Page 132 of The Shadow Wand

I tighten my brow in question. “What does that rune do?”

Lukas rises and turns to me. “Holds the barrier magic. At least until we’re gone.” He glances up at the ceiling’s lingering blue shimmer. Seeming satisfied with his work, he sets his rune wand down beside the box of rune stones. “I’ve broken down their magery.” He cocks a brow at me. “Someonehad a Light Mage set up echo runes in my bedroom.”

“What are those?”

“They absorb sound and allow its echo to be accessed at a later time. Tricky magic. The runes take months for a Light Mage to build and can be used only once.”

Comprehension lights. “Did Vogel have them placed to listen in on us?”

“I suspect so,” Lukas somberly concurs, apparent disgust tightening his features. “And, perhaps, to hear all that transpires between us this night.” Revulsion surges in me as Lukas gives me a poignant look. “I, for one, would prefer that everything that happens between us remainsprivate.”

“Does this mean they brought the Council’s Light Mage here?”

“Yes, Elloren,” Lukas grimly answers. “It also means that Vogel thinks you’re important enough to spend complex runic magery on. So he can anticipate your next move.”

His use ofyourinstead ofourcatches troubling hold.

“You think Vogel has figured out what I am?” I murmur.

“Perhaps,” comes Lukas’s unvarnished reply.

“Why hasn’t he confronted me, then?” I challenge.

“Because he’s a religious zealot, above all else.” Lukas’s lips tighten with derision. “It says right inTheBook of the Ancientsthat no new spells are to be cast from the time of Sealing until the Blessing of Dominion. And I don’t think Vogel realized what you are until he cast the Sealing spell.”

Fear makes a harder play for me, and I force a wavering breath, struggling to not let it pull me under.

“Lukas,” I say, my voice constricting, “how are we going to get past so many soldiers? Vogel’s got an army of Level Five Mages surrounding this estate. And dragons too.”

Lukas gives me a predatory look. “When they see our changed fastlines tomorrow morning, their defenses will be down.” His gaze darkens. “Ours won’t.”

“But how can we possibly outrun them? Will the Blessing of Dominion give us enough time?”

Lukas takes a step toward me, a lethal glint in his eyes. “We’ll be allowed the open-ended solitary time in the woods thatThe Book of the Ancientsdemands during the Blessing. Vogel is fanatical about following theBookto the letter. That’s his weak spot, and we’re going to take full advantage of it. We’ll gain a lead on them and take to the high ground.”

I shake my head in desperate refute. “They’ve gotdragons. Our odds are not good.”

Lukas draws closer and gently touches my arm, a pulse of his warmth rippling through my lines. “Elloren,” he says, his voice low and emphatic, “do you trust me?”

Pressing back my haze of fear, I glance around the room at all the unexpected rune stones and take in Lukas’s creative melding of magical systems, my confidence in him reinforced. I know he wouldn’t have brought us both down this path if he didn’t truly believe we have a real chance of escape.

Our eyes meet, and Lukas gives me a slight smile, his green gaze warm and full of resolve.

“I trust you,” I tell him.

He sends a caress of earth magery around my lines. “Good,” he says, and I’m overwhelmed by the level of emotion in his eyes.

I look away, eager to distract myself from thoughts of what tomorrow could bring, focusing instead on the fine craftsmanship of everything in Lukas’s bedroom. It’s all fashioned in midnight black and forest greens, with a sizable library built into one wall. A fire roars in the fireplace, which faces the foot of a very large bed.

I swallow at the sight of the bed, a dart of nerves tingling through me.

It’s made up with elegant coverings—a dark green quilt with an intricate fabric depiction of a River Maple, midnight-black sheets underneath. There’s a forest green canopy held aloft by ebony branches, sanded and worked in beeswax until they gleam.

Two side tables bracket the bed, stained-glass lamps set on them with Ironwood stands carved into the shape of tree trunks, their glass lampshades a gorgeous canopy of leaves. A black-velvet-cushioned mahogany chair faces one side of the bed, and an artfully woven rug lies beneath my feet, green vines on black. The intricacy of the weaving brings to mind the North Tower tapestries that Wynter fashioned, and a small ache gathers in my chest.

Where are you now, Wynter? Are you still in Amaz lands?

Please don’t be lost to me like Yvan.

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