille,” I said. “Be safe.”
“That’s it? You aren’t going to try to stop me?”
“No. Do you want me to?”
“No! Of course not.” She swallowed back her sudden rush of emotion, and in a calmer tone said, “Thank you, Bianca, for understanding and not trying to babysit me. I just can’t bear the thought of Tabby getting word about Brecken and me not being there.”
I smiled crookedly for a moment. “I would do the same. Has Miss Scarlett canceled your classes?”
She nodded. “For the time being. Not that I’d be able to study anyway. Michelle is with Nicolas because the dragons’ agitation is boiling over. It’s requiring Sanna, Nicolas, and sometimes Michelle, even though she’s not a Dragonmaster, just to keep them restrained.”
A shadow moved across the Witchery. I glanced up to see the blue soar smoothly past the tower, one of three dragons spiraling through the air. He shot fire out of his nose, then flew into it, scattering the smoke like a ghost.
“Where’s Priscilla?”
“She and Miss Scarlett are making sure all the students get home safely from the Network Schools. Are you sure you’re okay if I leave? You’ll be here alone.”
I gestured to a pile of envelopes that had arrived for me that morning. Urgent and Must Read Immediately covered all of them in red ink.
“I’ll be plenty busy,” I said. “Diego is livid that witches keep crossing the Eastern Network border now that the Pact is broken and is threatening death to any Central Network witch they catch. I have to deal with that on Marten’s behalf. Go see Tabby.”
She gave me a wobbly smile and left. I sighed. Just when I was about to haunt Stella for an update for the second time that morning, an envelope materialized in front of me.
Bianca Monroe.
I didn’t recognize the neat handwriting. When I touched the envelope, the paper unfolded itself, revealing an elegant script inside.
Dearest Bianca,
I hope this letter isn’t too indulgent of me to send, but I am quite worried about you. I feel we became good friends on your visit to Magnolia Castle a few weeks ago, and I so appreciate you sending me the newsscroll from your Network to keep me informed. I keep it hidden in my room and think of you every time I go barefoot.
Despite the bleak circumstances, I smiled at Isobel’s sweet words. They felt like a soothing balm, an anchor, in such a scary time.
Dear girl, are you all right? Is your father in the middle of the fighting as I suspect? Do you hear from him much, and is he well? I imagine Derek must already have plans in place to defeat this new horror and atrocity. Can the Eastern Network help him with his plans somehow? I’m hoping that you aren’t going into Chatham City or the forest alone still. Are you? I suppose you already know how I feel about that. Stay safe, Bianca. It seems the whole world has changed.
Please let me know if I may lend assistance. So far the attacks have not included our Network, but I’m bracing myself for the inevitable.
My main purpose in writing is to tell you not to fear regarding Diego’s threats on the borders. (No one must know I have sent this letter undermining his authority.) I know he says he will react with swift justice if you cannot stop your witches from coming into the East, but he will not. All our efforts are concentrated on protecting ourselves from the Southern Network. In all your stress, I didn’t want you to fret over one more unnecessary worry heaped on your shoulders. Do what you must, but do not fear his wrath.
Forgive me if this letter finds you at a bad time, and don’t feel obligated to respond. Imparting my worry is enough for now.
Stay safe as best you can.
Yours,
Isobel
I folded the letter back together. “What a wonderful lady,” I murmured, and indeed, felt better about Diego’s threats. With a quick glance at the clock, I started a response to Isobel, setting aside all the frantic needs of the Network for just ten more minutes.
The war in the Southern Covens raged for another week without change, heralding the first month of spring and the freezing sleet that came with it.
We continued to wait. For news. For casualty lists. For letters. Camille received no further word on Brecken, and the Southern Covens still weren’t allowing family to visit.
Marten checked in every morning with surprising regularity, which meant I always had a sense of what was happening. Every day he looked more haggard, and every day I felt as if this misery, which had lasted ten days, would never end. It seemed like nothing had existed before the war, and nothing would happen after. I half-wondered if we’d been locked in a strange new reality for the rest of our lives—or perhaps we’d always been here. Pacing the Witchery every night, I itched to do something beyond my poor attempts to control the borders diplomatically.
Late in the evening after a weary day training new Border Guards, I found Michelle sitting at the table in the Witchery, her head in her hands. Streaks stained her face, though I saw no tears. She straightened as soon as I walked in, sniffling.
“You all right, Michelle?” I asked, feeling a sudden rush of prickling cold. “What’s happened?”
She looked down at her hands. “I still haven’t heard from my family, and it’s almost been two weeks,” she whispered, and the words caught in her throat. “Papa had problems breathing before the attack. Even walking tires him, makes him short of breath. I can’t imagine that they … they could have left the farm quickly. He doesn’t know how to transport. He doesn’t care … care much for magic. They haven’t written back! I’m so … so scared!”
Deep sobs tore from her chest, wracking her broad shoulders. “Oh, Michelle,” I said, sinking onto the chair next to her. “I’m so sorry. I bet they can’t get any sort of paper wherever they are. Witches are hoarding messenger paper, trying to send it to the Guardians to update their families.”
Of the five of us, Michelle had remained the quietest. Camille fretted constantly, Leda worked without stopping, Priscilla almost never showed up except for in the late evenings, and I paced with restless, frantic energy. We’d tried to get Michelle to talk, but she’d withdrawn into a stubborn, weary silence. Seeing her crack brought me relief.
“What if something happened to Papa?” she asked, looking at me through bloodshot eyes. They welled up with tears. “I couldn’t handle it! I miss my family, Bianca. I want to see them again!”
I put a hand on her arm and swallowed back tears of my own. How deeply I understood! Her desperate, childlike cries tore at my heart. I had to do something.
“Then let’s go,” I said, latching onto the crazy thought as soon as it entered my mind. “Let’s go find them.”
The shock of my statement stopped her emotions. “What?” she asked, recoiling. “What do you mean?”
“I just heard updates from the Southern Covens. All the refugees are out of the war zone now. They moved them north to the border between the Letum Woods Covens and the Southern Covens, in the village of Perth. The fighting hasn’t reached that far yet. Papa just requested more Apothecaries, which means it can’t be too dangerous, right?”
“Did Stella say it’s safe for witches to travel there?”
“Uh, no. She probably won’t for a long time either,” I said. “But that’s just to keep curious onlookers and the general populace out of the way. You have a legitimate reason for going. Your entire family is there. Besides, no one has to know we’re going.”
A flicker of hope illuminated her eyes. “My dad’s cousin, Luke, lives just outside Perth. I bet they went there.” Her expression darkened. “Or he may not be anywhere at all.”
“Don’t
think it.”
She glanced away. “I don’t know, Bianca. What will Camille and Leda say?”
“Nothing, because they won’t know.”
It wasn’t something we should do at all, really, but Chatham Castle was driving me mad. Most of the Guardians usually said, I don’t really know what’s going on everywhere, I just know about my contingent. Anyway, it was all so confusing. The magic is so strange, so deadly. I’ve never … never seen it. I never want to again.
When pressed, they all described the same suffocating feeling I’d known in my dreams, the feeling that oppressed Bartie Stacey when he read from the Book of Spells.
“Isn’t it dangerous?” Michelle asked, moving me back into the present.
“Yes, but not as dangerous as it would have been a few days ago. Papa lit some kind of fire that burns through snow and spread it across the Southern Covens farmlands. The Southern Network couldn’t put it out or break through it, so they’ve been stuck behind it, closer to the Southern Network wall. We could just go long enough to find your family and come right back. An hour, tops.”
The idea started to sound so good in my mind that I shifted in my seat, impatient to leave right away. Michelle perked up a little.
“An hour isn’t that long.”
“Not compared to waiting ten days.”
“It’s mad,” she said, staring at me with an expression I couldn’t interpret. “But you’re right. It’s better than sitting around here worrying.”
“Infinitely better. At least, I think so. But I’m not the most trustworthy witch when it comes to dangerous ideas.”
Michelle cracked her knuckles and stared out the window. A slushy mixture of rain and sleet fell from slate skies in what should have been a peaceful day. If our Guardians—and possibly our loved ones—weren’t dying, perhaps I could have enjoyed the quiet weather.
“What if we’re caught?” she asked, eyeing me. “Your father would be furious.”
“Nah.” I waved it off. “If anything he’d get angry at me, not you. It’s not like he’s even around to notice, right? He has bigger things on his mind. Anyway, we could transport into Letum Wood, right next to Perth. Both of us have been there, haven’t we?”