Nerves fluttered in Ellery’s stomach as a second figure joined him: Alexander Sharpe. As President of the Magicians Order and the Director of Infrastructure and Administration, he was one of the most influential people in the country. Despite being twice Glynn’s age, he towered over him, his imposing frame topped with a shock of white hair, his fair skin carved with deep frown lines. His own wand, Ballathim, was formidable to behold even from a distance, made of gnarled blackthorn and famous for once constructing the Citadel.
“What we’re about to tell you is of the utmost importance.” As Sharpe spoke, Demelza adjusted her sunglasses. Julian straightened his crooked tie, smoothed back an errant brown coil.
The two men had chosen to stand beneath the massive alban tree in the grove’s center, with a trunk so wide Ellery couldn’t have wrapped her arms around it. Its wood was stark ivory, its branches tall and twisted. Thin golden leaves spidered between the twigs, so delicate the sun shone through them like windowpanes.
Alban trees only grew in Alderland. They were so rare and revered that most towns and cities had been built around them, keeping them at the heart of Aldrish life. They were radiant beacons of Summer, the only foliage that stayed in bloom year-round, impervious to the change of seasons. The mere sight of one left an ache in Ellery’s chest, so she avoided them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d come to the grove on purpose.
“At the Order, we strive to instill in you an understanding of your magic and your potential,” said Glynn. “We do our best to prepare you for the responsibilities of a Living Wand and joining in our ancient, proud tradition.Youare the next generation of magicians, each with a crucial role to play in service of Alderland.”
Glynn scanned the crowd. Although Ellery knew he couldn’t possibly pick her out from the masses, she felt the force of his gaze anyway. He wanted her to be part of that future almost as much as she did.
“With that in mind, our announcement,” Glynn continued. “Valmordion has awoken once more.”
Valmordion.Valmordion.
The name scorched through Ellery as the crowd broke into gasps and chatter. Julian swore softly, while Demelza let out an awed exhale. Now Ellery understood why they’d made this announcement in the grove. Valmordion was the only wand crafted of alban wood.
In fact, Valmordion had been born from this very alban tree.
“Winter cannot be destroyed, but itcanbe defeated,” boomed Sharpe. “In a thousand years, time and again, Valmordion has quelled Winter’s storms and annihilated its monsters.”
Sharpe left out the darker footnote: although most ofValmordion’s past wielders had survived their cataclysm, its previous Chosen One had died in the process of saving the country, burned alive by the wand’s own flames.
“Valmordion is the greatest wand of Summer. Thus, its wielder bears a destiny greater than any other,” said Glynn. “They alone have been foretold from birth to thwart Winter’s cataclysm. They alone will fulfill the prophecy that will save Alderland. They are our Chosen One, our nation’s savior. And they will forever be remembered as a hero.”
Hero.
The crowd whispered the word, fervent, nearly reverent.
“Under such extraordinary circumstances,” Glynn continued, “we’ve elected to create an application process for the wand’s vigil. Anyone who wishes to submit their candidacy for Valmordion may do so in the next week.”
“And for any of you thinking of signing up as a stunt or out of empty arrogance, consider this,” Sharpe warned. “While all wand vigils bear a risk of injury, laying a hand on Valmordion poses true danger to those not meant to wield it. Examine your potential, your capabilities, your past. And ask yourself if you truly believethisis the path destiny has designed for you.”
Hunger gleamed in Julian’s eyes, a hunger reflected in Demelza, in every other favorite standing shoulder to shoulder with Ellery.
Yet when Ellery dared peer at the rest of the crowd, their gazes locked on one magician and one magician alone.
Her.
Years of practice kept Ellery’s expression unchanged. But deep within her, a secret unfurled, a long-dormant dread rooted in her rib cage. And although it was still Summer, she could’ve sworn she felt a foreboding chill in her bones.
Alderland needed a hero. But it didn’t matter what the rest of the Order believed.
That hero wouldn’t—couldn’t—be her.
IIIDOMENICSUMMER
Domenic slumped into a seat in the back row of a movie theater.
In the four days since sneaking into the Vault, he hadn’t attended school. He couldn’t bring himself to face his classmates, who were no doubt hedging bets on which of them was the Chosen savior of Alderland.
Meanwhile, thedrip dripof Valmordion thawing haunted Domenic’s every moment of silence. The chills on his arms wouldn’t disappear even when he rubbed his skin raw, as if his body was already braced for Winter, a Winter worse than any he’d lived through. In the few hours Hanna or Iseul everwerehome, their worried stares followed him—and they both had far more important things to worry about.
He could feel himself unraveling.
And so he’d taken himself to the movies.
Despite the theater’s location in Gallamere’s tourist-clogged downtown, few others had ventured out for the weeknight show. As the lights dimmed and the opening credits rolled, Domenic kicked his loafers up on an empty chair, sipped his cherry soda, and willed himself to relax.
