“You know what I mean. I want a Living Wand. I just don’t want one like…”
He stared at Syarthis.
And, so it always seemed, even clutched in Hanna’s hand, Syarthis stared back.
A reel of emotions flickered across Hanna’s face. She reluctantly slid her wand into the sheath clipped to her trousers, and the radiating, humid heat of its power diminished. “I get it. Really, I do. But can’t you see you’re lying to yourself? You’re one of the most extraordinary students in your class, even if you’ve convinced everyone otherwise. You can barely cast a single spell without obliterating your training wands.Look.”
In the shock of the guard’s appearance, Domenic hadn’t noticed that his training wand had snapped clean in half, its tip on the ground beside Hanna’s boots. He hastily scooped it up and stowed the broken scraps in his pocket. His fingers grazed flowers, still fresh.
“Stop andlistento me,” Hanna pleaded, making him still. “Winter keeps getting worse year after year. All your classmates, they might be—I don’t know—clinging to some delusional sense of security, butI’mthere in the Council meetings.I’veseen history firsthand in Syarthis’s Archives. And I know what’s coming.”
There was nothing Alderland feared more than Winter.
Though Summer reigned most of the year, for six brutal weeks, Winter raged, razing towns and claiming hundreds of lives. Even after it ended, to open a window at night was to invite its monsters. To shiver was a sign of bad luck.
It was the duty of magicians to protect the nation. But everycentury or so, the Winters worsened beyond the capabilities of the Order, triggering a singular existential disaster—a cataclysm. And thus the greatest of the Living Wands would thaw from its icy slumber to Choose a champion to subdue Winter once more.
“Valmordion,” Domenic croaked. “You really… You really think it’ll wake soon?”
A faraway look shrouded Hanna’s eyes. She was here and yet she wasn’t, reliving some memory that had never been hers.
“Given every cataclysm Syarthis and I have seen,” she murmured, “I’m surprised Valmordion hasn’t awoken already.”
Chills swept down Domenic’s spine. “And what does that have to do with me?”
“With the power of a Living Wand, you’d be safe—as safe as any of us can hope to be, at least. But Iseul and I, we also want you to behappy. Because the boy I knew in Danmere? He never shut up about all the amazing things he was going to do. He wanted to be a great magician. He wanted to be a hero.”
That was a long time ago,Domenic wanted to say, but couldn’t.That was before.
“I’ll admit coming here was drastic,” she continued, “but I’m not just doing this for you. The two of us—we promised to join the Order together. And yeah, I bonded with Syarthis young, but it’s beenfive years. I didn’t think I’d have to wait for you this long. I thought if you saw the wands… If you really let yourself imagine what you could have… Maybe I wouldn’t have to do this all alone.” Tears shone in her eyes as she nodded down the hallway. Domenic couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her cry. “The Vault is right around the corner. So will you go with me? Please?”
Domenic grappled with the impossible decision: to disappoint her now, or later. Because even if Hanna’s words were true, deep down, he knew nothing would come of tonight. He was broken in a way that couldn’t be fixed.
“Sure,” he said weakly. “I’ll go.”
This way, when she realized he’d failed her again, he wouldn’t have to see it.
They stepped over the incapacitated guard and rounded the corner, where an archway opened into a silent, vast chamber.
Even peering in, Domenic sensed something ancient about this place, so different from the flashing lights and bustle of the outside world. Sinewy branches had wheedled between the grooves of the stone walls. What few buds sprouted from them, so distant from the surface, reached toward the wands like paupers’ hands.
Warmth seeped across Domenic’s skin as though cast by sunlight. Living Wands were regarded as instruments of Summer, yet in all his years at the Citadel, never had he felt as much magic as he did in this room.
Hanna held out her hand. An invitation. A plea.
He grasped it.
Together, they wove through the aisles, each labeled with a golden plaque and sheathed in glass. Every Living Wand in Alderland had a place here. And though, as Hanna said, no Living Wand was truly weak, the lesser wands were kept to the front. Domenic’s gaze skimmed across empty shelves and locked on a candle several paces ahead, marking an occupied case.
Etheralis, a wand of enchantment, the most common class of magic. Its previous wielder had died only a few months back, so it had yet to develop any signs of neglect. Among the Order, it was considered a personable wand with a flair for whimsy and wonder; its poplar shaft even coiled like a corkscrew. With a pang, Domenic wondered if Etheralis might’ve once suited him. It certainly didn’t now.
In the next row was Praxis, a low-grade corporeal wand. Domenic had tried and failed to bond with it last term. Only two years had passed since its previous wielder had died, and already its unique signs of neglect had begun to show; its normallybeige cedar wood had yellowed, and a single leaf had sprouted from its dagger-sharp tip. Practical and reliable, it favored magicians with a proclivity toward discipline, so Domenic wasn’t surprised it thought little of him, even if the rejection had stung.
“What are you thinking?” Hanna whispered.
That this isn’t helping,he thought.It hurts.
“I’m rehearsing my testimony for when we get caught.”
