Page 3 of The Princess of Portals

“You really are sixteen going on forty. Here you are taking on all the worries of everyone in the Many Realms, and you’re not even a Knight yet.”

Nevada was right. I did worry about everyone and everything. You could say I had a problem minding my own business. Actually, a lot of people said that about me.

The Apprentices finished loading the last of the crates into the SUVs, and the Watchers drove off. We were about to head off to lunch when…

“Savannah Winters.”

The young woman approaching me couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than I was, but she carried herself like someone much older. There was an air of confidence about her, the kind of confidence that could only be earned through experience. It shone in her eyes, burning bright—and in complete contradiction to her tense shoulders and uneven steps. Something had happened to her. Something bad. Something recent. It had carved a sizable hole in her confidence.

She looked me in the eyes and said, “I need your help. I need to speak with you.” Her gaze flickered to Nevada, then back to me. “Alone.”

Nevada winked at me. “See? By now, everyone in all the Many Realms knows what kind of person you are. You have to solve their problems. You just can’t help yourself, Savannah. You take on all the Hopeless Quests they bring you.”

“That’s what it means to be a Knight.” I glanced at the girl, who had fallen silent, her arms crossed over her chest. She was waiting. “I’ll catch up with you at the Castle later, Nevada.”

“Sure thing, Savannah.” Nevada gave me another wink, then she walked off to join our fellow Apprentices.

The girl watched her leave, her eyes tracking every step. It wasn’t until we were alone that she spoke. “Hello, Savannah Winters. My name is Yara. I need your help. Only you can help me.”

“Why me?”

“You’re the only one I can trust.”

“But you don’t even know me.”

“You’re friends with Violetta. She told me how you helped her find her sister. I was hoping you could do the same for me: help me find someone.”

“Who?”

Yara squeezed her hands together. “My father. I haven’t seen him in over a year.”

“A year? That’s a very long time for someone to be missing. The trail might be cold by now.”

She shook her head. “Not just cold. Dead. He was supposed to be dead. But he’s not.” She pulled a photograph out of her pocket and thrust it into my hands. “This photo was taken just three days ago.”

I glanced down at the picture in my hands. A nondescript man in a nondescript suit stood in the shadow of a building, quiet and unmoving. His companion, on the other hand, was anything but nondescript: a tall woman dressed in a black bodysuit and stiletto boots. She was armed with a crossbow and an assortment of throwing knives.

Even from the photograph, I could tell they were both standing completely still. Waiting. They were waiting for someone, I realized. Or something. And that wasn’t the only thing I realized.

“This was taken here, in the Magic Emporium,” I said.

“Yes,” Yara replied. “My father is alive, and he’s here on Gaia. And I need you to find him.”

CHAPTER 2

CONCERNING VILLAINY

With the photo of the not-dead dead guy in hand, I strolled down Firefly Lane, one of the busiest streets in the Magic Emporium. I’d already scoured two other major shopping streets, chatting up the shop vendors, but to no avail. No one had seen Yara’s father.

I stopped to take a longer, deeper look at the man in the photograph. He seemed friendly but reserved. And smart. Definitely smart. I could see it in his eyes: a quiet intelligence brewing beneath an unassuming front. I could picture him as a professor sitting in a cozy library, surrounded by stacks of books. He did not look like the kind of person capable of spontaneous resurrection. That breed of magic was the domain of the Sorcerers, a supernatural race known for their long cloaks—and their mysterious, often-frightening demeanor.

Ren, Yara’s father, didn’t look like a Sorcerer. He looked like an Alchemist. Alchemists weren’t known for throwing themselves into danger. They preferred to study and observe from the sidelines. Had Ren been drawn into some dark scheme? Had a Sorcerer targeted him, captured him, killed him, and resurrected him? Or had Ren simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time?

I looked Ren’s photographed self in the eyes, and when that yielded no answers, shook the paper gently in my hand. “What happened to you?” I whispered.

The photograph did not indulge me with an answer.

I spent the next hour walking down every busy street in the Magic Emporium, asking anyone and everyone if they’d seen Ren. Finally, after being treated to a few hundred ‘no’s, I turned toward the train station.