“Make better choices, maybe.”
“What, like going to bed at eight instead of nine?” Julian nudged her with his elbow. “Someone has to stop you from being so ruthlessly sensible.”
“And someone has to stopyoubefore your ego makes your head explode.”
The child of a brilliant doctor and a prestigious lawyer, Julian Norwood had never doubted his fate was anything less than grand. His lean, muscular frame contained an almost electric energy, his elegant, light brown hands constantly in motion,his eyes dark and glimmering with intensity. He was the last to leave a party and the first to answer a question in class. He liked his coffee boiling hot and his showers freezing cold. Once, he’d broken his own arm just to see if he could heal it correctly.
He hated nothing more than failure. And he wanted nothing more than a Living Wand.
But Ellery didn’t just want a Living Wand. Sheneededone. And after so many disappointments, she could no longer afford to let any remotely suitable wand pass her by.
“Iberiad built Portmere,” Julian pressed. “It constructed the Gallamere subway.”
“Yeah, and the Red Line’s been closed for ‘construction’ since I moved here.”
“El, I get why you’d be nervous to wait for a wand. Half our class has either graduated or had their window close. But every wand in the Vault is waiting for a magician likeyou. Someone powerful, someone disciplined, someone well-rounded. You’ve got your pick, so why pick something mediocre?”
Ellery chewed on her lower lip. She hated letting people down, especially him.
“I suppose the subway could use my help.” She slid her training wand from its sheath and focused on the panel for Iberiad’s vigil. The panel glowed, indicating that her submission had been received. Vigil sign-ups were anonymous; none of her classmates, not even Julian, knew how many she’d attended. Ellery was determined to keep it that way.
“You think you can single-handedly fix the subway?” he teased. “So youdohave an ego.”
Ellery snorted, tucked her wand away, then strode alongside Julian through the recently renovated students’ lounge.
To be accepted at the Order’s academy was an incredible honor. The Living Wands, unique to any other country in the world, represented Alderland’s greatest source of national pride.The magicians who wielded them had penned a long history of Aldrish prosperity and independence.
Although the Order didn’t actually govern the country, it was a public institution, and it collaborated closely with Parliament while maintaining its own autonomy and traditions. And those traditions held strong. While the rest of the world embraced technological innovation, Alderland still idolized magic, still ardently harbored old superstitions. Only in recent years had that finally begun to change.
Even the Citadel, the very heart of the Order, had begun to modernize. Old wooden tables now stood interspersed with fresh furniture, the crumbling ceiling replaced by a giant skylight. Intricate panes of glass crisscrossed by metal beams allowed sunlight to flood the space.
Some at the Order derided the break from tradition. For a thousand years, Alderland had shaped itself around magicians, not the other way around. But the trappings of modern life thrilled Ellery, the convenience of automobiles and telephones, the spectacles of skyscrapers and movies.
In the lounge’s corner, a small alcove made the perfect spot for the Order’s favorite prospective magicians to hold court. Ellery sank into an upholstered chair whose feet periodically tapped against the floor, as if impatient. Its plush blue cushions never ripped or sagged, despite its frequent usage. Julian flicked his training wand, and another chair skidded over to join Ellery’s. His student lapel pin of the Order insignia, an alban tree, glowed gold at the use of magic.
“I just wish I didn’t have to wait so long,” he complained as he sat beside her. “Belixor’s vigil isn’t until halfway through next Summer.”
“Youcould go for Iberiad,” Ellery pointed out.
“No, I can’t.” Before Julian had ever held a wand, he’d dreamed of wielding a scalpel. Now his heart was set on both.His mother was a surgeon whose operation techniques had saved thousands of lives. If he bonded with Belixor and gained access to its corporeal magic, he could expand her work, training as both a healer and a doctor.
“You’re really not worried about your window closing?” Ellery asked.
Magicians had a short period of time to pair with a Living Wand, a few precious years when they were strong enough to wield such a powerful instrument, but young enough that their magic could still adapt to bond to it. By twenty-one, that window was almost always closed. Ellery, at nearly nineteen, already felt the pressure. If she failed to secure a Living Wand, she’d spend the rest of her life as a hedge magician, only able to use training wands and ineligible for Order membership.
She touched the pin on her own lapel. If it stopped glowing when she used magic, her window would be shut, her chance at a Living Wand gone.
“It won’t happen,” Julian said. “And I know how I sound. I really do. I just… I know I’m meant for a powerful corporeal wand.”
“Julian. Are you seriously about to invokedestiny?” Ellery failed to say the word lightheartedly.
Julian leaned forward, his voice fervent, his gaze distant, as though fixed on something she couldn’t see. “So what if I am? You’re telling me you never think about yours?”
Only one out of every hundred people in Alderland had magic. Science claimed their occurrence to be random, with no correlation to region, family, or circumstance. But Aldrish culture believed otherwise—that to bond with a Living Wand was to assume a destiny.
She shrugged. “All the Wands ultimately have the same destiny, don’t they? A duty to serve the country.”
Julian examined her carefully. “Sure, but some destinies arestill greater than others. And everyone else thinks your destiny must be—”
