“The Icarals that tried to kill me in Valgard thought that I was the next Black Witch,” I say. “And that I was sent to kill Sage’s baby.”
“But it turns out Ren here can’t even do a simple candle-lighting spell,” Trystan tells Yvan. “So, as much as she loves to stalk babies so she can mercilessly slaughter them, she’ll have to pass on this one.”
“He already knows how pathetic I am,” I tell Trystan, a little defensively.
“I don’t think you’re pathetic at all,” Yvan says, his voice low and even.
I blink, momentarily disoriented by his defense of me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Trystan and Rafe exchanging a quick, wondering glance. It makes me feel uncomfortably self-conscious, and I quickly look away from Yvan.
“Trystan,” Rafe says congenially, thankfully changing the subject, “you get hold of some of those arrow tips, and Elloren, you can fetch that wand of yours.”
Trystan shakes his head. “Even if Ren’s wand is powerful, it might take high-level spells to break Elfin steel. Spells I don’t have access to.”
“Aislinn can get those,” I confess.
They all gape at me, wide-eyed.
I turn sheepish and slump down under the combined weight of their stares. “Maybe, I mean. She’s going to borrow a military grimoire from her father.”
Rafe barks out a laugh. “Well, that’s settled, then. We have a wand, we’re soon to have a military grimoire—” he motions to Trystan “—and we’ve got our Level Five Mage here. Might as well see if we can tackle this cage.”
“Does this mean you and Trystan will help us rescue the dragon?” I ask, astonished.
Rafe grins at me widely. “Certainly looks that way, doesn’t it?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Elfin Steel
“I don’t even know where to begin,” Trystan comments as he stands making neat slicing motions in the air with the white wand. The Elfin steel arrow tip is propped up on a tree stump a few feet away. “I’ve been learning spells to magic Gardnerian weapons, and that’s about it.”
We’re in a secluded clearing in the wilds, about a half hour’s walk from the University. We’ve all found it quite easily, starting at the edge of the field by the horse stables and walking straight toward a towering, vertical shard of salt-white Spine stone.
The morning sunlight cuts through the trees around us, our breath fogging the cool air. I look around warily, feeling as if the trees are pulling away, whispering about me on the wind. I take a seat on a moss-covered rock and pull my cloak tight to fight off the stiff chill. Yvan is leaning against a tree, facing me, his expression wary and watchful, his eyes always coming back to me.
He seems immune to the cold. I never see him wearing a cloak, but he’s always so warm—heat practically radiating off his body the few times I’ve been close to him, brushed his fingers, placed my hand on his arm...
Yvan’s eyes meet mine, and heat flares between us. I flush and glance away.
Rafe is flipping through the same type of grimoire that was handed to me for my wandtesting, the volume chock-full of basic spells. Diana sits on a long log next to him, her arms crossed, a determined expression on her face. Jarod quietly watches Trystan play with the wand.
Andras sits, sharpening his rather scary, rune-marked silver labrys—the usual weapon of choice for the Amaz. It’s a huge weapon, able to deflect magic as well as split skulls, with the two axes attached to its long handle. Andras rubs a sharpening stone over the cutting edge of one side, a thin, rhythmic screech sounding from his steady, circular motion.
Yvan steps forward from the tree, his hands on his hips. “Why do you want to help me free this dragon?” He glances around at everyone. “I’m not even sure it can be done. And even if it can—”
“This is a dangerous idea,” Andras puts in flatly, setting the sharpening stone aside. “I do not know if I can be part of such a thing.” He gestures with his broad chin toward the arrowhead. “But I will help you try to break this steel. There will come a time when dragonflight east could help many.” He sets his dark eyes on Yvan. “And my people despise the caging of wild things.” He’s silent for a moment. “I have always wanted to see an unbroken dragon. I have heard they are magnificent.”
“They are,” Yvan confirms with an edge of emotion in his voice.
“I will take a look at your dragon, Kelt,” Andras tells Yvan. “And then I will decide if I will help the beast.”
Yvan gives Andras a somber nod, then looks to Diana.
“Jarod and I also despise the caging of wild animals,” Diana states vehemently, her arms crossed tight. “All Lupines do.” She nods in my direction. “And Elloren Gardner asked for our help. So we will help you free your dragon, Yvan Guriel.”
“And you, Rafe?” Yvan asks. “Why would you go against your own people?”
Rafe bares his teeth in a wide smile. “Oh, I don’t know, Yvan. Because Marcus Vogel’s a jackass, and the Gardnerians are really beginning to piss me off. What about you, Trystan?”
Trystan is only half paying attention to all of us as he focuses intently on the wand and slices it through the air in small swirls. “They’re a bit self-righteous, yes,” he comments absently.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing them with one less military dragon,” Rafe goes on.
“You never know when a military dragon might come in handy,” Trystan agrees.
Rafe laughs. “That’s quite true.”
“I’ll start with the weakest fire spell I know and work my way up,” Trystan announces as he points the wand out in front of him, his other hand curled over his head gracefully.
“What? The candle-lighting one?” Rafe wonders.
“That would be the one,” Trystan replies.
“Illiumin...” Trystan recites the words of the spell by rote. He flicks the wand in the direction of the steel.
A sharp, orange flash flies from the tip of the white wand and knocks Trystan backward with its force. I flinch sharply back, almost falling off the rock as the flash collides with the Elfin arrow tip and turns the entire log it rests on into a ball of churning flames.
Rafe’s eyes have flown open wide. “That was the candle-lighting spell?”
Trystan nods, his mouth agape.
“Hell of a wand you got there, Ren,” Rafe says.
I stare at the flames, stunned. A fantastical idea flashes into my mind—wouldn’t it be incredible if Sage’s wand actually was the true White Wand of legend? The thought is so outrageously impossible, it almost makes me smile.
It may not be the White Wand, I relent, but I’m glad it’s a better than average wand.
“Did it do anything to the arrow tip?” I get up, walk over to the flames and peer in.
“You can’t melt it,” Yvan says patiently, not moving from where he stands. “If dragon fire can’t melt it, your brother certainly can’t.”
Sure enough, the arrow tip is unharmed and unmarked.
“Perhaps we can break it,” Andras suggests, getting up and grabbing his labrys. He takes the tip, places it on another stump, raises his weapon high above his head and brings it down onto the arrow with a deafening clang that leaves my ears ringing.
Again, the arrow tip remains unbroken and unblemished, albeit slightly recessed into the wood. Andras’s labrys, on the other hand, has a large crack in one of the ax heads.
“Amazing,” Andras says as he examines the labrys. He glances over at the arrow tip with no small amount of awe. “I do not think this Elfin Steel can be broken.”
“We shall see,” says Diana, irritated. She walks over to the arrowhead and glares at it as if it’s purposely defying her. She focuses in, puts one foot in front of the other and goes into a slight crouch, then in a fast, graceful arc, she swings her hand over her head and down onto the arrowhead.
The stump splits into multiple pieces with an earsplitting crack.
But, again, the arrowhead lies whole and untouched on top of the mess of kindling.
“Ow,” Diana says as she rubs the side of her hand and fixes the arrowhead with a look of extreme annoyance.
Jarod’s eyes go wide. “I’ve never heard my sister say ow before.”