“It’s me,” she choked, unsure if he could hear her. Tears trailed down her face; her eyes stung from the fumes. “I’ll fix this. I-I’ll try.”
She summoned a torrent of water to douse the flames. But almost immediately, it hissed into steam. Her first training wand splintered, yet she grasped the second, undeterred.
Memories flashed in her: time after time when Julian had healed her. Paper cuts and bruises. A sprained ankle. His hand on her wrist as he traced his wand along her lifeline.
Ellery poured everything she’d been unable to say into her spell. He’d always wanted more from her than she could give. But she could give Julian her magic now, as much as she could manage.
Until at last, the flames dimmed, then sputtered out. Ellery dropped the fragments of her final training wand and stared at Julian, stunned. Someone seized her shoulder, and she turned, panting.
“How did you…?” The Order healer gawked. “Never mind. We’ll take it from here.”
Ellery shrank away as the healers closed ranks again. Their golden mist shimmered, thicker than before. Julian’s screams faded as he lapsed into unconsciousness.
The adrenaline that had carried Ellery this far ebbed, replaced by a numb exhaustion. Glynn reappeared and took her gently by the arm. He spoke, but she couldn’t make out his words. She let him lead her to a chair.
Time passed. Ellery didn’t know how much. The others hauled Julian out on a stretcher, still cocooned in light.
Ellery wanted to go with him, but Glynn softly dissuaded her. He helped other magicians repair the damage done to the room. Someone conjured an artificial scent to drown out the smoke. It didn’t do much. Finally, one of the healers returned, then murmured something to Glynn.
“Norwood is stable,” he told Ellery. “They cannot promise a full recovery. It’s too soon for that.”
“B-but he’ll make it?”
“He’ll make it.”
Relief lanced through Ellery’s shock. Tears trickled down her cheeks.
“We’ve told the other students to leave if they wish,” Glynn continued. “We won’t force anyone to forfeit their life for Valmordion. I know after everything I’ve put on you, you might feel as though you have no other choice. But you do. Of course you do.”
You should be going for that wand before me,Julian had said.Hell, you should be going before everyone.
“I won’t run,” Ellery said vehemently.
“I thought you might say that.” Glynn sounded proud, yet there was a tinge of mournfulness to his words.
Gradually, students returned, solemn as attendees at a funeral. Around a third didn’t return at all.
Demelza was among those who did, alongside the other Order favorites. Barrow slipped in last and slouched low in his seat. Other students seemed surprised that he’d come back, but Ellery wasn’t surprised at all.
Ellery walked to the front of the waiting room. Her hair was frizzed. She smelled of death and charred flesh. People gaped at her soot-stained clothes, but she scarcely cared. She pushed the door open.
It was her turn.
The vigil chamber was located deep within the belly of the Citadel, adjacent to the Vault. Its high, arched ceilings had beenfortified, and its tiled floor and drains made for easy clean-up should a magician’s attempt to claim a wand go brutally astray. Ellery had entered it eleven times before, and on each occasion, the rows of observation benches—all shielded behind enchanted glass—had been virtually empty save for the vigil’s proctor.
Today, every important magician she could name was packed inside. So were members of Parliament and industry bigwigs. The Prime Minister herself sat front and center.
The chamber was swelteringly humid. Scorch marks marred the floor, and crimson pooled around the drain. The rank of ash permeated the air.
All because of the infamous, legendary Living Wand atop the pedestal in the room’s center.
What struck Ellery first was its ugliness. The white alban wood had never been less appealing to her. Below the wand’s handle, roots hung limply like clumps of burned hair, its thorns bloodied from the candidates before her.
She reached for it without hesitation.
Immediately, she was struck by a sense ofwrongness. The thorns bit into her palm, and heat flared up her arm and through her chest, toward her heart. She staggered backward, trying frantically to uncurl her hand from the hilt. But she couldn’t.
A terror coursed through her unlike anything she’d ever known, alongside the absolute certainty that Valmordion would not let her leave this room alive.
