Cross - The High Priests Daughter

THE NETWORK SERIES
by Katie Cross

Mildred's Resistance

Miss Mabel's School for Girls

The Isadora Interviews

Antebellum Awakening

The High Priest's Daughter

War of the Networks

visit The Network Series online at www.missmabels.com

The High Priests Daughter
Young Adult Fantasy

Text copyright 2015 by Katie Cross

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, or incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity or resemblance to events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author. For information regarding permission, send a query to the author at .

Published by Antebellum Publishing. Visit www.antebellumpublishing.com for more information.

E-BOOK EDITION ISBN 978-0-9915319-8-1 VERSION 2.0
Also available as a trade paperback ISBN 978-0-9915319-9-8

Visit the author at www.kcrosswriting.com
Visit The Network Series at www.missmabels.com or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/missmabels

To Ta-rah, Beaner, and Scholes-woman.

Forever.

The Southern Network

G oing to the Southern Network made me more nervous than opening a bag of hissing cats.

Southern Network witches were known to be hostile, behave brutishly, and hate women anywhere outside the kitchen. Three things that didnt particularly endear me, a seventeen-year-old female witch who never left home without my sword, to their way of life.

Well, Bianca, are you ready to meet High Priest Mikhail? Marten asked me with a half-grin. The sun sank in the horizon, as useless as a paperweight, giving light but no warmth. Marten wouldnt allow me to use magic to transport to our meeting in the Southern Network because Id never been there before. Too great a risk, hed said with a little tsk of his teeth. Transporting without ever having been to a place, or at least near it, is just asking for trouble. So wed been riding in the cold carriage for over an hour, watching the glacial landscape glide past. Marten didnt have to ride with me, of course, but he was thoughtful in that regard.

I think the more appropriate question is whether Mikhail is ready to meet me, I said, irritable after jostling over the terrible, icy roads.

Marten chuckled, but it didnt quite reach his eyes. Nothing made him truly laugh anymore, not since the love of his life, our previous High Priestess Mildred, died eight months before, in the summer.

I wont be the first Assistant to ever cross borders with an Ambassador, I said, pushing thoughts of Mildred aside. But I may be the first female Assistant brave enough to venture into the Southern Network. Dont you think?

Youre not breaking any laws, Marten replied as if convincing both of us. The Mansfeld Pact between the four Networks allows for Assistants to accompany the Ambassador outside their Network on official business, its just that not many have. Certainly not to the cold tundras of the Southern Network, anyway.

Now seems as good a time as ever to break tradition. A war is about to start, isnt it? Lets add more chaos into the mix. Its a habit of witches in my family.

Marten laughed againmuch louder this timebut Id been serious.

Through the forest of thick evergreens I caught occasional glimpses of Mikhails looming ice castle. The second month of winter gripped the Southern Network with relentless strength, forcing me to use a flame incantation to generate heat so my fingers didnt freeze. A little ball of flame hovered between my cupped hands, sparking and warm.

Even the castle seemed to feel the bitter effects of its southern residence. Frost clung to the outer facade of stone, sparkling in crystalline shades of blue and white. Narrow turrets poked the charcoal sky. Unlike Chatham Castle in the Central Network, which was made of warm gray stones, boasted ten turrets, and sprawled out like a tall, lazy mountain, the Southern Network palace was skinny and narrow. What it lacked in girth it made up for in height, breaking apart in only five or six pieces with the shortest turrets towering at least fifteen stories. Snow capped most of the evergreen trees here, which pressed right up to the castle.

Prepare yourself, Marten said under his breath, shooting me a sharp glance. His hazel eyes remained warm despite his severity. And let me do all the speaking.

I strive only to be an obedient female in the eyes of the South, I quipped. The carriage moved from a bouncing dirt road onto paved cobblestones. Isnt your head cold?

He ran a hand over his bare head. Being cold builds character, he said. Before Mildred died, hed looked like a man in the prime of his life. Middle thirties, lithe shoulders, an occasional smile in a serious bearing. But her death had taken its toll on him, and he no longer used magic to transform his looks the way many older witches did. Marten was somewhere in his seventies, perhaps older if the wrinkles around his face and the way his skin sagged off his bones meant anything. Id worked as his Assistant for the last eight months, and hed taken me under his wing in a grandfatherly kind of way.

If being cold builds character, then Im the most well-rounded witch in Antebellum, I muttered, and my breath fogged out in billows. I stared out the window, memorizing the landscape. We didnt have trees like this in Letum Wood, the forest that spanned most of the Central Network. Ours were massive and thick, hiding dangerous secrets. The forests here seemed distant and sharp, more indifferent than treacherous. I tightened my grip on my sword, Viveet. She glowed a bright blue in her sheath under my touch, comforting me. Wed arrive soon, and I didnt intend to leave her in the carriage. Theyd have to pry her from my frozen hands before I went anywhere unknown and hostile without her. A little burst of magic stirred in my chest at my agitation, the way it always did, but settled with a sigh.

The carriage halted ten minutes later. A long, slim stairway led to a single wooden door. Southern Guardians lined the walkway, hovering so close I could have touched the shiny gold buttons on their gray wool jackets. Frost covered their swords and turned their cheeks bright pink.

Well, the castle is simple, I said, climbing out of the carriage and studying the straight facade of the building. I could appreciate the intimidation factor of their forbidding, silent welcome.

Functional, Marten said. Lets get inside.

We moved quickly up the stairs, stopping at the top when a male witch with sweeping light hair and dark eyes moved into our path. He had a small, scrunched face, as if he wrinkled it in surprise all the time. Just like the Southern Guardians, his intense expression made me feel like a dirty pot.