Trial by Fire

“And are you a witch?” Lily asked, swallowing down the bile burning her throat.

The old man laughed. “Not a lot of male witches running around, and most of them that are witches don’t rightly know it,” he replied, amused by something that Lily didn’t understand. She’d never even heard of a male witch before. “No, girl, I’m something they got no prison for, even if she did stick me in here.”

Lily lay back down, her eyes closing. She fought her mounting confusion and asked the most relevant question. “And what are you?”

“I’m a shaman, Lily,” he said. All traces of humor left his voice. He sounded serious and steady. “I’m going to teach you how to spirit walk.”

“So this is where you’ve been,” Lily mumbled as sickness overwhelmed her. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Sorry I’m late,” he said with genuine regret. “I was detained.”

She knew she should care that she’d finally found the shaman, but all Lily could feel was spinning blackness pulling her down and all she could think of was her sister. If she listened very hard, she could almost hear Juliet’s voice in her head.

Lily? Where are you? I’m trying to feel where you are, but there’s too much granite blocking the way.

Help me, Juliet. I’m in the dark.




Lily came to and saw a glimmer of magelight. She lifted her head—her neck complaining of a vicious kink—and quickly glanced around.

She was in a small room, no more than two paces in any direction. Three walls were solid stone and the forth, all bars. There was a raised pallet with a thin mattress for her to sleep on behind her, but Lily awoke to find herself on the floor. She recalled being placed on the bed, but she must have rolled out of it when the vertigo became too much to bear. In one corner was a bucket; in the other a bottle of water. Lily memorized the placement of everything in her cell because she knew she would be given little chance to see it again.

Beyond the bars was an alcove, and then a hallway. Lily saw other cells surrounding the alcove, but they were empty. The shaman’s cell must be directly next to hers, out of her line of sight.

The magelight came from the hallway. At the foot of the hallway was a small desk. Lily crawled closer to the bars of her cell and peered at the source of light. A figure was bent over the desk. The middle drawer was open, and the man was looking inside it with a rapt expression. She couldn’t see what was in the drawer, but she could feel his eyes on its contents.

A shiver of fear went through her. It was Carrick, staring at her willstones.

“Please don’t,” Lily begged softly. “Please don’t touch them, Carrick.”

He startled and straightened, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Then he relaxed, as if he remembered that he was the one in charge. He brightened his magelight until he could see Lily clearly, and she could see him. His hawkish face held traces of Rowan, but the resemblance wasn’t a comfort. The chill in his dark, vaguely familiar eyes only made her more terrified of him.

“But you let my half brother touch them. Am I so different from him?” he asked.

“Rowan’s never touched my willstones. He wouldn’t hurt me like that.”

Carrick sneered at her. “But I would?”

Lily wanted to answer him. She wanted to say, “obviously,” but she didn’t dare. The drawer was still open and she was still his prisoner. She shut her mouth.

“What did my half brother show you about me?”

“One memory—a fragment of a memory, really. You were skinny and bruised.”

“Did he pity me?”

“He felt bad for you.”

Carrick’s eyes flashed. “Then why didn’t he help me?” he said through clenched teeth.

“Because he was just a little boy.” Lily shrugged, like her answer was obvious.