Page 57 of The Shadow Wand

It’s warm and dry in the sprawling tent, a central stove packed with smokeless Verpacian Elm blazing away, but still, I struggle to fight back the onset of a trembling chill.

If Lukas notices my presence, he gives no indication, and I’ve no sense of his vast affinity powers. His fire and earth magic are closed off, and I long to have the same control over my own terrible power.

Emotions storming inside me, I remain at the tent’s outer margin and wait for some signal that I can approach. The other men in the tent mirror Lukas’s disregard of me, averting their eyes to my presence as if they’re doing their best to ignore me completely.

I flex my hands, hyperaware of the fasting marks on them, as my eyes are drawn to the same swirling black lines covering Lukas’s hands. The memory slams into me anew—my hands being forced down by Lukas’s, the priest’s droning words as he recited the fasting spell.

And my uncle.

My beloved uncle Edwin.

Roughed up and imprisoned and essentially murdered by soldiers just like the ones who surround me now. Soldiers who would kill Rafe and Trystan if they could.

Who would kill Yvan.

Inside me swells a hatred of the Gardnerian military that’s impossible to suppress. My gaze darts around, lighting on every wand, every wooden chair, running along the length of the tent’s Mountain Spruce support beams.

I may not have a wand on me,I inwardly seethe,but all I need is a piece of wood. Any shabby piece will do, and I could conjure a fire so great that it would destroy you all.

As I take stock of every last piece of wood in the vicinity, the tent gradually empties until I’m alone at its periphery.

Only a single soldier now stands by Lukas. The young man’s eyes meet mine, and the flash of recognition that fires in his piercing gaze sets me even further on edge. He’s tall and severe looking, his angular features aristocratic, and he has Lukas’s same predatory aura. Also like Lukas, his military garb is edged with the five silver lines of a Level Five Mage.

Lukas signs a few more papers and hands them off to this young man.

“You’re relieved, Thierren,” Lukas says, without bothering to look up as he continues to read through the stack of orders before him.

Thierren gives Lukas a perfunctory bow before he throws another quick, intent look at me. Then he strides toward the exit, studiously not looking at me as he passes by, his cloak flowing behind him as he departs.

Leaving Lukas and me alone in the tent.

I try to will myself to smile and fake pleasantries, but the weight of my anger hollows me out, and that familiar, inescapable Dryad pull to be honest with Lukas takes over. Laid bare by it, I can only stand there, fists clenched, immobilized by a sudden hatred of Lukas that’s so raw it hurts.

Lukas sets down his quill, leans back in his chair, and levels his frigid green eyes at me. “What do you want, Elloren?”

I hate you. I hate you.

I clench and unclench my hands, wanting to strip the fastmarks clear off them. “I’m back to stay.” I force the words out, completely unable to disguise my angry defiance.

Lukas narrows his eyes and makes a sound of derision, then turns his attention once more to the papers before him, signing several, taking his time, as his lips turn up in a mocking grin. “Did the Kelt boy tire of you?”

A flash of rage sends me reeling. I throw up my fasted hands, palms out, the lines still perfectly intact.Proofof my chastity.

Lukas glances up at them and seems unimpressed, but then his eyes meet mine in earnest and his face darkens, a violent flash of anger passing over his features as his Magefire gives a sudden, palpable flare toward me. “I asked you what you wanted,” he says, his tone steel hard.

“I need a place to stay,” I practically spit at him, chastising myself as I do so.

This won’t do. You have to fight this fierce urge to be so honest with him. You’re supposed to be charming him so that you can secure his protection.

I struggle for composure. “I’m...I’m ready to take my place with you.” The words come out thick as boiled-down tree sap. It’s no use. I can’t fight the compulsion to be honest with him in tone now as well as words.

“Commander Grey, I’m sorry to interrupt.”

I turn to find black-cloaked Thierren just inside the entrance, his cloak’s hood rain-streaked over his head. His sharp gaze briefly darts to me. “Lieutenant Browlin has arrived.”

“Show him in,” Lukas orders without looking at me, his Magefire once again contained. “Mage Gardner and I are finished.”

A light-headed swoop overtakes me. “But... Lukas, I...”

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