Page 49 of The Black Witch

“My brothers?” I ask Lukas, turning to him. “They’ll be here?”

“They should be,” he says, then pauses. “I’ll take you to them. And later you’ll come with me. We’ll ride up toward the Northern Spine, away from all this, and I’ll wandtest you.”

He says it calmly enough, but there’s something in his eyes that brooks no argument. I nod in assent.

Satisfied, Lukas pulls his hood over his head, the carriage door opened for him by one of our guards. He steps out into the rain, turns and extends his hand for me to take.

For a moment I hesitate, afraid to expose myself to the open, but Lukas’s aura of invincibility steadies me. I take his hand and pull my cloak tight against the icy rain.

Lukas steers me through the needling rain toward a wide staircase that leads to an arching doorway. Anticipation lifts my battered spirit.

Rafe. Trystan. Gareth.

They’ll be there, just past the doors.

Lukas pulls the heavy door open for me while he gestures for our driver and the guards to continue on. As our carriage pulls away, I slide into the building’s huge, torch-lit foyer and am quickly cast into confusion and deep alarm.

A large contingent of Gardnerian soldiers, Elfhollen archers and Vu Trin sorceresses swarm around me.

Lukas’s hand clamps tight around my arm as he pulls me backward and whips out his wand.

A sickening metallic scrape tears through the air as the Vu Trin sorceresses unsheath curved, rune-marked swords and the Elfhollen nock arrows, all aimed at Lukas’s head.

“Stand down!”orders one of the Elfhollen, his gray uniform marked with a single blue stripe down the center.

“What’s this?” Lukas demands of a stern-faced Gardnerian soldier whose uniform bears the silver markings of our High Commander—a wide silver band encompassing his upper arms and silver fabric edging the bottom third of his black cloak.

Lachlan Grey. Lukas’s father.

Heart racing, I search the older man’s face for something of Lukas, but can find little resemblance, except in the line of his jaw and his identical, fierce green eyes.

“It appears that Mage Elloren Gardner has never been formally wandtested,” Lachlan Grey informs his son with barely concealed anger.

“That’s not true. I have been tested,” I protest shakily. “My uncle tested me more than once.”

Which I don’t remember. And he lied about formally testing me this past year. A thread of dizzying fear worms through me.

Lukas’s hand tightens around my arm.

The Elfhollen commander steps forward. “She is on Verpacian territory, and I am taking her into custody,” he grinds out to Lachlan Grey, ignoring my protest.

Lukas pulls me a fraction closer.

Lachlan stares the Elfhollen down. “She is a citizen of Gardneria,” he counters. “You have no jurisdiction.”

“She is potentially the greatest weapon in the Western Realm,” the Elfhollen insists.

My mind spins in tumult, my heart hammering.This is impossible. I’m no weapon. I have absolutely no power.

“Tell your son to stand down, Lachlan,” one of the Vu Trin puts in as she enters the foyer, her tone conversational. “You’re outnumbered.”

Lachlan Grey is unmoved. “I insist on bringing her back to Gardneria.”

“Not until she is tested,” the Elfhollen demands. “Right now. Under a joint guard.”

A joint guard? To test...me?I look to Lukas imploringly, his hand still vise-tight around my arm.

Lachlan Grey’s eyes cast around, visibly calculating the chances of successfully taking on so many Elfhollen and Vu Trin. “Stand down, Lukas,” he finally relents.

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