Page 10 of The Shadow Wand

Vyvian glances at her own neat stack of papers, the Council’sMseal marking the top of each page. Lantern light flickers over her painstakingly put-together lists of the invaders recently uncovered on Gardnerian soil—glamoured Fae, Fae-blooded, Urisk escapees from the Fae Islands and a host of other Evil Ones bent on corrupting the sacred Magedom. All of these invaders blessedly apprehended by the Mage Guard and shipped off to the Pyrran Islands.

Much of this purification of Mage lands has been overseen by Vyvian herself.

She pulls in a discreet, steadying breath, confident that her reports are perfectly in order and that High Mage Vogel will be quite pleased with her tireless efforts.

But still, she can’t shake the ever-present unease that now lives underneath her skin and heightens her desire to prove herself worthy to the shining star that is Vogel. To hold on to her newly tenuous Council seat, Vyvian knows she must prove herself perfectly loyal and devout, distinct from the reviled, traitorous members of her own family—her corrupted brother and nephews as well as her unexpectedly rebellious niece, who’s run off to Ancient One knows where.

Not even Elloren’s fastmate, Lukas Grey, seems to know where the wretched girl is.

The thread of unease inside Vyvian tightens and heats to anger.I’ll find you, Elloren. And when I do...

“Let us begin, Mages,” Vogel says, his pale green gaze as piercing as a hawk’s, his long fingers resting on the dark gray wand he’s set on the table before him.

Vyvian thrills to the sound of Vogel’s silken voice, her anger brushed aside as she’s caught up in her visceral awareness of his power unfurling throughout the room.

Vogel is silent for a long moment as his fervid gaze simmers with portent. “A male Icaral has been found in the Noi lands.”

The words strike the room like a hammer. Exclamations of stunned outrage erupt as Vyvian is swept up in the communal, shocked dismay. Vogel remains still as death as the chamber eventually quiets and settles into an excruciating moment of suspense, all eyes fixed on Vogel.

“Where?” The breathy question escapes from Vyvian before she can bite it back, caution overridden by how stunned she is that Sage Gaffney’s demon-baby is not the only male Icaral that still lives.

Vogel sets his probing gaze on Vyvian, and she feels that gaze clear down her spine, the air practically humming with Vogel’s magic, her weak earthlines straining toward it.

“Our spies have located the Icaral inside the Vu Trin military’s Oonlon base.” Vogel’s words are sinuous as they work their way through Vyvian. “The demon Icaral is a Kelt...and he is the son of the Icaral who killed our beloved Carnissa Gardner.” Exclamations of outrage burst forth in the room as Vogel’s gaze on Vyvian sharpens. “The name he’s been going by is Yvan Guriel.”

A harder shock explodes through Vyvian as the room breaks into angry murmuring.

Yvan Guriel. The Kelt who was in bed with Elloren.

He’s an Icaral.

“The Icaral of Prophecy,” Vyvian rasps, almost unable to breathe. Unable to move. Feeling as if the ground is giving way beneath her. The Icaral of Prophecy is not Sage Gaffney’s baby after all, but the cursed son of Valentin Guryev—the very same Icaral demon who killed Mother.

Not Yvan Guriel at all.

But Yvan Guryev.

Rattled beyond measure, Vyvian struggles to hold Vogel’s piercing stare. His gaze narrows intently on her as fear winds tightly around her gut and a desperate resolve coalesces—no one can ever know that Elloren was found with Valentin Guryev’s demonic son.

“He must be slain immediately,” Mage Greer insists to Vogel, his tone brusque.

Vogel’s penetrating gaze slides toward the pair of Level Five Mage Guards who bracket the chamber’s Ironwood doors. “Send in Mavrik Glass,” he directs.

The guards open the doors, and a tall, rather dashing young Level Five Mage strides into the chamber, his dark cloak flowing behind him. He’s elegantly handsome, his movements fluid, his hand curled around the handle of the mahogany wand that’s sheathed at his side. Three more wands fashioned from a variety of woods are sheathed at his other hip, and two more against his upper arm.

“Wandmaster Glass,” Vogel says, a shrewd smile forming on his lips, “show the Council what we’ve requisitioned from the Vu Trin.”

Mage Glass smirks knowingly at Vogel, reaches into his tunic’s pocket, and places a series of six onyx lumenstone discs on the circular table. Identical sapphire Noi runes mark each stone and send up a gauzy sapphire light.

Vyvian pulls in a surprised breath. “Are they Noi portal stones?” she asks, looking to Vogel.

“They are,” he affirms.

An uncomfortable fidgeting kicks up in the room, expressions of stark confusion that Vyvian mirrors passed around. The use of heathen sorcery is flatly forbidden byTheBook of the Ancients.

Mage Greer draws back from the stones, his black-bearded face tightening with abhorrence. “Noi sorcery is polluted magic.”

“We can’t risk mixing this magic with ours,” elderly Mage Snowden chimes in, the white-haired man seeming overcome by indignation.

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