Page 113 of The Shadow Wand

“And the rest of the family?” I press.

She gives a subtle wince, the line of her mouth tensing. “Evelyn Grey is unkind and so is her fastmate. But Lukas’s brother...he’s a particular problem. His...attentions...are hard to avoid.” Her meaning is clear from the pained disgust that tightens her gaze and the outrage inflecting her tone.

I remember Silvern Grey’s haughty, unforgiving air as righteous anger flares inside me. “Sparrow...”

She shakes her head, as if forcing my concern away. “We’re leaving in time,” she says, her lip suddenly quivering, and it pierces me, this glimpse of her pain. She shakes her head again, grimacing. “Silvern...tried to go after me this morning.” She takes in my look of horrified distress, her own expression one of lingering revulsion. “It’s good we’re leaving. If I stayed here much longer, I would have to get Lukas involved to keep his brother away from me, and that would...complicate things.”

I nod grimly, clear that the stakes are higher for Sparrow than I comprehended. Yes, I’m about to bind myself in every way to Lukas Grey so that we can slip past the Holy Magedom tomorrow morn and flee from this dangerous place. But this course of action means escape for Effrey and Sparrow and Aislinn too.

Escape from this whole sordid, twisted society.

The perfect, pious Holy Magedom.

My firelines simmer hot as I cradle my teacup, the trembling in my hands now gone. I don’t know how Lukas is going to get Aislinn out, but I trust him at his word. And I trust that he’ll try to get Sparrow and Effrey out, as well.

“How did you get here?” I ask Sparrow, wondering why she’s not still employed by the dress shop.

Her gaze turns flinty. “Fallon Bane sensed rebellion in me. That day you came to Mage Florel’s shop and defied Fallon, I smirked. She noticed. And then, I worked on your dress.”

A light-headed rush sweeps over me as I remember that day when I insisted on Mage Florel using a fabric for my dress that Fallon had laid claim to.

“Ancient One,” I breathe, swamped with remorse. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sparrow sharply insists. “It was all Fallon’s doing. She drove Mage Florel out of business and indentured Effrey and me. Then she had us shipped to the Fae Islands. A few months later, Effrey and I escaped by boat.”

Great Ancient One, I think.By boat?The Voltic Sea is notorious for its dangerous, unpredictable currents. Not to mention the occasional kraken. I try to imagine Sparrow and gentle little Effrey clinging to a flimsy boat, lashed by a cold current, risking their lives to escape the Fae Islands.

“Tell me what it was like,” I say. “On the Fae Islands. If you’re able to.”

I want to know the truth. The full truth about where the expensive silks of my Sealing dress were made. Where much of the food I’m eating has been grown. I know there are vast stretches of factories and farms on the Fae Islands. And the Gardnerians paint a glowing picture of these faraway endeavors—the Urisk kept busy and blessedly productive as they serve the benevolent Holy Magedom.

“Please,” I press. “Tell me the truth of it.”

Sparrow stares at me, as if sizing me up. Then she sets her tea aside, folds her hands together in her lap...and tells me her full and unabashedly ugly story.

Later that evening, I’m standing in front of my reflection, this time before a long, gilded mirror in the opulent changing room just off my bedroom’s side, the entrancing scent of the Ironflower perfume I’ve been dabbed with gracing the air. Veins of lightning periodically fork across the room’s small window, the storm continuing to hold off.

Aunt Vyvian and Mage Zinya Blythe, Evelyn Grey’s white-haired dressmaker, look me over with icy appraisal, their glacial stares reflected back to me in the mirror.

My aunt looks like a star-dusted night.

She’s changed into a glittering affair of midnight velvet decorated with the familiar Gardnerian constellations formed from diamonds, the star patterns echoing stories from our holy book. And diamond jewelry set into the shape of the Galliana’s Raven constellation, which resembles a bird spreading its wings if you connect the stars, graces my aunt’s ears and neck.

I set my gaze back on myself in the full-length mirror and take in the elegant, lethal creature before me.

My hair is splashed with a sparkling riot of emerald leaves, a wreath of gem foliage gracing my brow, the bruising on my face and neck gone from the Arnican tonic that’s been provided for me.

And my Sealing tunic and long-skirt...

They’re perfectly fitted, and all deep forest greens, this much color allowed only for Sealing ceremonies, the verdant Sealing color meant to highlight and enhance the deep-green shimmer of Mage skin, the so-called mark of the Ancient One’s favor upon us. Embroidered, emerald-dusted leaves swirl over me, my tunic tied snugly back and laced with a black silk ribbon. My eyes are heavily lined with black kohl, my lips and eyelids and nails painted dark green.

The overall effect is riveting. Severe and powerful and beautiful.

And the Wand of Myth is tucked under my skirts, wrapped in its cloth and pushed into my emerald lace stocking, snug against the side of my right thigh, my wand hand itching to take hold of it.

“You’re lovely,” Aunt Vyvian says, seeming momentarily overcome in spite of herself. And I note that the dressmaker seems a bit drawn in by me as well, her frosty green eyes softening in appreciation.

A feeling of surrealness washes over me as I stare back at myself and remember the last time I was transformed by Aunt Vyvian and made to look like my powerful grandmother.

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