Page 11

Dropping to my knees next to one of the vegetable gardens, I scrape at the stiff, cold ground, my fingers raw as I claw through the frozen soil. Nothing. Not even a root. If I don’t find something today, Sable won’t have time to heal before the Guard comes to seize the next group of servants.

I don’t know what else to do.

Peering around to ensure nobody is within sight, I rummage in my pocket for the seeds I found. I pull the fabric out and shake some of them into the finger grooves I raked into the frozen soil, then I cover them with what little dirt I managed to scrape back.

Nervously glancing around, I slide my hands from the gloves Arlo gave me and press one palm flat to the frozen earth. Warmth stirs deep in my chest. If I’m caught using magic, it will be dangerous for me and Sable.

“Protect her, Alessia. You both need to remain hidden. They can never know, or they’ll come for you, too.”

Those were my mother’s last words to me before I watched her burn to death, along with the rest of the Arcanum.

I shove the vivid memory away and picture a green stalk with vibrant leaves and fat fleshy globes of tomatoes. A soft golden light flares under my skin. The ground trembles beneath my palm, responding to my vision. The cold resists, but my will pushes harder as I release a spurt of magic.

A stalk bursts violently from the frozen ground, leaves sprouting rapidly. I jerk my hands free as juicy, plump tomatoes swell on its vines. I yank the huge red tomatoes off, nearly ripping the entire plant up with it. My fingers tremble as I stuff them into my pockets.

Blood trickles from my nose, a symptom of using too much power. I have spent years fighting to contain and suppress my abilities.

“They can never know.” My mother’s voice echoes in my head as I stagger to my feet.

No one speaks of the mages anymore.

Many years before the flood reshaped the world, before I was born, there were twelve kingdoms, and each one kept its own mage as a ward to maintain peace.

Like any war, kings became greedy, fighting over resources, land, invading territories they had no right to. The mages refused to fight alongside them, so they abandoned their posts and fled to Purgatory Island. There, among the exiled, they formed the Arcanum, and my sister and I were born and raised in hiding.

The mages brought the island to life again, and the people of Purgatory began calling our home the Mage Isles. The rest of the world was not so accepting. Entire kingdoms let their fear harden into hatred.

After the wars that stripped forests bare and bled kingdoms dry of resources, the victors needed someone to blame. They demanded the mages return to their posts and save them from the bloodshed they caused, but none came forward. When the kings placed a bounty on the heads of mages, that’s when the purge began.

Whispers of the Mage Isles were not easily contained, and when the King’s Guard took the island by storm, my people were burned at stakes. Erased. My mother was one of them.

When the smoke cleared, the water began to rise relentlessly, and the kings claimed it was mage fire that split the sky and dragged the sea over the land. They said it was the mages who drowned empires. A curse they laid upon the world in their final hour.

Of the twelve kingdoms, five survived the flood, but only barely.

And if anyone discovers what I am, they’ll finish what they started with the purge.

I jam the tomatoes deeper into my cloak pockets, hands shaking with panic as I stomp the plant flat, kicking snow over top of it, desperate to hide any trace. I bolt for the barn, stumbling through melting snow.

Sable is still huddled on our bed of hay. When her dull, tired eyes meet mine, something flares behind them.

She pushes upright so quickly that the effort steals her breath, but panic gives her strength I haven’t seen in days.

I crouch, clutching the tomatoes like forbidden treasure. She stares at them, her chest rising and falling too fast. “You used it.” Her voice is hoarse, but her eyes are wide.

I freeze. “No. Sable, I—”

“You did. I felt it. I thought I imagined it,” she hisses, twisting the blanket into her frail fists.

My sigh is shaky as I pass her the tomatoes. She grabs one, glancing over her shoulder as if she’ll see the King’s Guard materialize from the shadows. Each movement is frantic, her weakness drowned by terror.

She devours the tomato in three savage bites, juice running down her chin, swallowing it as if someone will tear it from her hands.

“If I felt it, they might have too.” Her eyes dart to the barn door. “The King’s Guard . . . If they come . . .” Her breathing hitches.

I lower my voice. “It’s too cold for patrols this early, Sable. We’re safe. I was careful.”

That’s a lie. Patrols have already started, but I am not going to tell her how I know that.