“How did you do that?” she snapped.
“W-what do you mean?”
“You locked us out. That shouldn’t be possible.” Mayes leaned against the wall and hugged her wand against her chest. Each time she blinked, so did Syarthis. Then abruptly she kicked the stand of the record player, making the vinyls jolt on their shelves. Ellery jolted, too. “What the fuck is going on tonight? Why doesn’t anything makesense?”
The girl’s brusque professionalism had been intimidating, but this was far, far worse. Unbondings were rare, but they typically occurred when a wielder was distressed. And even if Mayes wasn’t showing other signs, given the wand’s history, Ellery couldn’t help but glance at the door.
Which was precisely when it swung open, and President Sharpe and Councilor Seong entered.
Sharpe frowned, examining the gap between Ellery and Mayes. “Well, are you finished?”
Immediately, Mayes lowered Syarthis and squared her shoulders. “We can’t see into her mind, sir.”
“What?” Seong said. “You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Mayes grumbled.
Sharpe shut the door behind him with a flick of Ballathim, then strode toward Ellery until he loomed over her. She felt pinned to her chair like an insect on a corkboard.
“How are you shielding yourself?” he demanded.
“I d-don’t know.”
“Of course you don’t,” Sharpe said coolly. “You’re quite the enigma, Miss Caldwell. As soon as we confiscated that wand of yours, we sent it to our best magicians to examine it. And it would seem the story you told us, no matter how far-fetched, has at least some truth to it. Iskarius, as you’ve called it, is a proper Living Wand. The first new one in recorded history.” Yet Sharpe’s tone did not suggest congratulations. “And it was crafted from an alban tree.”
The significance of that hung between them, but Ellery couldn’t bring herself to speak. Words were trapped like air bubbles in her lungs, and she felt just as she had in the grove, apart from herself, apart from everything.
Sharpe reached into his wool jacket and pulled out a tall, thin box made of alban wood. He rose and placed it on Glynn’s desk. Then he waved Ballathim, and the top of the box creaked open. Ice crystals puffed into the air, shimmering.
Inside, terrible and beautiful, was Iskarius. There was a single thumbprint on the hilt, smeared with blood. Hers.
The rest of the world stayed blurred as the wand came sharply into focus. It was the only thing that felt real.
“As if all those facts already weren’t fucking enough to swallow,” Sharpe went on, “you tell us this wand’s made ofWinter magic. Now, it certainly looks like it. We’ve all got eyes. But our magicians can’t say for sure. Neither can Mayes, apparently.”
Behind them, Councilor Seong squeezed Mayes’s arm and whispered to her. Mayes scowled and smeared the blood on her face across her sleeve.
“Syarthis’s corporeal magic is second only to one wand,” Sharpe continued. “And given who’s wielding that one wand, I’ll admit that I’m inclined to hear you out. Youdounderstand what I’m saying, don’t you?”
Ellery nodded numbly. “You think my wand could be like… like Valmordion.”
“We’ve been watching you for a long time. A national hero when you could scarcely wave a training wand. Glynn’s little pet project. He always swore you’d be a good investment.” Sharpe leaned closer. His breath reeked of cigarettes. “Now’s the time to show us he was right. Can we trust you, Caldwell?”
The full implications of his words yanked her up to the surface, to reality. Ellery shivered, painfully alert.
“Of course,” she choked out.
He gestured to Iskarius. “Then show us this so-called Winter wand of yours. And prove that we should place some hope in you rather than destroy this wand and whatever threat it could pose.”
Ellery didn’t know how to prove something to the Order that she didn’t understand herself. But she needed answers just as much as they did.
She stood and picked up Iskarius.
It was freezing to the touch. Yet the longer she grasped it, the more her body grew used to the cold. Glynn’s office sharpened into hyper clarity, every color muted and cool. Ellery felt an all-encompassingrightness.
Then a voice hissed in her ear.
It was the same voice that had given her Iskarius’s name, old and dry as dust and yet commanding, impossible not to heed. With chilling certainty, she repeated each word it spoke.
