Page 189 of The Shadow Wand

A susurrus of uneasy murmuring rises.

Queen Alkaia patiently waits for it to subside, her probing gaze fixed on the girl. “How can this be true?” Queen Alkaia asks. “Two of your Alfsigr sistren stand before and beside you, the Zalyn’or imprinted on both of them. Both of their own minds.”

“Not completely.” Sylmire eyes both Wynter and Ysilldir. “They are not what they appear to be. They are not even whattheythink they are.”

Queen Alkaia’s expression grows severe. “What do you mean, child?”

Sylmire’s fist tightens around the necklace as she raises it a fraction higher. “This necklace doesn’t just impart knowledge of Alfsigr religion and culture. It forcescomplete beliefin the supremacy of those things. And it suppresses all rebellious thoughts, and all physical desire too.” Sylmire’s mouth turns down into a disgusted grimace as she briefly eyes the necklace like it’s a dangerous serpent. “It turns the wearer into an obedient eunuch for the Alfsigr state.”

It’s as if a fire rune has been detonated in the chamber, all the Council members erupting into conversation at once in urgent tones.

Queen Alkaia flips up a hand and waits, her green gaze fixed on Sylmire as everyone grows silent.

“Both Wynter Eirllyn and Ysilldir Illyrindor have escaped Alfsigroth and stand at odds with many of the Alfsigr ways,” Queen Alkaia sharply points out. “How could they dissent if this necklace has the control that you say it does?”

“Only the most rebellious have minds that partially survive.” Sylmire turns to Ysilldir and then Wynter with looks of impassioned concern. “You are ghosts of your true selves. Imprisoned in Shadow runes.”

A stunned, disbelieving shock spears through Wynter.

No.That can’t be true.

The only thing Wynter is sure she’s imprisoned in is her fate as one of the demonic—a DeargdulIcaral beast.

Silver fire ignites in young Sylmire’s eyes. “These two must be some of the most strong-willed people of all the lands. That’s the only way some of their free will has survived the Zalyn’or.”

An outbreak of more troubled murmuring.

Sylmire meets Wynter’s gaze once more. “Your brother, Cael, and his second, Rhys...they’re rebels too. Or they wouldneverhave been able to fight back against the Zalyn’or’s pull. It’s the only reason they were able to break with Alfsigroth and support you like they did, even though the Alfsigr want all Icarals slain.” Sylmire pauses, her bold words turning hesitant, her pale brow tightening with obvious concern. “Wynter... Cael and Rhys were renounced by the Alfsigr Royal Council shortly after they returned to Alfsigroth. Right before I escaped. They were taken into military custody.” She swallows, lapsing into Alfsigr. “It’s likely they’ll be sentenced to the sublands for helping an Icaral to escape capture.”

Wynter gasps, the news a staggering blow straight to the heart. Her beloved older brother, Cael—her protector and unwavering supporter. And kind, gentle Rhys, with his searing intellect and bookish ways, her loyal friend since childhood.

Both of them members of the Alfsigr royal class.

Fear rises at the thought of them being cast into the sublands, where they would be at great risk of being slain by the Smaragdalfar in retribution for the terrible cruelty the Alfsigr have rained down upon the subland Smaragdalfar Elves.

For a moment, Wynter can’t move. She can barely breathe as tears pool in her eyes.

“What this girl says about the Zalyn’or,” Ysilldir interjects, “it cannot be true, my queen.” She glances protectively at Wynter before sweeping her silvered gaze toward Sylmire. “I am a warrior for the Amaz,” she says, raising her sharp white chin. “I left everything behind to escape and come here. Even though I bear the Zalyn’or imprint.”

“Because your free mind isiron strong,” Sylmire doggedly insists, not ceding an inch. “Strong enough for a piece of it to resist control.”

Ysilldir ignores this as she looks to Queen Alkaia. “My queen—I do not see the truth of this—”

“Do you struggle to let go of the Shining Ones?” Sylmire harshly challenges Ysilldir.

Ysilldir freezes, seeming stunned into silence as verses from the Alfsigr holy book swarm through Wynter’s mind and sweep her into a rancid certainty of her own sinful nature—a beast with vile wings. Cast out forever by the Shining Ones.

A Cursed Icaral.

The familiar, irrepressible urge bubbles up...

Atone. Atone. Atone.

“Does the fear that you are cast out of the One True Faith give you nightmares?” Sylmire presses Ysilldir, and Wynter feels the truth of Sylmire’s words straight through to her bones, her own sleep plagued by nightmares where she’s cast out by the Shining Ones’ light and into the Evil Abyss under the surface of the world.

Atone. Atone. Atone.

Ysilldir’s silver eyes are riveted on Sylmire, her expression stark, as if this young Alfsigr girl is peering straight into Ysilldir’s very soul.

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