The High Priest's Daughter

by Katie Cross

  She nodded. “I used to go as a little girl to visit Cousin Luke.”

  “Perfect. Both of us will be able to transport. I’ve gone to Perth several times with Marten. From there we can just follow the road using invisibility incantations.”

  “It could work,” she said softly. “If we were gone no more than an hour or two. No one would even know.”

  “And if anything happens, we’ll just leave. Both of us know how. Think it over,” I said, setting a hand on her shoulder. “I know how worried you are about your father. Maybe this will give you some peace of mind.”

  Camille too, I wanted to add. I’d already decided that I would try to find Brecken while Michelle talked to her family. Perth held the hospital now, and it allowed a few visitors from families in the area. Brecken could be there. I didn’t even entertain the hope that I might run into Papa or Merrick. They’d be behind enemy lines, likely, or right in the middle of a battle. Knowing that I’d find out right away through Stella if one of the Protectors was lost gave me some consolation. So far none of them had died, though Tobias received extensive injuries while sparring with a West Guard. He’d continued to fight until he collapsed from blood loss and Nathaniel, another Protector, pulled him away.

  “Let’s do it,” Michelle whispered. “Tomorrow morning. It’s the only time I have off, and I don’t want to draw any suspicion by going tonight. Nicolas will know something is up.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She set her jaw. “Yes, then I’ll be able to recognize Cousin Luke’s house. Let’s go find my family.”

  The Wounded

  We didn’t tell anyone else when we left the next morning. Chatham Castle seemed to be going about business as usual; it was the perfect time to slip away.

  “Are you sure?” Michelle asked, and I nodded. “What if we let Leda—”

  “We can’t tell Leda or Camille. Leda will tell Stella, who will restrict me to the castle by magic until I’m thirty. It’s bad enough that I haven’t gone into Letum Wood for almost two weeks. If I’m restricted to the castle walls, I’ll destroy you.”

  Michelle sighed. “You’re right. So you didn’t tell Camille that you’re going to look for Brecken?”

  I shook my head emphatically. I’d let Michelle in on my plan last night when Camille had come back with swollen eyes and a courageous but faltering smile. She still hadn’t received word on Brecken’s condition.

  “Definitely not. Then she’d really worry.”

  Besides, I didn’t want to be the one to deliver any bad news.

  “Ready?” I asked, forcing an easy smile even though a pile of butterflies lived in my stomach. Perth was a secure area—more than anywhere else in the Southern Covens, anyway—but I still didn’t know what to expect. Viveet hid underneath my heavy winter cloak, and I kept one hand near her.

  Michelle swallowed, looking a bit green around the cheeks. “Yes,” she murmured. “I’m ready.”

  We disappeared from the Witchery with separate spells. The heavy pressure of transportation took my breath away, lasting just long enough to start my lungs burning before it dropped me. The discomfort faded into a moment of panic. Instead of the comforting closeness of Letum Wood, I faced the middle of Perth in broad daylight.

  “Wonderful,” I muttered, wondering if the unlucky placement had something to do with poor concentration because of nerves.

  At first, I only saw chaos on the streets of Perth. I couldn’t find Michelle, and I concluded she must have transported herself more accurately. The main Central Highway cut through the middle of Perth so most witches from the Southern Covens had come here before scattering to whatever Covens or villages would take them. Witches chattered in the streets, bustling with a low, defined intensity. A handful slept in the cold sunlight in alleys or hunkered over pitiful fires to keep their hands warm. Most of them hurried, flinching at every distant sound. Luckily, not a single one paid any attention to me, a stranger in their midst that shouldn’t, by any means, be there.

  A stench hovered on the air, like sewer water and cow dung, the result of so many witches packed into one place. One elderly woman cradled a chicken on her lap and stared at the street without comprehension. Most of the witches in the Southern Covens were brawny, like Michelle, and lived simple lives. This war had more than uprooted their routine; it changed their very perception of life.

  I slipped through the crowd unheeded, heading toward Letum Wood, worried that I’d draw more attention to myself by disappearing behind an invisibility incantation. When I passed a girl who couldn’t have been older than twelve, shoeless and shivering in the sunlight while clutching her little sister, I stopped.

  “Here,” I said, twirling my cloak off my shoulders and settling it around both of them. I slipped off my winter boots, feeling a shiver when the cold earth met the bottoms of my feet. “You need these more than I do.”

  The eldest girl ran her hand along the fur in shock, but the little girl wasted no time burrowing in.

  “But, Miss—”

  “Put the shoes on,” I coaxed. “Go ahead.”

  She hesitated, wide-eyed, and finally obeyed. Once her feet touched the inside, she sighed with relief.

  “Keep warm,” I said, squeezing their shoulders, wondering if Henrietta would clobber me for losing my two best winter cloaks. “Help is coming.”

  By the time I’d made it to the spot in Letum Wood where I was supposed to transport, Michelle was pacing back and forth. “What happened?” she cried. “We didn’t plan for anything going wrong! I almost left without you. Where are your shoes?”

  “Let’s just say my transportation skills haven’t improved. I’m sorry.”

  “You lost your shoes transporting?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Fine, let’s just go.”

  Michelle took charge by pushing through the brush, keeping inside the forest where we could follow the road but not be seen. I followed behind, startled to see a new, authoritative side of my friend. Despite the need to walk quickly, I couldn’t help but touch every tree we passed, soaking in the feel of the forest as if I’d been starved. Although small, a part of my heart seemed to knit back together. It had been far too long since I’d breathed in Letum’s air.

  “I haven’t been to Cousin Luke’s in a while,” she said, plowing through the forest and the occasional pile of snow that numbed my feet. “But I think I know where it’s at … if he still lives there, of course. We haven’t heard from him in years.”

  I jogged to keep up with her long, determined stride. We walked on the edge of the forest until the traffic on the road diminished, and the houses stretched farther and farther apart. The only witches we saw stayed close to their homes, eyes on the southern horizon.

  “That’s it! Up there on the right,” she said, motioning to a house of red bricks covered with peeling white paint. She burst out of the trees and ran across the road, panting from her strenuous efforts.

  “Cousin Luke!” She shoved through a gate and into a small yard, which housed at least fifteen witches. “Cousin Luke!”

  A shaggy head of white hair popped out of the upper window. “Meesh?” came a high-pitched voice. “What are you doing here?”

  Michelle stopped under the window. Her voice shook. “Is … is Papa here? Mace? Ted?”

  “Course your papa is here,” Cousin Luke said. “Where else would he go? Rian is out fighting with the Guardians, but Mace is here. Ted too. Your father took a little injury to his leg and isn’t feeling well lately, so he can’t come down. But you’re welcome to come up.”

  Michelle let out a relieved, stuttering laugh. “Course,” she said, tears filling her small eyes. “Course he is. I’ll be right up!”

  I grabbed her elbow before she hurried inside.

  “I’m going to go back to Perth to see if I can find Brecken. I’ll transport back here in an hour, all right?”

  She smiled, wiped at the corners of her eyes, and disappeared inside without an
other word.

  When I transported back to Perth—landing exactly where I wanted, thankfully—I followed the muddy street the other direction in search of the wounded. After walking for almost fifteen minutes, a familiar glint of sunlight on a set of half-armor caught my eye.

  “Excuse me,” I called, running to catch up with the Guardian. “I’m looking for a possibly wounded Captain. I’m … his sister. Where is the wounded area?”

  A young male witch with a mop of bright orange hair turned around. He must have been a new recruit because he couldn’t have been much older than sixteen. His shaggy brows lowered over his eyes.

  “Who is it?”

  “Brecken Jameson. He’s a Captain and—”

  The boy jerked his head to the far end of the street. “Brecken’s down there, with the other seriously wounded. Just keep going.”

  My mouth dropped open. “You know him?”

  “After what he did, everyone knows him.”

  “What happened?”

  “He caught something in the leg saving a group of young recruits during an unexpected ambush. If he hadn’t jumped in the way to stop it, all ten of them would have died. Don’t know what it was. Something from that weird magic the West Guards are using.” He shook his head. “Brutal.”

  The young Guardian clenched his fists and jaw. I swallowed the sudden rise of nervous fear that told me I shouldn’t be in the Southern Covens. With his obsession about protecting me, Papa would be livid if he found out.

  “Thank you!” I cried. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  “Be careful,” he called when I stepped away. “The Apothecaries still aren’t letting many witches in to see the wounded. They want to prevent sickness from spreading. You’ll have to wait for a couple of days, I think. If he lives that long.”

  After winding through the dense street for another ten minutes, I stumbled on the makeshift hospital. My heart leapt in my throat as I peered over a hastily constructed fence to see hundreds of cots lined up in an empty field. Three Guardians manned a rickety gate at the front, holding back a line of at least fifty witches that stretched along the fence.

  “Jikes,” I whispered. “He wasn’t kidding.”

  Two or three Apothecary Assistants spoke with those in line one at a time. From what I could tell, they only allowed two family members into the wounded area at a time. An Apothecary Assistant would speak with the family members, jot down a few notes, and another would walk with them through the crowd of beds. At that rate, it would take days to get to Brecken.

  I glanced up at the sun, which appeared hazy through the smoke from the southern border. No time. After taking careful note of the outfits the Assistants wore, I disappeared into a back alley between buildings nearby.

  “Well, Priscilla,” I muttered from the shadows. “Time to put your transformation lesson to the test.”

  After working a few magical spells, I slipped out of the alley, my dress transformed into an Apothecary Assistant’s uniform and my hair in a short blonde bob. Priscilla would be gratified to see how perfectly the spell had come out thanks to her tutelage. I headed for the gate with a confident stride. Instead of waiting in line, I walked right to the gate, heart hammering in my chest, and stood there until one of the Guardians acknowledged me.

  The closest Guardian opened his mouth to call out and stopped. He blinked, studying my face and my clothes, lingering on my feet. I felt a rush of horror when I realized I’d given my shoes away and hadn’t replaced them.

  “Can I go in?” I asked. He returned his studious gaze to my face.

  “You don’t have shoes on.”

  “I gave them to a little girl and her sister on my way here.”

  His brow furrowed, and it wasn’t until I saw the intense expression on his face that I recognized him as the blonde Guardian that had saved my life during the invasion, shooting a Southern Guardian with his bow and arrow.

  “Who are you?” he asked. “I’ve seen you before.”

  “I’m going to be late,” I said, slowing my voice to match the unhurried tone of the Southern Covens. It wouldn’t be long before he really recognized me, even if I had changed my hair color. Word would move through the Guardian ranks until Papa found out. And then I’d never leave the castle again.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. “I know I’ve seen you before.”

  “Jane. Let me through. I’ve been working here for days now.”

  “It hasn’t been open for days. We just opened it yesterday.”

  My nostrils flared. “Well, I was working to get it ready, all right? Let me through, or I’ll get in trouble.”

  “Seems weird that I recognize you but haven’t ever seen you here at work before. Did you cut your hair?”

  “Oh, and you keep track of every Assistant?” I snapped. “Let me in!”

  He hesitated. My breath stilled in my chest. No doubt he recognized some kind of magic at work, though he hadn’t identified what it was yet. These newer recruits remained behind the real action for this very reason; their immature judgment could allow anything to leak through.

  “Fine,” he muttered with a jerk of his head. “Go to work.” He turned back to a hysterical mother wailing about her only son but watched me from the corner of his eye.

  I found no pattern to the hundreds of cots laid out. Apothecaries, Assistants, Guardians, and cooks all rushed back and forth from table to cot, trying to save as many as they could. Several Guardians carried the bodies of the deceased away. A sick feeling rose in my chest.

  So much death.

  I sped through the rows at a half-jog. My hour here would be up soon; we’d already been away from Chatham for at least that long. An apothecary headed my direction at one point, arm raised and mouth open to ask me something, but I snatched a couple of herb packets from a table and pretended to be occupied. He moved past me with a growl. I picked up a water pitcher and moved on, seeking a familiar head of curly brown hair.

  “Jikes, Brecken,” I muttered. “Where are you?”

  Another ten minutes passed with no luck. I almost gave up hope when a stray brown curl on a pale forehead caught my eye. I rushed to the cot, breath held.

  “Brecken?” I asked, crouching in the dirt. His eyes fluttered open, latching onto mine in confusion. A sheen of sweat covered his face.

  “Bianca? Is that you? What are you doing here?” he whispered.

  “I came to find you,” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. His skin felt hot to the touch, even through the fabric. “Camille’s sick with worry.”

  The pained, rigid lines of his face softened. “I’ve begged for paper and a quill,” he said, “but there’s none here. There’s nothing here but death.”

  The stench of antiseptic potions and the metallic smell of blood nearly made me vomit, but I swallowed through it. Sheets dotted with dried bloodstains covered Brecken’s lower body.

  “What happened?” I asked. “I heard you saved some other Guardians.”

  He hesitated, then grabbed the top of his blanket and whipped it back. I sucked in a breath. His right leg was cut off just below the knee. Long white strips saturated with blood encircled the end of the stump.

  “Oh, Brecken. I … I didn’t … what happened?”

  He shook his head. “Not sure. A black object moved toward my new recruits, so I jumped in the way. Something smashed into my leg. I fell, blacked out from the pain, and woke up here a few days later. The West Guards are using some kind of potion or spell that burrows into the flesh and never stops. If they hadn’t cut my leg off, it would have moved through my body and killed me.”

  His voice sounded wooden.

  “Bloody mess,” he muttered, yanking the covers back up. “I’m next to worthless now! Witches dying at the hands of the lecherous West Guards, and I’m lying on a cot!”

  I leaned forward and pressed the back of my hand to his bright red cheek. “You’re feverish, Brecken. You’re burning up.”

  He hugged h
is arms closer to his body. Beneath the blanket, he trembled. His eyes closed in exhaustion. “I’m fine.”

  “We have to get you out of here,” I said, more to myself than him. “Now.”

  Despite the fires clustered between every four beds for warmth, the heat didn’t reach this far. He’d die of exposure before the infection claimed him.

  “There’s nowhere else to go. The convoys back to Chatham City are full, and so are the houses of those who live here. I might be sick, but a little fever and pain isn’t much compared to what others are going through.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, tilted his head back, and gritted his teeth. I rolled my eyes. Fine time to be self-sacrificing. If I let him die, Camille would perish of a broken heart, and then who would calm Leda down when she went on a tirade? There had to be something I could do. Walking back to Chatham was clearly out of the question, and Brecken couldn’t transport in this condition.

  “I won’t accept that. There has to be something.”

  I chewed my bottom lip, empty water jug still in hand. How could I move him without causing more pain? With an infection, a carriage ride could kill him. It would take days to get him back to the castle, even if I could find a carriage. And that assumed all the roads were open, which they weren’t. I needed to move him quickly, without jarring him, and without being seen. I needed …

  To fly.

  My eyes widened. “Brecken,” I breathed, grabbing his arm. “I have a plan. I’ll be back tonight.”

  He’d already fallen into a light, troubled sleep.

  Dear Isobel,

  Forgive my hasty letter, but I must beg your help on an errand of mercy to save the fading life of a friend.

  In the interest of discretion, I need you to help me fly.

  Your friend,

  Bianca Monroe

  My Dearest Bianca,

  My wings are yours. Be safe, dear friend.

  Isobel