You look exactly like your grandmother, and her blood runs through your veins. Your uncle has done you a grave disservice by not preparing you for something like this.”
“Don’t you dare speak against my uncle!” I cry. I try to jerk my arm away from him, but he holds on tight.
“No, Elloren, it needs to be said. He did this to you by leaving you unarmed and ignorant!”
An uncomfortable doubt rises in the back of my mind. I beat it back.
“You don’t know anything about my uncle,” I say firmly. “You’ve never even met him!”
“They were at your uncle’s house, Elloren.”
I stop trying to wrench away from him. “What do you mean?”
“The Icarals. Galen got a confession from one of them before he killed it. They escaped from the Valgard Sanitorium. One of them was an empath. He found out about you from a worker there—someone who knows your aunt. They were waiting for this, Elloren—for the next Black Witch to be found. They went straight to your uncle’s house, but you were gone. They found your uncle sleeping, and the empath read where you were from his thoughts by touching him. If your aunt hadn’t pulled you from there, you’d be dead right now.”
I stare at him, wide-eyed and frozen. No, this isn’t happening. This isn’t real. “I’m powerless. Why would those...things think that I’m the Black Witch?”
Lukas doesn’t answer. He just keeps his unwavering stare fixed on me.
I already know the answer, though. It’s my blood. Her blood—that’s what the creature sensed. And I look just like her.
“The third Icaral,” I finally say, my voice strangled. “Did they find it?”
Lukas takes a deep breath. “No.”
“And my uncle?” I ask, almost in a whisper.
“He’s fine,” he says, his voice losing its angry edge. “They weren’t after him, Elloren. They were after you.” Lukas’s hand loosens then falls away from my arm. “We’ve sent guards to your uncle’s house as a precaution.”
“But what about Rafe? And Trystan?”
“I’ve already sent guards to find them and escort them across Verpacia’s border, if they haven’t crossed already.”
“And once they’re across?”
His lips turn up at the edges. “You won’t have to worry about them once they cross the border. It’s ward-magicked. Verpacia’s military force is formidable, and they have the help of the Vu Trin sorceresses. You’ll be safe there, as well. You’re safe now. The Icaral’s weak. Its wings were amputated long ago. Your aunt’s guards and I will escort you to University, and we’ve already sent word to the High Chancellor about what’s happened.”
My wrist is beginning to throb. Miserable, I turn it over for his inspection, bloody scratches and gashes ringing it where the creature gripped me. I wait for Lukas to express some sympathy.
He takes my wrist in his hand, his touch surprisingly gentle. His eyes meet mine and his expression goes hard. “You’re lucky,” he says. “It will scar and be a constant reminder to prepare yourself. These are battle scars, Elloren.”
“Why are you so harsh?” I cry, wrenching my wrist away.
“Because,” he grinds out as he grips both arms of my chair, “you do not need to be coddled!”
“You don’t even know me!”
He shakes his head from side to side and takes a breath. “You’re wrong,” he says, his voice gone low.
He stands up, a horizontal line of blood splashed across the front of his tunic, short tendrils of wet hair plastered to his forehead. We’re both damp and sweaty and smell like blood. The image of Lukas slaying the Icaral demon flashes into my mind, rapidly deflating the remnants of my anger.
He saved my life.
Lukas holds his hand out to me, and I reach up to take it.
“You are equal to this, Elloren,” he says firmly as he helps me to my feet.
I raise my eyes to meet his. “I’m not the Black Witch, Lukas.”
He sighs deeply and looks at me with resignation. “Let’s go,” is all he says.
* * *
A few hours later I’m in a carriage with Lukas, traveling to Verpacia, the two of us in clean, dry clothing.
“Lukas will protect you,” Aunt Vyvian reassured me back at her mansion, as she directed Urisk servants to quickly pack my things into my travel trunk, plus an additional large trunk she’s provided for me. “You’ll be safer in Verpacia. Especially with Lukas as your guard.”
She could barely hide her smug satisfaction at the way events have played right into her hands, pushing Lukas and me firmly together. But I’m too rattled to be anything but grateful for her assistance, and for Lukas’s help and protection.
I think about how many things my aunt and the others tried to warn me about. It’s just as it says in our sacred text, just as the images on the stained-glass windows portray things to be. The Icarals are hideous things of great Evil, and need to be destroyed before they destroy us. And Sage’s baby, if this is its destiny—to turn into one of those things—then the Mage Council is right in wanting to take it from her, stripping it of its wings and its power.
Killing it, even.
I shudder to think of those creatures armed with overwhelming power at their disposal, and I know that if my attackers had been in possession of their wings, I’d be dead.
And if my aunt is right about this, and about my need to leave home, if her intuition is so good, maybe she’s right about other things, as well. Maybe the Selkies are only dangerous, feral animals—just as horrible as the Icarals when they have their skins. And maybe she’s right about Lukas and wandfasting.
I look over at Lukas as he sits in stony silence, staring out the window through the rain-battered glass, and a surge of gratitude washes over me.
Oh, Uncle Edwin, I anguish, why did you leave me in the dark about what might be out here waiting for me? Did you have any idea? Why didn’t you protect me?
He didn’t know, I realize. It turns out that my sweet uncle is dangerously naive about the world, cooped up in Halfix, isolated amidst his beehives and violins and childish good intentions.
As much as I love Uncle Edwin, I’m forced to consider that he’s not only dangerously ignorant, but he may actually be wrong, too. About so many things.
And Aunt Vyvian might be right.
I resolve to find out the truth for myself.
Verpacia
