Daughter of Stone (Wielder of Broken Realms Saga #1)

Prologue

Non

I was seven years old when my grandmother sat me down in a dingy cafe and told me, “There’s a possibility, Non, that you could wield power. A power unlike anything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

Power that was passed down through our bloodline, generation to generation. Every day since then, I have thought of nothing else, nothing but whether I could wield that power.

Two days and a couple of hours after I turned sixteen, I was given the chance to prove I could do just that.

A tall man in an eccentric purple shirt knocked on our door in the middle of the night.

He informed me that he was my chaperone and would be driving us to the location where the Cychwyniad ceremony would take place.

A small part of me had hoped we would travel up North on something magical.

It turns out Witches don’t fly on brooms; they drive big black Land Rovers with tinted windows.

Granny was already waiting in the car when I finally managed to stumble out of our bungalow, bleary-eyed.

She never disappointed when it came to the attire of an eccentric grandmother.

During the nine years she’d spent visiting me, not once did I ever see her in anything less than a well-pressed black suit and a wide-brimmed woven hat.

We drove overnight to get up North as quickly as possible. Despite my nerves, I managed to sleep a little in the back of the car, likely the result of Granny’s supernatural powers.

When we finally pulled into the driveway of our destination, a safe house in the countryside, I couldn’t help but notice how quaint and normal the cottage was for a place that was supposed to protect us from any surprise attacks.

After an awkward introduction with the family who owned the house, we made our way into the living room.

The cottage owners were nothing but polite, a middle-aged couple with one daughter who was a few years younger than me at the time.

Granny insisted I say nothing but the minimum to them, even though they were Wielders themselves.

I gave them a small nod when they showed us to the living room, where we would wait for sunrise.

“You should be concentrating on everything we told you in the car, Non, not worrying about what everyone else is doing,” Granny snapped.

I was quite confident from a young age that she had the ability to read my mind like an open book.

“I can—your thoughts are practically screaming at me, you’re thinking so hard. ”

“Can all Witches read minds?” I muse. Despite her best efforts to hide it, Granny flinched slightly.

“For D?n’s sake, what have I told you about calling people that out loud?”

I knew better; it was the very first rule she had taught me when learning the ways of her people. Wielder was the safer term.

“Honestly, the whole ‘we’re Witches, but we don’t really like to use that word’ is confusing. Who wouldn’t want to be called a Witch?”

Her eyes narrowed, and at that moment, I was unsure if she was going to shout again or turn me into a frog. The latter looked more likely.

“We can’t turn people into frogs, Non!” she spat, quickly checking over her shoulder to the entrance of the living room.

Not looking for another reason for her to scold me, I turned my attention back to fiddling with the small quartz pendant around my neck.

It had been gifted to me as a birthday present by my best friend, Catrin Green, a few days earlier.

Apparently, the owner of the local oddities shop had convinced Cat it was a protection crystal against magic.

But from the wrathful stare my grandmother was giving me from across the living room, I questioned its effectiveness.

“Do you remember everything we went over in the car?”

When I wasn’t sleeping during the four-hour car journey, Granny insisted I memorise the strict rules she was enforcing by repeating them until she tired of my voice.

“Don’t engage in conversation with anyone apart from you and wizard boy over there.” The man in question was our driver and chaperone; he was also the one who woke me rudely by hammering on the caravan door. “Do you have a name, Mr. Wizard?” I asked.

He let out a low, gruff laugh before slamming his book shut and finally making eye contact.

The first time since we’d met. “I only give my real name to those who I deem respectful enough to receive it. You can call me Ail.” His voice was gentler than I expected, the cadence much like my grandmother’s.

“Ail? Is that a fun nickname?” I asked, although he certainly didn’t look like the fun nickname type.

“Enough stalling, Non. I want those rules recited back to me. Now.” In the time it took for me to turn my attention back to Granny, she had flown out of her chair and appeared in front of me, tapping her foot loudly to remind me how thin her patience was becoming.

“Fine.” I blew out a breath. “One, no talking to anyone but you and…Ail. Two, I must use my fake name at all times. Three, I’m not allowed to stare at anyone, especially if they are using magic.

Four, unless some magic does shoot out of my fingers, I can’t leave the clearing until the sun goes down, no matter what the conditions are. ”

The frown of disappointment that frequently featured on my grandmother’s face eased slightly.

“Good. Now recite your cover story to me.”

Granny turned and began pacing in front of the open fireplace in the centre of the room. At first, she had insisted I use the alias and cover story she had concocted, but after three failed attempts at memorising it in the car, she finally let me devise my own.

“My name is Catrin Green, and I’m sixteen years old.

You are my great aunt; my grandmother was your sister.

My mother was an outsider. She did not wield magic and brought me up outside of this world.

You have been trying to get in contact with my mother for years.

You recently found her, and she agreed I could participate in the Cychwyniad to find out if I have magic.

” I flashed her my best sarcastic smile and went back to fiddling with the crystal around my neck.

Weaving some truth in with the lies had helped me to memorise it all—Cat had taught me to do that.

“It will do,” she said, waving her hand dismissively and plonking back down in the armchair she had claimed right next to the hearth.

Compliments were not something my grandmother gave out lightly, if at all. Rarely during my childhood had I ever heard her say anything remotely encouraging, and those rarities were saved for my superstar cousin. But the lack of a scolding was enough to tell me that I had remembered every detail.

“Under no circumstances, Non, are you to reveal who your father is today,” she began, her voice calmer but no less terrifying.

“Not to anyone, even if you think they are trustworthy. The only reason you have the opportunity to be here is because your mother has kept your existence a secret for most of your life. If anyone finds out about your kinship, then we leave ourselves vulnerable to an attack. Your father himself could try and take you; even worse, he could try to take other young Wielders, too. I cannot allow that to happen…” She paused and drew in a deep breath. “Whether you have magic or not.”

“In addition to the risk of your father, we also have a reputation to uphold. No one there today, apart from a trusted few, will know you are a Meredith, but they might one day. Do not embarrass the family name. The only way you will draw out any magic during the Cychwyniad is through true concentration. No matter what they throw at you during the ceremony, you do not break. You keep your composure and concentrate. I have seen too many weak Wielders crumble from the distractions. That will not be you. No granddaughter of mine will embarrass me as such. Even if no powers emerge out there, you stay in that clearing until sunset. No exceptions.”

I gnawed at the tip of my thumb as thoughts of failure raced through my mind.

In the weeks building up to the ceremony, I’d had little sleep.

Thoughts of standing in front of everyone and not a lick of magic appearing had plagued my dreams. The doubt was made worse by the fact that the only other Wielder my age that I knew was my cousin.

And she had magic coming out of her by the bucketful.

After waiting in the cottage for what felt like hours in complete silence, the living room door was flung open by the father of the family we had met earlier on. His eyes darted around the room.

Ail spoke first, snapping his book shut. “Everything okay, Gruff?”

The man’s gaze shifted from Ail to me and then to Granny. She dipped her head in a silent nod as if giving him permission to continue.

“Word just came from Henffych. They were attacked only a few miles away from the”—he paused again, considering his words carefully— “destination.”

Granny placed a hand on Ail’s upper arm and squeezed before turning back to Gruff. “Did he attack out in the open?” she replied.

“No. They ambushed them as soon as they arrived in the summoning circle just outside of Aberdyfi.” The colour seemed to leech from Gruff’s face as he spoke.

Who had attacked? My father? Was he that much of a monster that he’d hurt innocents just to get to me? Surely, I wasn’t that special.

Ail opened his mouth to respond, but Gruff, who seemed eager to spill all the information he knew, blurted, “He knows where she is.” He nodded gingerly at me.

“He tortured…” His lip began to quiver before he cleared his throat and carried on.

“I mean, he got information out of those you sent in the convoy. Henffych said he’s already on his way here. ”