The door slid open, and a frigid wind whirled through the compartment. Beyond the windows, the Aldrish countryside blurred past. Winter had stripped lush forests into desolation: every tree gone skeletal, every hillside barbed and barren.
“How’d your call with your family go?” Peak asked, shutting the door.
Amid every frantic minute of tonight, this night that would seemingly never end, Domenic had only just informed the Barrow family that their youngest, forgotten son was suddenly the most important person in the nation. Domenic had braced himself for shock, maybe a few tears, but no. As soon as his mother had finished blustering about the embarrassment of first hearing this news from her best friend-slash-nemesis at the country club, Domenic had learned his family wasproud. His father had evenboasted how this would rocket up the company stock price. This had relieved Domenic, who, of course, cared about nothing more than shareholder value.
Never did they state whether they were surprised that their third born was a Chosen One. Domenic had considered asking whether they’d failed to mention some tale of falling stars or serenading songbirds that had heralded his birth. But he doubted his parents would remember even if there had been.
“I think I’ve made their year,” Domenic answered Peak dryly.
On the table beside him, the radio continued to blare.
“—slayed that winterghast in Mercester Square two weeks ago, didn’t he? Well, Floyd, maybe he lived through the Syarthis Disaster for a reason, too,”Cheng declared.“That’s the way destiny works. It always has a grander purpose—”
Peak switched the radio off.
“That’s enough of that,” he rasped, clapping Domenic hard on the shoulder. “Sorry, Dom, but that can’t be good for you. It just can’t.” Domenic was about to argue that actually, listening to people publicly debate his trauma was great for him, when Peak slid into the booth across from him. “How are you feeling?”
“Well, five hours ago, I bonded with the most powerful wand in Alderland. Then I spent the whole evening being told how worthless I am by a man who’s been around since prehistory. And now I’m being thrown into a category-three winterscurge. HowshouldI be feeling?”
At Domenic’s description of Sharpe, Peak stifled a laugh. “Look, um, Dom. The Council knows what the past day has put you through. You’re only being sent out so that our forces and the public see you on the ground, already helping them. But we don’t expect you to do anything.”
“Yeah, because you all think I’ll fuck it up.”
“I definitely don’t. Hell, after blasting a winterghast with a training wand, this storm might be a cakewalk, yeah?” Peakflashed him a smile, goofy-wide, his dimples visible even beneath his gray scruff. Domenic wondered what he’d ever done to make this man so fond of him, if it wasn’t too late to reverse it.
“I didn’t do that alone.” And then, as if a horrible pendulum, Domenic’s mind veered from impending mortal peril to the other subject that had haunted him all evening:
Ellery Caldwell, radiant and ethereal at the base of the alban tree.
Ellery Caldwell, wielding a Winter wand.
Ellery Caldwell, who’d heard what sounded an awful lot like a prophecy piece.
And he hadn’t.
“I know Caldwell hurt Hanna and Iseul,” he said. “I just—she never would’ve done it on purpose.”
“Whether she did it on purpose or not doesn’t matter,” said Peak. “The thing is, that wand of hers having Winter magic? Take it from someone who’s been fighting Winter his whole career. I’ve lost a lot of friends over the years. Made some… some pretty big sacrifices, too. Put Caldwell outta your mind. That wand will be destroyed. All that matters now are whatever plans destiny has for you.”
Maybe Peak was right. Yet each time Domenic thought of Caldwell, a feeling wormed deeper inside him, a weed he couldn’t uproot.
Domenic laughed nervously. “You really trust destiny, don’t you?”
“Yes and no. I do believe destiny is a guiding force for all Living Wands, but ultimately, I believe the only person or force who can give you purpose is you. And purpose can make you capable of extraordinary things.” He tapped Targath’s sheath jutting out from his breast pocket.
Domenic’s gaze swiveled between the wand and wielder, considering.
“Tell me what it’s like, fighting ghasts, being in a scurge. Iknow I’ve done it before, technically. But it all happened so fast that I don’t remember much.”
Peak’s smile sharpened on one end, curved up like a sickle. “There are two ways to end a scurge. The first is to slay all the ghasts within it. The more ghasts there are, the more powerful the scurge grows. So you gotta move fast. And the big storms…” His tongue swiped over his teeth. “You can get some real nasty monsters in those. The sort right outta nightmares.”
Domenic shuddered. “And what’s the second?”
“The second way is to breach the eye of the scurge, the central point of all its magic. There you can stop the storm from within and wipe out all the ghasts in one blow.”
“I’ve never heard of that before.”
“That’s because it’s only been accomplished a few times in history. By that wand you got lying right there.” Peak jerked his head toward Valmordion, resting sheathed beside the radio.
