Page 68 of The Shadow Wand

One of my guards smirks and shoots his bearded cohort a smug look that sets the hairs on the back of my neck on end.

Behind us the carriage pulls away, and its absence leaves a stark void inside me, depriving me of my only avenue of escape. But the wood in my palm gives me some uneasy comfort; it’s only a sliver, but it might as well be a broadsword. Or a hundred broadswords.

Or maybe thousands more.

I follow the crowd toward the huge staircase, keeping my head down and hugging tight to the rail as I ascend, but it’s pointless to try to be inconspicuous when I look like a blaze of red torchlight.

I inadvertently bump into an older woman in an opulent black velvet gown that winks emerald. The woman turns to me with a ready smile that quickly morphs into an expression of complete mortification as she takes in both my famous face and my shockingly red-accented tunic and long-skirt. She whips her elegant head away, clinging to the arm of the Mage beside her as she whispers and he steals a glance at me. This scenario begins to repeat itself as I make my way up the stairs, through the throngs of Mages. Their judgments, not whispered quietly enough, waft backward on the warm night air.

“Carnissa’s own granddaughter! Fought her own fasting!”

“Tried to run off with a Kelt!”

“Family took an evil turn.”

“Vyvian’s disgrace.”

“Brothers ran off with the Lupines!”

“Race traitors!”

“And how she’sdressed.”

“Like a heathen whore!”

Each new comment is like the sting of a whip, hooking my steps. I quickly realize that Fallon isn’t the only one set against me. This entire crowd is hostile.

I have to find Lukas. And fast.

Unsteady, I glance over my shoulder, searching for my guards as the crowd streams up the stairs. I spot them stationed at the foot of the staircase, hands on sword hilts and wand handles, their gazes set on me.

Blocking my exit.

I peer past my guards, past the multitude of carriages, toward a small plaza encircled by the stone forest.

Shock overtakes me.

There’s a statue there, almost identical to the one in front of the Valgard Cathedral, its ivory marble glowing silver in the bright moonlight. The figures are spectral, like two ghosts back from the dead. A larger-than-life depiction of my grandmother, the Black Witch, towers over Yvan’s Icaral father. My grandmother’s wand is pointed at Yvan’s father’s heart, her foot grinding hard into his chest.

A wave of nausea washes over me as I clench my hand around the wooden shard, my power shuddering through my lines as the full gravity of my situation takes hold.

I can’t use this power. Not yet. Not even to protect myself.

I’m surrounded by Mage soldiers. If I make even one mistake and the Gardnerians find out that I’m the Black Witch of Prophecy, it will all be over. They will bring me straight to Vogel, who will stop atnothingto control my power and use me to destroy Yvan and everyone that I love.

No, right now all I can do is survive.

With great reluctance, I extend my fist over the balcony’s edge and open my hand, watching as the wooden shard twirls away to disappear into some ornamental bushes far below.

My power immediately draws down.

There. Temptation gone.

I start back up the stairs, but Sparrow’s hand clenches tight around my arm, halting my ascent.

I turn to her and am instantly alarmed when I take in her stark, dread-filled gaze. She gives a swift glance up and I follow her line of vision up one flight to the second-story balcony.

To the three dark-clad figures standing at its edge.

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