aunt looks a bit taken aback. She sighs deeply. “Elloren,” she says, her face solemn, “Sage left her fastmate and ran off with a Kelt.”
A rush of shock runs through me. The Kelts killed my parents. They oppressed my people for generations. How could kind, gentle Sage have run off with...a Kelt?
My aunt’s brow tightens in sympathy. “I know this must be hard for you, since you were friendly with the girl, but wandfasting is a sacred commitment, and breaking that commitment has serious consequences.” Her face softens when she sees my troubled expression. “Do not despair, Elloren,” she says to comfort me. “There is hope yet. Tobias is willing to take Sage back, and there may be hope for her child, as well. The Ancient One is full of compassion when we truly repent and beg for forgiveness.”
I remember Sage’s defiance and think it highly unlikely she will beg for anyone’s forgiveness, least of all Tobias’s. I’ve hidden Sage’s white wand inside the lining of my travel trunk, so at least being in possession of a stolen wand won’t be added to her horrific troubles.
“It doesn’t hurt to be fasted, does it?” I ask Aunt Vyvian worriedly.
My aunt laughs at this and leans forward to pat my hand with affection. “No, Elloren. It’s not painful at all! The priest simply has the couple hold hands before waving his wand over them and reciting a few words. It’s not something you feel, although it does leave an imprint on your hand, which you’ve seen before.” My aunt holds out her hand, which is marked with graceful black swirls that extend to her wrist.
Unlike my uncle, who never married, most Gardnerian adults have some variation of these marks on their hands and wrists, the design unique to each couple and influenced by their Mage affinity lines. Hers are quite beautiful; undimmed by time and the death of her fastmate in the Realm War.
“Do not let Sage’s unfortunate situation color your view of wandfasting,” my aunt cautions. “Wandfasting is a beautiful sacrament, meant to keep us pure and chaste. The lure of the Evil Ones is strong, Elloren. Wandfasting helps young people such as yourself to stay on the path of virtue. It’s one of the many things that sets us apart from the heretic races all around us.” She motions toward me with both hands, palms upturned. “That is why I would like to see you wandfasted to someone you find appealing, someone who would be right for you. I’m having a party at week’s end while you’re in Valgard. Let me know if there is any young man who particularly catches your fancy.” My aunt smiles at me conspiratorially.
A heady anticipation ripples through me.
What if I meet a young man I like at my aunt’s party? Might he ask me to dance? Or to walk with him in a beautiful garden? There’s a dearth of young, unfasted men in Halfix, and none that I fancy. Meeting a young man in Valgard is a thrilling thought, and I spend a fair bit of time dreamily considering it.
It takes several days to reach Valgard, and we stop often to change horses, stretch our legs and retire in the evening to sumptuous lodging. My aunt picks only the best guesthouses—delicious food brought to our rooms, fresh flowers gracing the tables and soft bedding stuffed with down.
Over meals and during the long carriage rides, Aunt Vyvian tells me about the people she’s invited to her party: the various young men, along with their accomplishments and family connections, as well as the young women I will be meeting and who they’re wandfasted to. She also speaks about her hopes for the rise of Marcus Vogel to High Mage, our highest level of government. Our current High Mage, Aldus Worthin, is elderly and getting ready to step down in the spring.
Marcus Vogel’s name catches my attention. I remember a conversation my brother Rafe recently had with Uncle Edwin about him. Uncle Edwin was surprisingly strident in his dismissal of Vogel, calling him a “rabid zealot.”
“Half the Council is still behind Phinneas Callnan for our next High Mage,” Aunt Vyvian tells me, her tone clipped. “But the man has no spine. He’s forgotten his own faith and how we were almost destroyed as a people.” She shakes her head in strident disapproval. “If it was up to him, I suspect we’d all be slaves again, or half-breeds.” She pats my hand as if I need consoling on this point. “No matter, Elloren. The referendum’s not until spring, and Vogel’s support grows every day.”
Though her harsh words make me uneasy, I find myself falling under Aunt Vyvian’s congenial spell, and she brightens in response to my rapt attention. She’s a wonderful traveling companion, charming and vivacious. And she paints such vivid pictures of each person she describes that I imagine I’ll be able to recognize them on sight.
She seems particularly fond of a young man named Lukas Grey—a powerful, Level Five Mage and rising star in the Gardnerian military.
“He’s the son of the High Commander of the entire Mage Guard,” she tells me as we roll along, a spectacular view of the Voltic Sea to my right, the late-afternoon sun sparkling on its waves. “And he’s a top graduate of the University.”
“What did he study?” I ask, curious.
“Military history and languages,” she crows.
I can tell from the way her eyes light up when she speaks of him that he’s her first choice of fasted partner for me. I humor her, doubting that this much-sought-after young man will spare even a glance toward a shy girl from Halfix. But it’s enjoyable to listen to her enthusiastic descriptions, nonetheless.
“Only three years out of University and already a first lieutenant,” she gushes brightly. “There’s talk that within a year’s time, Lukas Grey could be the youngest commander in the history of the Guard.”
My aunt prattles on for a long time about Lukas and several other young men. As she speaks, I glance out the window and watch the scenery go by. Gradually, the buildings of the towns we pass through are becoming taller, grander and closer together, and lanterns are lit to welcome the twilight. Our progress is now slowed by heavier carriage and horse traffic. We crest a hill, pass through a wooded area, and then, suddenly, it’s before us—a sloping valley leading straight to Valgard, Gardneria’s capital city.
Like an elegant cloak clasp, gleaming Valgard rings the Malthorin Bay. A glorious sunset lights the ocean beyond and bathes everything in the rich colors of a well-stoked fire. Tiny ships speckle the water. Valgard’s docks resemble the curved half of a long fishbone.
I can scarcely breathe as I take it all in, the city glittering in the fading light, points of illumination sprouting throughout, like fireflies waking. Our carriage weaves down into the valley, and before long, we’re in the heart of the capital.
I slide the carriage window open and stare.
Buildings made of luxurious, dark Ironwood rise up around me, the progressively wider upper stories supported by richly carved ebony columns. Curling emerald trellises thick with lush, flowering vines flow out over the rooftops and down the buildings’ sides.
I close my eyes and breathe in the rich Ironwood. It’s traditional for our homes to be made of this wood and styled in designs that look like forests and trees—a symbol of the Ancient One’s creation of my people from the seeds of the sacred Ironwood Tree, giving us dominion over all the trees and all the wilds.
We pass an open-air restaurant, dining tables spilling out onto a promenade surrounded by decorative fruit trees, all of it lit by diamond-paned lanterns. The smell of rich food wafts into the carriage—roasted lamb, sautéed fish, platters of herbed potatoes.
A small orchestra plays beneath a plum tree.
I turn to my aunt, thrilled by the beautiful music. I’ve never heard an orchestra before. “Is that the Valgard symphony?”
Aunt Vyvian laughs. “Heavens, no, Elloren. They’re employees of the restaurant.” She eyes me with amused speculation. “Would you like to hear the symphony while you’re here?”
“Oh, yes,” I breathe.
There’s an endless variety of shops, cafés and markets. And I’ve never seen so many Gardnerians together before, their uniformly dark