Snakeroot (29 page)

Encouraged by her elders’ approval, Mikaela added, “The Scribes aren’t his biggest fans either.”

“Thank you, Mikaela.” Anika smiled at the girl. “That gives me something real to work with.”

“It could prove vital. If Holt has been strong-arming with only a handful of Strikers at his back, he really is only playing at power,” Tess said to Anika, then turned to the diminutive Weaver. “Now, Mikaela, make us a door. Take us near Kyle of Lochalsh. I think we should regroup and find a place to use as a base of operations before we end up in the middle of the wilderness.”

Mikaela nodded and began to weave a portal.

“What are Highland winters like?” Connor asked ruefully. “Balmy?”

“Don’t worry, Connor.” Sabine patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll just find you a sheep to cuddle up with. I hear they have lots of them in Scotland.”

Connor made a sour face. “When we find Adne, I’m going to tell her you said that.”

“Good for you.” Sabine laughed.

As a snow-covered landscape came into focus amid the shimmering threads of Mikaela’s weaving, Connor leaned over to Ethan.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna get a kilt,” Connor said. “I mean, hey, it’s Scotland.”

Ethan just smiled and shook his head, but Shiloh asked, “A kilt?”

“I’ve got great legs,” Connor said solemnly.

Shiloh looked to Ethan for a reprieve. “Is he always like this?”

“Yep,” Ethan said.

“Of course I am.” Connor grinned. “I’m a goddamn champion.”

“You’re a what?” Sabine asked.

“Close encounter,” Connor replied. “You wouldn’t understand.”

The portal now offered a clear view of a hillside with the glittering lights of a village at the base of the slope.

Tess hugged Anika. “Good luck.”

“You too,” Anika said. “Don’t contact us unless you have to. I don’t want Holt to come after you. I’ll try to keep him too focused on the problems here to even think about interfering with your mission.”

“So we’re on our own,” Sabine said, glancing at Ethan.

“No,” Anika answered. “You’ll have an original descendant of the Harbinger to help you find your way.”

“What?” Tristan stared at Anika. “I’m not leaving. Not with Sarah imprisoned and Holt running the show.”

“Sarah is my best friend. You know I’ll do everything I can to help her,” Anika told him. “It’s my task to face Holt and take him down. You’re the only one who actually knows Bosque. You’ll see things, put pieces together that the others can’t. You need to go with them.”

“She’s right, Tristan. I may be the Guide, but we need you to show us the way,” Tess said. “Anika will deal with Holt. We’ll stop Logan.”

Tristan’s face was drawn, but he nodded.

“She makes it sound so simple,” Connor said wistfully.

“Get going.” Ethan shoved Connor toward the portal. “Your kilt awaits you.”

Connor’s skin prickled as he stepped through the light-filled doorway, leaving Haldis Tactical behind. Though he’d been a Striker for years, Connor felt as though he were heading into the field for the first time. A mission without the backing of the Academy and its Searchers made this a new beginning for all of them.

She needs a champion.

That label still made Connor uneasy. It wasn’t a word he’d use to describe himself except in jest. But if that was who he needed to become for Adne’s sake, then that was who he would be. The thought gave him a bit of comfort. He might only be at the beginning, but a champion could see the battle through to the end.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’m thrilled to continue writing in the world of Nightshade.
Snakeroot
wouldn’t have been possible without the aid of so many colleagues, friends, and family. My team at InkWell Management, Richard Pine, Charlie Olsen, and Lyndsey Blessing, do more for my books and my life than I could ever truly express. Every time I name Penguin Young Readers Group as my publisher, I feel overwhelming gratitude and pride. There could be no better home for this writer. Thank you to Don Weisberg and Jen Loja for your constant encouragement. I love popping in at 345 Hudson to catch up with the sales, marketing, publicity, and school and library teams, who do so much to bring my novels to life. Thanks especially to Shanta, Emily R., Erin, Elyse, Lisa, Elizabeth, Marisa, Jessica, Kristina, Molly, Courtney, Anna, Scottie, Laura, and Felicia. The beautiful paperback editions of the Nightshade series are thanks to the lovely Puffin team, particularly Eileen and Dana. Thanks to Tara for being so, so excited.

Nightshade thrives under the guidance and support of Michael Green, who is taking me to a baseball game soon . . .

I am so glad Jill Santopolo is my editor and I’m beyond lucky that she’s also my friend and neighbor in New York. UWS FTW. Thanks to Kiffin and Brian, too, for all their work.

Writers need other writers with whom to be silly and neurotic: David Levithan, Eliot Schrefer, and Sandy London take exceptional care of me. Beth Revis, Marie Lu, and Jessica Spotswood keep me sane and honest. Elizabeth Eulberg and Michelle Hodkin take care of important shenanigans.

My family remains at the heart of my writing endeavors. Thanks to my mom and dad for weathering transitions and keeping joy in focus. This book is dedicated to my brother, Garth, and his wife, Sharon, who made me believe in love again and remind me every day that nothing is more precious than family.

Turn the page for sneak peek at

AD 1404—SCOTTISH LOWLANDS

EMBER BROUGHT HER
sword down without warning and her aim was true. Her blade whistled through the air, hitting its mark and smoothly halving her adversary.

Her enemy might only have been a kirtle she’d outgrown and put to use by stuffing it with straw. Even so, the kirtle now lay in pieces, and bits of golden debris floated in the air around Ember as if celebrating her victory. With a yelp of joy she twirled around, brandishing her sword.

She held up the blade, letting its surface catch the sunlight. She was pleased, not only because she’d destroyed her poppet but also because her success meant she’d given her weapon the care it needed. Her sword was bright and sharp. The blade showed no signs of rust though she had to keep it hidden in the small niche she’d dug in this hollow, where it couldn’t be fully protected from the elements.

Ember brought the sword up once more and swung it down in a broad arc as her body turned, following the path of the blade. The effortless stroke ended abruptly when her sword met resistance. The sound of steel on steel rang in her ears a moment before the shock of impact jolted up her arm.

“I thought I’d find you here.” The familiar voice made Ember’s shriek of horror transform to one of delight. Though his clothing had changed, Alistair Hart had not. His ebony curls still shone in the sun and his eyes still rivaled the spring sky.

She began to lower her sword, but Alistair stepped forward. His blade rasped, pressing into hers and forcing her to push back.

He smiled at her. “Tsk. Don’t lower your defenses, Em. Is that how you’d respond to an ambush?”

“But—” Ember’s brow knit together. She couldn’t believe he was here.

“We’ll have a proper reunion after you’ve shown me that you’ve been practicing,” Alistair said, glancing at the remnants of the poppet. “It’s a bit more of a challenge when your adversary can fight back.”

His blue eyes shone with mirth that made Ember want to laugh, but she gritted her teeth. With a twist of her wrist she knocked Alistair’s sword away and struck. He dodged, deftly wielding his blade to parry her swing. Ember met his blow and pushed their swords up so she could aim a kick at Alistair’s stomach. Catching her sudden movement, Alistair tried to jump back but not quickly enough. He grunted as her heel dug into his gut.

Doubling over, he stumbled away. Ember cried out, dropping her sword.

“Oh, Alistair, I’m sorry.” She ran to him. “I got carried away.”

His shoulders were shaking and she gripped them, leaning down in hopes of peering at his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

When he looked up, grinning, she stomped her foot. His body shook not with pain, but with laughter.

“You’re horrid.” Ember’s cheeks were hot with embarrassment. “I thought I’d hurt you.”

“Only my ego, sweet Ember,” Alistair said, still laughing. “Fortunately my stomach can withstand a gentle kick.”

Ember winced at the word
gentle
. She certainly hadn’t meant to be gentle.

“I’m impressed,” Alistair continued. “You have been practicing.”

Though she wanted to stay cross with him, Ember couldn’t help but smile. “I have . . . If I don’t sneak out to this hollow, I’ll be forced to spin. I hate spinning.”

Her fingers twitched at the thought. She didn’t mind the calluses that made her hands rough from gripping her sword’s hilt, but she resented the blisters that covered her fingers after the tedium of carding wool and pulling thread from a wheel. With a sigh, Ember turned to rescue her blade from the dirt where she’d dropped it, but Alistair took her arm and pulled her back.

“Have you forgotten already?” he asked with an impish smile. “Now that you’ve proven yourself, it’s time to welcome me home.”

Ember laughed and threw herself into his open arms. He crushed her into his chest, so she couldn’t draw a breath, but Ember didn’t care. She had missed Alistair every day since he’d left the marches. He was the only person who would know to look for Ember in the hidden glen. The only person she trusted with her secrets. The one who’d secreted a sword into her possession and helped her learn how to use it. In this last year, his absence had meant she had no sparring partner and no one to reassure her that wishing of a life of adventure wasn’t a silly dream for a girl.

He laughed and spun her around so quickly that her feet swished through the air. “Ah, I’ve missed you, Em.”

Ember wriggled against him until she was able to gulp in air. The question pounding in her veins rushed out. “Have you come to take me away?”

Alistair buried his face in the crown of her hair. “Did you have doubts? I keep my promises.”

“But my father—” Ember tried to pull free, but Alistair’s arms were tight around her body, holding her close.

“There are some powers in this world that even your father must answer to,” Alistair told her. “And I’m here representing one of them.”

Though he seemed reluctant to let her go, Ember managed to wrestle herself out of Alistair’s embrace. “It’s wonderful that they sent you.”

“It was decided that things would be easier if I were to come,” he said. “For all of us.” He reached out, letting his fingers rest on her cheek. “After today things will be better. Forever.”

Ember nodded, though the lingering touch of his hand felt strange. Her mind was working too quickly to give the gesture much thought. Even with Alistair returned, she wouldn’t believe that her father would let her leave his home, be free of his rule, until she was well away from the family estate.

When Alistair had left his own father’s manor—only an hour on foot from Ember’s home—to join Conatus, Ember had been delighted to receive word that he’d been chosen to serve in their elite Guard. He’d always bested his brothers in combat. He’d made his preference known, and not many would give up the comforts of domesticity for a life of war, even the sacred war of the Church. But Alistair was the third son of a noble, which meant his father’s fortunes would pass to his elder brothers. Though he could have sought the hand of an heiress, Alistair claimed he’d prefer living by his sword than winning his fortune through a marriage.

Ember’s situation was the reverse. She was the ideal fiancée for someone in Alistair’s position. He’d even jested that they could marry to please their families. But two things kept Ember from ever considering that course. First, she knew marrying Alistair wouldn’t please her father. He had an eye on husbands who would extend his holdings in France or Scotland. Alistair might be noble in name, but he brought nothing to the table that would gain her father’s favor: no inheritance, no land of his own.