Page 190 of The Shadow Wand

“And the Zalyn’or doesn’t just control them by controlling religious belief,” Sylmire tells Queen Alkaia. “It controls by removing romantic urges, as well.” She looks once more to Ysilldir. “Do you wonder at your complete lack of desire for anyone?”

“There are many who feel no desire,” Ysilldir counters, clearly rattled. “It is normal for some—”

“Not for an entire country.” Sylmire cuts her off. She turns to Wynter. “Did you ever see your brother, Cael, yearn for anyone? Or Rhys?”

“There are many, many Alfsigr,” Queen Alkaia counters with some impatience. “Clearly there is desire among them.”

“Only when the Alfsigr Royal Council and the priestesses allow it,” Sylmire argues. “The Council’s rune mage lifts a portion of the Zalyn’or’s power only when they grant a couple the right to conceive a child. And they lift the Zalyn’or’s rune power for only one day.”

Wynter considers this through her haze of misery and worry for Cael and Rhys. And her reflexive desire to draw sharply away from everything Sylmire is saying.

Mind control.

Wynter tightens her frail shoulders and forces herself to face these ideas head-on, even as every emotion inside her revolts against the subversive thoughts.

Yes, it’s true that Cael and Rhys and Ysilldir and she, herself, never seem to have felt that spark of desire or romantic love that almost all of the non-Alfsigr around them seem to fall into. Wynter has always supposed that the Alfsigr were simply different that way. Refined and removed from such messy, turbulent feelings.

But what if it’s because huge swaths of their thoughts and desires have been suppressed?

Wynter’s hand reflexively rises toward the Zalyn’or imprint on her chest, just below her purple Amaz tunic’s fabric. Purple that she struggles to wear—all clothes that aren’t Alfsigr clothing seemingwrong.

“They forced one of those necklaces on my sister a year ago,” Sylmire tells Queen Alkaia, her mouth drawing down in a trembling grimace. “And shechanged. She’s like a ghost of herself now. Like she’s all chained up inside. I’ve spent over a year trying to save her, sneaking into the Alfsigr Royal Council and Guild halls. Looking through their secret archives. And I’ve found outthings.”

“What things?” Queen Alkaia prompts.

“The Alfsigr Priestess class got hold of Deargdul’thil runes during the Elfin Wars, when the nations of Erthia rose up against the power of the Deargdul’thil demons and their Shadow Stylus. The priestesses knew that this was wicked sorcery, but felt that they, as the bearers of the One True Faith, had the power to wield it for ‘the good.’” Sylmire’s lips twist with derision. “They used it to create the Zalyn’or and force obedience to our faith and our culture and our Council hierarchy. And so we have grown strong and imprisoned the Smaragdalfar Elves without any effective dissent, their labors making us rich.

“But now the Alfsigr Royal Council and the priestess class are worried. There’s talk that Marcus Vogel has obtained the primordial Shadow tool that was used during the Elfin Wars and that he’s wielding it as a Shadow Wand. Which could make it possible for him to create his own Zalyn’or spells.” Sylmire glances at each Council member in turn. “Which could make it possible for him to control the minds of everyone imprinted with the Zalyn’or necklace. Eventually imprisoning everyone in every Realm inside his vision of Gardnerian supremacy and placing two armies under his control.”

A tense silence descends.

Wynter’s eyes meet Ysilldir’s, the Elfin warrior mirroring her look of concern, and Wynter realizes in another terrible flash that what Sylmire is telling them has a deep ring of truth to it. And that both she and Ysilldir might actually be imprisoned by the Zalyn’or andrendered mere specks of themselves.

Mind controlled.

“We have tried to lift this Zalyn’orfrom Ysilldir’s skin to study its runes,” Queen Alkaia says carefully, as if the full ramifications are settling into her mind. “All our rune sorceresses working together could not lift this runic mark.”

Sylmire returns the queen’s piercing stare without flinching. “Only an Alfsigr rune sorcerer can remove this mark. It is set into the spell. And there are only two of them in all the lands.”

Queen Alkaia’s mouth twitches into a grim smile. “Do you propose, then, that we request the aid of the Alfsigr Royal Council’s rune sorcerer in this task?”

“No,” Sylmire sharply returns. “Seek the aid of my cousin, Rivyr’el Talonir. The only other Alfisgr rune sorcerer. He may be the only one who can save those marked with the Zalyn’or.”

Sounds of outrage rise all around.

Queen Alkaia’s expression has become a locked door. “He is male.”

Sylmire’s star-eyes ignite. “He has removed his own Zalyn’or and set himself against the Alfsigr! He has fled East to align himself with the Noi Wyvernguard! He can break these runes! Hemustbreak these runes!”

Queen Alkaia’s expression tightens, her green eyes narrowing. “He is a male. And as such, an abomination. We cannot fight an abomination with an abomination. We would lose the Goddess’s favor. We must find another way.” She grows silent again as she studies a frustrated-looking Sylmire. “Sylmire Talonir,” the queen finally says, “it is of extreme importance to find out if what you say is true, beyond the shadow of all doubt.”

Sylmire boldly holds the queen’s stare, her jaw set stubbornly tight. “The proof stands before you and beside you.” She looks to Ysilldir. “Ysilldir Illyrindor—do you struggle against the idea that everything that is non-Alfsigr is corrupted and impure and evil?”

Ysilldir winces as every set of eyes moves to her, the Alfsigr warrior clearly battling against this airing of her own oppressive thoughts. “I...I always assumed it would take time,” she stammers, “to break through the lies I had been taught by the Alfsigr...”

Sylmire levels her gaze on Wynter, a pained compassion softening her hard look. “Wynter Eirllyn, do you see yourself as the worst of demons, even though I have never seen you do a single unkind thing?”

A storm of emotional pain wells up inside Wynter, threatening to choke her into oblivion.

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