The Wizard's Heir (20 page)

Tybolt was the heir to Eriroc. This was insane—more than insane. Rowan would have his head.

Asher ran across the courtyard with his arm over his face. The storm had hit land, and the precursor winds buffeted him with pounds of parched dirt and old hay that had been only too willing to jump into the wind’s embrace. He headed for the kitchen entrance, where no one would ask any questions. He stumbled in, slamming the door behind him. Even still, the wind blew every herb and spice off the counters. The few cooks in the kitchen shot him nasty looks, but Asher ignored them and ran past.

He shook his cloak out the best he could, but it was coated so heavily with dirt and debris there was little he could do. He would need help, but there was only one person he thought he could talk to. Luckily for him, he knew exactly where to find her.

Terric had a large mouth and couldn’t help but boast about locking Auriella up on the king’s orders. Asher had been concerned about getting down into the secret dungeon without being seen. As luck would have it, everyone in the castle was plastered to the windows to witness the storm. Small pings sounded against glass, and even Asher pulled up short for a second.

Rain!

Those at the windows gasped and cheered. Asher forced himself to return to the task at hand. He padded down the hall as lightly as he could. He quickly pulled back the tapestry that hid the door and slid inside, grabbing a torch from the wall as he went. He made his way down the stairs and held out the torch at the base to find the correct cell. Aurelia was curled up in the corner of the cell to his right.

She didn’t look up. “Go away, Terric.”

“It’s not Terric.”

She turned her head, blinking furiously as her eyes adjusted to the light. Her hair was a mass of snarls, and her face was smeared with dirt and old tear trails. She frowned. “Asher?”

“We need to talk.”

Tybolt tore through the forest on Widow Maker, putting as much distance between him and the city as possible. Out of nowhere, Alistair stepped from behind a tree and straight into his path.

Tybolt yanked back Widow Maker to avoid trampling the old man. The horse reared, screaming in irritation. “What is the matter with you?” Tybolt yelled. “You don’t step in front of a running horse.”

“What is the matter with me?” Alistair shouted back. “What’s the matter with you? You went back to the city, didn’t you?”

Widow Maker spun to the left and then to the right, stamping his feet and snorting despite Tybolt’s pull on the reins.

“Didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t just leave her there.”

Alistair gave a sound somewhere between a growl and yell. “You’re just like your father,” Alistair said, pointing. “Just like him! All you care about is what you want, and the rest of us be damned.” He gripped his head and walking in a circle, taking deep breaths. He faced Tybolt. “Were you seen?”

Tybolt dismounted, unwilling to answer.

“I can’t believe this,” Alistair said. “You were seen. Who was it? Did they follow you?”

“They know I’m a wizard.”

“What?”

Tybolt bent over and grabbed a broken stick.

“I know whittling relaxes you, but now is not the time! I need you to tell me everything.”

A crack of thunder sounded in the distance, and Tybolt glanced up before drawing a symbol in the dirt. “Have you ever seen this?”

Alistair peered at the two interlocking circles. “Yes,” he drawled. “Why?”

“I was hoping you could tell me what it was. I’ve seen it before in the Hold, and today the stonecutter was carving this around the entrance to the city. The moment I passed through the gate I…” He tried to figure out how to put into words what he’d experienced. “I lost all my strength. It felt like every bit of energy and magic was being pulled out of me.”

Alistair’s eyes were focused on the symbol in the dirt. “You say this mark is in the Hold too. Are you sure?”

“Yes, everywhere. Entrances, doors, floors. I’d never noticed them before, but during Festival when we pulled Aja from his cell, they flickered purple for a few moments. I probably would’ve forgotten all about it, but when we opened the door, Aja could barely stand. We had to carry him out of the Hold. It was odd. Aja prides himself on looking us straight in the eyes. It’s his way of defying us.”

“Sounds like my brother.”

“He was so weak we dragged him down the hall, but the moment we left the Hold, his strength returned. That is exactly what happened when I passed through the gate.”

“You said this symbol flickered purple?”

“Yes.”

The wind was picking up rapidly, and dry pine needles pelted them. “Come with me.” Alistair stood and brushed off his cloak, still not looking away from the circles. He finally turned and walked away.

Tybolt shook his head and shouted. “The horn was sounded. I expect Rowan will be sending Hunters out soon.” He pulled himself up on Widow Maker. “Shall we go the fast way, or will you insist on walking?”

“Walking. That horse hates me.”

“True. But he hates everyone.” Widow Maker snorted in response. “If you sit behind me, I guarantee you’re far enough away from his teeth.”

Alistair scowled at the horse, but he came around and gave Tybolt his hand.

The storm grew stronger, and Tybolt could smell ocean salt on the wind. He had a bad feeling about this one. “Hold on.”

He kicked Widow Maker and the horse took off. By the time they arrived at the wizards’ tree village, the wind was strong enough to turn the pelting dirt, pebbles, and leaves into weapons. Something slashed across the back of Tybolt’s hand, drawing blood.

Alistair leapt from the horse and pounded on the trunk with the rock. The ladder rolled down, bouncing against the tree and flying up with the wind. Tybolt leapt up and snatched it, pulling it down so Alistair could start climbing.

Once on the walkway between trees, Tybolt grabbed the nearest branch and began scaling higher.

“Where are you going?” Alistair hollered over the wind.

“I need to look at the clouds.” He pushed his way through the top of a canopy. The leaves moved and thrashed like the waves of the sea. The wind berated him, and he peered out through slit lids to find purple-rimmed storm clouds stacked columns high. The cloud formations ran in a solid line across the entire southern side of the island.

Tybolt hurriedly dropped back to the deck. “Wizard made,” he announced. “And it’s already past the boundary that normally stops it.”

Alistair’s eyes widened. “Rowan got word you’re a wizard. I told you not to go back to the city, you foolish boy.”

He hadn’t meant to be stupid, but his intentions were of little good now. “You can yell at me later. Right now show me what we came for.”

The trees bowed under the assault of the wind. Alistair turned and jogged across the bridge to his room, Tybolt on his heels. The shutters banged open and shut, and the wood beneath their feet creaked in protest. A flash of lightning cracked too close for comfort.

Inside Tybolt, a frightened little boy reared his head. This scene looked all too familiar.

Alistair pulled a metal chest from beneath his bed and ran his hand over the top. The lid slowly opened.

“What is it?”

“Something I can’t read.” Alistair pulled out a tattered book. He sat on the edge of the bed and struggled to flip the pages while the wind hindered his efforts. “There,” Alistair said. “Is this what you saw?”

“Yes, exactly,” Tybolt said. “What does it mean?”

“I don’t know. I told you I can’t read it.”

Tybolt looked at him in disbelief.

“This book originated from Deasroc. It’s written in their ancient language, not ours. There are only two copies that I know of. Rowan was in possession of both. We stole one, but it doesn’t do me a bit of good.”

“Why would you steal a book you couldn’t read?”

Alistair took a deep breath. “We went after the book written in our language. Unfortunately, Rowan had already burned it. The wizards I sent into the palace took the only thing they could find—this one.” He shook his head. “Without being able to read the spells, I couldn’t alter the natural course of succession. That left half of Aja’s power transferring to you on your nineteenth birthday, and the rest when you turn twenty-one…unless Aja dies, at which point it would transfer to you immediately. If I would’ve had what I needed, I could’ve transferred his power to you long ago and trained you myself.

“Instead, I’ve been trying to piece together the meaning of these words by matching the images with spells I’d already learned. With your description, I can guess what this particular spell does. Look.” He tapped the page. The two interlocking circles were above two clasped hands. “Before the Fracture, several wizards were found wearing a pendant identical to this—”

Rain began pounding down in a torrential current. Water immediately breached the roof, sliding in through the cracks and dripping on the wooden floor.

The storm was increasing at a pace that only a wizard-made storm could. It’d been so long since he’d seen a storm at all—he could hardly remember what a natural storm looked like. The fear he’d felt at facing another Fracture diminished, soothed by the rain dripping on his shoulders and streaming down his face. He held out his hands, watching the water drip from his fingertips in wonder. He laughed.
Rain
.

Another bolt of lightning cracked so loudly that both Tybolt and Alistair grabbed their ears.

The fear returned, bringing his logic back with it. Lightning meant fire, and they were standing in a tinderbox. “We have to get out of these trees,” Tybolt said. “Move, now!”

Alistair grabbed the book, and Tybolt swung the door open. The wind pushed him back. He planted his feet firmly beneath him and leaned into the wind, shoving his way forward.

Outside, the bridges had already been shredded and now hung in useless chunks, banging against the trunks. The wizards were stranded. One tried to climb down before Tybolt could stop him. He didn’t make it halfway down before the weather ripped him from the branch and smashed him to the ground.

Tybolt turned on Alistair, shouting over the wind and rain. “Why don’t they help themselves? They’re wizards.”

“We all have our own abilities,” Alistair said, shielding his face with his arm. “And regardless of what Rowan would have everyone believe, most are not that powerful.” He started yelling commands. The broken ladder lifted in the air and began knotting together. But all around them, tree limbs snapped off like twigs and flew in every direction, creating a deadly game of chance.

A deep groan caught Tybolt’s attention, and he turned to see one of the largest trees in the area leaning heavily to the side. It wouldn’t be much longer before the roots relinquished. Nothing around them would survive the impact.

“There isn’t time,” Tybolt shouted. “Use the trees—we have to get down.”

Although the storm did not change, the branches stopped waving in the wind. They jerked and twisted in a most unnatural way, looking distinctly like arms.

“What did you do?” Alistair yelled.

Tybolt stared in confusion, blinking the rain out of his eyes. “Nothing!”

The branches all moved at once, grabbing wizards around their waists and jerking them into the air. There was a snap, and the tree careened toward them. Tybolt went to leap to the ground, but a limb wrapped around his waist and pulled him up moments before the falling tree smashed into the place where he’d just been standing. Tybolt hung there in mid-air, a branch coiled around his waist, watching the utter destruction below him.

Then the branches, acting as one, lowered all the wizards to the ground. The minute Tybolt’s feet touched the ground, the branch uncoiled and raised. It stretched back out as it had before, hardening—now just an average branch creaking in the wind.

Tybolt whirled to tell the group to run, but the frightened group was flinging spells in every direction. It was no good—the storm was too powerful and the impending danger too unpredictable.

“We have to get out of here,” he shouted. Tybolt ran past them, hoping they would follow. One glance over his shoulder confirmed his plan had worked. He leapt over branches and rocks, trying to be cognizant of the physical limitations of those behind him.