Skandar’s adventure among the warrior unicorns continues in this spectacular sequel to the instant New York Times and international bestseller Skandar and the Unicorn Thief.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt for A.F. Steadman’s Skandar and the Phantom Rider, which is out May 3rd!
Skandar Smith has achieved his dream: to train as a unicorn rider. But as Skandar and his friends enter their second year at the Eyrie, a new threat arises. Immortal wild unicorns are somehow being killed, a prophecy warns of terrible danger, and elemental destruction begins to ravage the Island.
Meanwhile, Skandar’s sister, Kenna, longs to join him, and Skandar is determined to help her, no matter what. As the storm gathers, can Skandar find the key to stop the Island tearing itself apart before it’s too late for them all?
SKANDAR SMITH WATCHED HIS BLACK unicorn, Scoundrel’s Luck, lick blood off his teeth. It was a beautiful day for a picnic. The August sky was bluer than water magic, and the sun’s warmth kept the chill of autumn firmly in the future.
“Where have all the sandwiches gone?” Mitchell Henderson asked, his brown glasses halfway down his nose. He shuffled on his knees, searching methodically through a wicker basket.
“I ate them—obviously,” Bobby Bruna said, not bothering to open her eyes.
“They were supposed to be for everyone!” Mitchell cried. “I specifically divided them equally between us . . .”
Bobby propped herself up on her elbow. “I thought this was a picnic. Isn’t eating sandwiches exactly what you’re supposed to do?”
“Here you go, Mitchell.” Flo Shekoni crawled across the blanket they were sitting on. “You can have one of mine—I already took them out of the bag.” Arguments were Flo’s least favorite thing, so it was unsurprising that she was willing to trade a sandwich to keep the peace.
“Did Bobby make this one?” Mitchell suspiciously nibbled the edge of the triangle Flo had given him.
Flo laughed. “I don’t know, but I’m not having it back now! Give it to Red if you don’t want it.”
Skandar lay against Scoundrel’s flank, the feathery tip of the unicorn’s folded wing tickling his neck. It was the most relaxed Skandar had felt since he’d arrived on the Island over a year ago. And he was happy; how couldn’t he be? Skandar finally belonged. He was bonded to a unicorn. He had friends—Bobby, Flo, and Mitchell—who wanted to go on picnics with him. The four of them made a quartet, which meant they shared a treehouse in the rider training school known as the Eyrie. They had all made it through the Training Trial at the end of their first year as Hatchlings and were about to start their classes as Nestlings.
Skandar’s heart beat faster as he remembered the day of the Training Trial, and Scoundrel rumbled deeply, trying to reassure him. After barely making it through the race, Skandar and his friends had come face-to-face with a deadly enemy—the Weaver—and fought to stop her wild unicorn army from attacking the Mainland.
Skandar had tried not to think about the Weaver since—or the horrifying discovery that she was his mum. He tried not to relive her riding toward him and Scoundrel on her wild rotting unicorn. He also tried not to think about how he hadn’t told his older sister, Kenna, that their mum was alive. He rummaged in his pocket to check for the letter she’d sent just before the summer solstice. He didn’t take it out. He just ran his thumb along its edge—as though that could bring her closer to him, could make him feel better about what he was hiding from her.
“Can you believe training starts again in a few weeks?” Flo said nervously as she watched her unicorn, Silver Blade, drinking from the river a few meters ahead of them.
“I wish we could start tomorrow,” Bobby said. The feathers of her mutation fluttered along her arms with excitement.
“You just want to start battering people with elemental weapons,” Mitchell groaned.
Bobby grinned dangerously. “Of course I do. It’s jousting! As Mainlanders say, I’m going to have more fun than a flea at a funfair.”
Skandar chuckled at Bobby’s made-up expression. She winked at him.
“I’d rather stay here.” Mitchell lay back and closed his eyes. “It’s simpler.”
Skandar certainly agreed with that. When he’d first arrived on the Island, Skandar had believed there were only four elements: fire, water, earth, and air. But after Scoundrel had hatched, it had become clear that they were allied to an illegal fifth element—the spirit element—just like the Weaver. With a lot of help from his quartet, Skandar had managed to pretend he was a water wielder for most of his first year. The truth had come out eventually, though, and now that everyone—other than Kenna and Dad—knew he was allied to the so-called death element, whispers followed him along every swinging bridge and up every ladder. It was going to be a long time before the Eyrie trusted a spirit wielder.
“We get saddles before we start training,” Flo pointed out.
Skandar sighed. “You get saddles. I’m not sure any saddler is going to choose me.”
“You keep saying that.” Flo frowned. “But Jamie was okay with you being a spirit wielder. If your blacksmith is fine with it, why wouldn’t a saddler be?”
“Jamie knows me. It’s different.”
“And he’s nice,” Mitchell added. “He said my hair was cool.” The flaming strands of his hair burned brighter, as though showing off the mutation.
“Talking of the Saddle Ceremony.” Bobby was fully upright now. “I heard a rumor that Shekoni Saddles doesn’t choose a rider every year. They’re so famous that they only ever present saddles to riders they’re certain will make it to the Chaos Cup.” Bobby had gone misty-eyed with longing.
“Flo, you are literally a Shekoni. Surely you know something?”
Flo shook her head, the silver in her black Afro catching the sunlight. “Dad won’t tell me anything. He said it wouldn’t be fair, and I think he’s right.”
“Fair, shmair. You’re such an earth wielder,” Bobby grumbled as she got up to brush mud off Falcon’s gray leg.
The unicorn peered down at her rider to ensure she removed it all. “What’s the point of having a saddler’s daughter as a friend if she won’t spill any secrets?”
It wasn’t just Bobby who’d been badgering Flo for saddler information over the past few weeks. And because Flo didn’t like disappointing her fellow riders, she’d taken to hiding in the treehouse to avoid them. Skandar couldn’t blame the Nestlings for their interest. Securing a good saddler was key to a rider’s success, so everyone was keen to know whether Shekoni Saddles would be at the ceremony. Olu Shekoni was the best saddler on the Island, but he was also saddler to the new Commodore of Chaos, Nina Kazama. Skandar still couldn’t believe a fellow Mainlander had won the Chaos Cup or that she was Commodore now—the most important person on the whole Island.
Scoundrel stood up—knocking Skandar playfully with his wing—and went with Falcon to join Red and Blade by the river. They began to play a game that looked like Which Unicorn Can Kill the Most Fish. Skandar wasn’t even sure unicorns ate fish, but Scoundrel and Red were having great fun snapping them out of the water with their sharp teeth. Scoundrel even managed to skewer one on the end of his black horn. After a few rounds, however, Falcon sneakily froze a section of the river with an elemental blast, and Red and Scoundrel both bashed their jaws on the hard ice. Blade snorted imperiously, seemingly disapproving of their foolishness, and watched the fish swimming safely beneath the glassy surface with stormy eyes.
Skandar was glad they’d chosen the water zone for the picnic. Although they had flown less than thirty minutes from the Eyrie, the terrain was completely different. Rivers and their tributaries ran like blue veins across the flat plane, lush grass growing along their bends. The quartet had flown over bowing willows where the zone’s residents built their treehouses, and spotted the occasional fishing boat creaking under aerial bridges, crisscrossing the canals below.
In the center of the zone, Mitchell had pointed out the famous floating market, where traders from all over the Island set up stalls on the water. Some customers balanced on wooden lily pads to inspect their goods, while others rowed their purchases downstream. Near river bends, water overspilled into lakes where Islanders could swim in the clear water and thirsty animals could stop to drink—when they weren’t being snacked on by hungry unicorns. The zone even had a different kind of smell—
Skandar gagged.
“Did you eat one of Bobby’s sandwiches?” Mitchell asked sympathetically. “I told her nobody likes jam, cheese, and Marmite as a filling, but she never listens to anyone, let alone—”
“Can you smell that?” Skandar asked urgently.
The unicorns started shrieking loudly down by the water. Scoundrel skittered backward up the bank, flapping his black wings in alarm. Scoundrel’s fear spiraled with Skandar’s own along their bond. Not here, he thought. Surely not here.
Flo grasped his arm. “Skar, what’s wrong?”
There was a gust of wind. Flo’s eyes widened in horror, and then Skandar knew he wasn’t imagining the danger. She could smell it too: the rancid smell of decomposing skin, of festering wounds, of death. And there was only one creature it could belong to.
“We need to get out of here. If the smell is that strong, it must be close!” Skandar jogged toward Scoundrel, intending to fly him away before danger arrived.
On the riverbank, the unicorn’s neck was wet with sweat. He was shrieking down at something in the water, his eyes rolling from black to red to black again. Skandar looked down too. The others moved to stand beside him.
Blood roared in Skandar’s ears. Distantly he heard Flo’s scream, Mitchell’s curse, Bobby’s gasp.
There was a wild unicorn in the water.
And it was dead.
Skandar’s mind jammed. It couldn’t possibly be real.
“I don’t understand,” Mitchell croaked. It wasn’t something he’d usually admit to.
The wild unicorn’s immortal blood swirled and churned in the flowing water. The smooth rocks and nearby reeds were coated in it, flies already buzzing around a great wound in the unicorn’s chest. Skandar thought the body must have been washed downstream by the current before coming, finally, to rest in this bend of this river.
“Is it definitely dead?” Flo whispered.
Mitchell crossed his arms. “Well, I’m not going to check.”
Skandar and Bobby jumped off the low bank and waded into the water. The smell of decay was so overpowering that tears sprang to Skandar’s eyes. Scoundrel squeaked worriedly above him, sounding as young as when he’d just hatched. Skandar tried to send reassurance to Scoundrel through their bond, even though every nerve in his body was on high alert: ready to sprint up the bank at any sign of movement from the wild unicorn. Bobby’s mouth was a sharp line of determination as she kneeled close to the chestnut unicorn’s transparent horn.
She shook her head, and Skandar bent down next to her, his trousers now soaked with bloody water. One of the wild unicorn’s red eyes was visible on the side of its head, unseeing. Skandar stretched out a hand and gently closed the wrinkled eyelid. Something about the thick eyelashes—so like his own unicorn’s—made Skandar impossibly sad. A rumble of approval came from Scoundrel on the bank.
“I think this is a young one,” Bobby murmured. “It’s not as gross as some of the other wild unicorns we saw in the Wilderness.”
“Skandar!” Mitchell’s voice rang out over the gentle lapping of the river. “We have to get you out of here! Spirit wielder? Wild unicorn? You can’t be seen anywhere near this.”
Skandar blinked up at him and Red on the bank. “Spirit wielders can’t kill wild unicorns.”
“Nothing can kill wild unicorns. They’re supposed to be immortal and invincible. And yet here we are.” Mitchell ran an agitated hand through his flaming hair.
“Come on, Skar. Let’s go.” Flo was already scrambling onto Blade’s silver back. “I can think of a few people who’d love to blame this on you.”
Dorian Manning’s face flashed into Skandar’s mind. At the end of last year, the head of the Silver Circle had been completely against a spirit wielder returning to the Eyrie.
Once Skandar was safely astride Scoundrel, he took one last look at the wild unicorn’s body in the river below, fear creeping up his spine. Wild unicorns didn’t die. They were supposed to live forever; they were supposed to be indestructible. But if they could be killed—if there was some way . . . What dark power had taken the life of an immortal that was supposed to live—and die—forever?
Mum? Skandar tried to fight the most obvious answer. The idea that she had already regained enough strength to kill an immortal creature was truly horrifying. He wanted to believe she wasn’t responsible, that it would take someone more powerful, more evil, to commit this impossible murder.
But Skandar couldn’t think of anyone worse than the Weaver.
