My outrage collapses into an exhausted, browbeaten misery, everything around me going blurry with tears.
I grab my paperwork, which Fernyllia’s holding out to me, and look squarely with undisguised accusation at Yvan.
He’s holding himself stiffly, not looking at me now, his hands on his hips, his jaw tight, doggedly making his loyalties known.
Against me.
A flood of tears threatening, I turn away from all of them and flee.
*
Stumbling as I go, silent tears falling, I struggle to find my way toward the North Tower.
Shelter. Shelter’s all I want right now. A place to sleep and hide until tomorrow, when I can find my brothers and get help.
The hatred in Yvan’s eyes reverberates in my mind, but I feel better the farther from the kitchens I get.
Outside, the clouds have continued to thin and now resemble hundreds of slow-moving, dark snakes, the moon partially hidden by the shifting serpents. I make my way through the winding University streets and its small knots of cloaked strangers, past the Weavers’ Guild building and then a series of damp fields, the cold air and brisk walk gradually calming me.
Some of the fields are home to sheep, huddled by feeding troughs in muddied masses, while others are horse pasture adjacent to long boarding stables.
And then I’m past it all, my steps halting as I stare up across a broad, barren field, the sloping expanse of it scrubby and deserted. A thin wind whistles.
The North Tower lies before me.
It sits clear across the field, a poorly maintained stone path winding up to it. Like a sentinel guarding the forest, this old military post is a last-chance stop before being enveloped by the wilderness to its back and sides, a weathered archer’s turret placed high on the roof.
My new home.
It’s gray and cold and foreboding—everything made of Spine stone, no wood. Nothing at all like Uncle Edwin’s warm, comforting cottage. My heart sinks even lower at the sight of it.
Resignedly, I trudge through the huge field, the tower looming over me as I approach.
I open the sole door at the base of the tower, and it creakily swings open to reveal a small foyer, a spiraling staircase to the left and a storage closet to the right. The door to the closet is open and, by the dim light of a wall lantern, I can see it’s full of buckets, rakes, extra lanterns and a variety of cleaning supplies. I’m heartened to see that it also holds both of my travel trunks and my violin.
I let out a long breath. See, it’ll be all right, I reassure myself. And I’m rooming with a Gardnerian and an Elf. No hateful Urisk or Kelts. Things will be just fine.
I decide to leave my belongings in the closet for the moment and make my way up the staircase, the heels of my shoes almost slipping a few times on the polished stone, my steps echoing sharply throughout the eerily quiet tower.
When I reach the top, another door opens into a short hallway, also lit by a wall lantern. There’s a stone bench placed against one wall and, on either end of the hallway, windows look out over the surrounding fields, the moon peering in. A metal ladder is bolted to the wall before me and leads to the archers’ tower, the ceiling entrance long since nailed shut. There’s another door at the end of the hallway.
That has to be my new lodging.
I wonder if my new lodging mates are asleep or absent, as I can’t make out any light around the door frame. I walk down the deserted hallway toward the door, slightly unnerved by the quiet.
I pause before opening the door and glance out the window, the moon still watching, cold and indifferent. I stare at it for a moment until it’s covered in the shifting clouds, the outside world plunged into a deeper darkness. I turn back to the door, curl my hand around its cool, metal handle and push it open.
The room is pitch-black, but I can make out a large, oval window directly before me.
“Hello,” I say softly, not wanting to startle anyone who might be trying to sleep. The clouds shift, and moonlight spills into the room.
And that’s when I see it. Something crouched just below the window.
Something with wings.
The blood drains from my face, and I’m overcome by a rush of fear so strong that it paralyzes me, rooting me to the spot.
An Icaral.
It’s gotten in somehow. And I’m about to be killed. The thing in front of me emits the same smell of rotted meat as the Icarals in Valgard.
Slowly, it rises and unfurls ragged, black wings. And it’s not alone. To the right of it, I see movement on top of what appears to be a dresser. Another winged figure, also crouching like it’s waiting to attack.
Holy Ancient One, there’s two of them.
“Hello, Elloren Gardner,” the Icaral under the window says in a raspy, malevolent voice. “Welcome to hell.”
CHAPTER SIX
Ariel
A jolt of energy shoots though me, wrenching me out of my crippling haze of fear as the Icaral advances toward me.
Terrified, I find my footing and bolt out of the room, down the short hallway, bumping against the stone bench, taking the spiraled stairs three at a time, almost falling.
When I jump to the bottom, jarring my ankle, a realization dawns on me with nauseating clarity.
Nowhere is safe.
If they’re here, they’re probably everywhere. Probably waiting for me outside, as well.
I throw myself into the cleaning closet, slam the door shut and begin barricading myself in with an old shelf, my travel case and finally my feet as I brace my legs against the barricade for leverage. I’m shaking with terror as I sit in the dark, the cold stone floor beneath me, the only light a faint glow rimming the door from the dimly lit foyer and the slight shimmer of my skin.
It’s quiet.
Deathly quiet.
So quiet that my heavy, panicked breathing sounds obscenely loud, my heart audible as it beats wildly against my chest. But I know they’re out there. Waiting for me.
“I’m not the Black Witch!” I shriek at the door, spittle flying from my mouth.
For a moment there’s no response. Only more quiet. When the reply finally comes, it’s close.
“Oh, yes, you are,” the thing hisses mockingly.
Oh, Holy Ancient One, it’s on the other side of the door.
My trembling intensifies, and I begin to recite a prayer from The Book of the Ancients over and over again in a desperate whisper.
Most Holy Ancient One, In the Heavens Above, Deliver me from the Evil Ones...
As I beg for my life to be spared, the demon begins to scrape its nails down the length of the door. Very slowly. Again and again.
Then more silence.
A hard force slams up against the door, jolting me through the barricade, through my legs. I cry out and begin to sob.
“I will kill you,” the voice snarls, “and slowly.”
The scraping begins again, but this time sharper, as if the wooden door is being gouged by a knife.
“You have to sleep sometime, Gardnerian,” the cruel thing sneers. “And when you do, I will cut you...”
The sound of wood being gouged intensifies, and I can feel the rhythmic pressure through my legs. The thing is dismantling the door, taking as much time doing this as it will when it kills me.
My panicked thoughts run wild in my head, like a crazed stallion. Images of Rafe, Trystan and Gareth arriving at school to find me dead in this closet, torn to shreds by Icarals. Images of my uncle’s heart giving out when he discovers what’s happened to me. Of Fallon Bane being overjoyed at my fate. And Sage’s wand being found...
The wand!
I scramble around in the dark, feeling for the straps on my travel trunk, throwing it open, ripping the fabric liner with wildly shaking hands to get at the wand. Sage said it was powerful—maybe so powerful that it will work even for someone as weak as me.
I hold the wand in the way Commander Vin instructed, the end pressed against my palm, and point it toward the scraping sound. I can’t recall the words to any spells. I can only remember some magic words from the tales of my youth. I try them all, tears streaming down my face.