Nobody questions how the Sorcerer Kaelthar grows the most potent herbs in Anacaris, but an hour into tilling his garden, I discover the bones. I loft a glittering femur, too long for a dog, too short for a stag, and present it to Ember’s kneeling form. “What is this?”   Ember snaps to attention, sandy hair ...

Screaming pierces my eardrums. The door slams, and suddenly, we’re all capable of calling light to the tips of our fingers. In the crackling glow, panic flares in Tyrak’s eyes as he turns and nearly trips over me to run to the staircase. Ember grips my hand, and we bolt, Jelric to my side.   We stampede as if Ortha’s body could fly, hands twisted ...

“Yes, Master.” I choke out the words to relieve the pressure on my throat. Finally, Kaelthar releases me. I stumble back, gasping for air.   He stands from the desk and stalks toward me. I slink away as he draws close.   “The others won’t believe you if you tell them.” Is he reading my thoughts? “They took my word about the planet, and they’ll do the same now.”   He’s right. They’re trained to trust him, have been their ...