Wandfasted. Laurie Forest

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       Chapter 1: Front Lines

      “We’re not doing business with Crows,” Mistress Darrow states. “Not anymore.”

      She stands with one fist propped on a broad hip, her apple-cheeked face twisted up into a triumphant sneer, strands of her blond hair escaping her crimson kerchief. The flag of Keltania is pinned above her ample bosom—an iron-black X on a rectangle of bloodred linen.

      Her husband, Merchant Darrow, seems embarrassed, his own Keltanian flag haphazardly pinned up near his shoulder. He looks down at the wooden counter in front of him, toying with the smooth abacus and deliberately avoiding my gaze.

      Panic rears inside me. My grip tightens on the apothecary crate I’ve set down before them, tidy medicine bottles lined up in the segmented box. I think of the money we need for our journey east to Verpacia. Of the red tinge to the leaves, winter close on our heels. My elderly grandfather, my young brother.

      Doveshire has become too dangerous for Gardnerians. It took ages for my brother, Wren, and me to convince our stubborn grandfather that we needed to leave, but now, everything is ready for our departure—the wagon is packed, the horses already hitched, the house closed up.

      All we need is the money for these medicines I’ve spent weeks brewing. The money we’ve been counting on to buy supplies—supplies we’ll need to survive.

      I straighten my shoulders, trying not to shrink under Mistress Darrow’s glare. “I don’t understand. The last time I came in, you were happy to buy my medicines.”

      She blows out a disgusted breath. “Dark witches with dark magic, that’s what your lot is. First you twist the faith that belongs to us. Then you use your dark magic to steal a nice big chunk of our land.” She gives her chin a defiant lift, her smile full of venom. “Well, the tide is turning. Your magic’s faded.”

      Some of what she’s saying is true, to the sadness of many Gardnerians. Most of my people have no magic or weak magic at best. And we haven’t had a Great Mage in generations. But our magic isn’t dark, and I’ve never done a thing to harm her or anyone else—though I’m sorely tempted to in this moment.

      I can feel her angry gaze on me as I turn to her husband. “Please, Merchant Darrow,” I plead, the forced politeness of my tone ringing false in my own ears. “I’ve spent weeks preparing these healing brews for your shop. My family is counting on me to sell them.”

      Conscience seems to get the better of Merchant Darrow, his lined face tensing in discomfort. “Just this last time, Tessla,” he forces out gruffly, still not looking at me as he pulls the vials of medicines closer to inspect them.

      Mistress Darrow throws him a tight look of fury before grabbing the crate and jerking it away from the both of us.

      “We’ll take them, then.” She smiles malevolently. “Just like you Crows took our land.” She sets a hard gaze on her husband. “No payment.”

      I’m not sure I’ve heard her right. “What?”

      She skewers me with her glare. “Oh, we’re onto the lot of you. Figuring you’ll wave your wands around and take everything we’ve got right from under us. Well, not this time. We’re going to fight, and we’ll stamp you all out before you have a chance to raise up another Dark Mage. And we’re taking our land back.”

      My heart pounds like a hammer. I lunge for the crate, but she’s anticipated me, pulling it quickly out of reach just as Brandon and two other burly blacksmith apprentices lumber into the Guildmarket.

      “You can’t,” I protest, full of righteous fury and mounting desperation as she sets the crate on a high shelf behind her. “That’s a whole month’s work. We’ve nothing else to trade. You’re stealing.”

      “Got a Roach in here? Causing trouble?” Brandon saunters toward me, smelling of sweat and smoke. His blond hair is greasy, and the flag of Keltania is securely pinned over his heart.

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