by Dana Swift
“Long journey?”
“Yes, you could say so.”
“Sorry you had to do the carriage for so much of it, but people want to know you are back, want to see you.”
“I understand.” What’s a son for if not to be paraded about?
I cannot seem to face Father head-on, cannot hold eye contact for more than a few seconds. I thought I had forgiven him long ago for sending me off, but now, home, seeing the servants and the guards, I hate that I had to leave.
“Jatin, about Alkin and the avalanche.” I face him. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you.” And like that, the emotions bubbling in my chest simmer down. Proud. It isn’t the same as love, but it’s close. Maybe he is as nervous and awkward about reconnecting with me as I with him.
Now I glance around to truly take in my home and not just to avoid eye contact. Everything is the same and yet…new. Like losing an old toy only to rediscover it years later. Something is different, though. Fire glints in the corner of my eye. The candles are gone, I realize. I walk toward the grand stairs and pick up an orb with a small fire blistering in light.
“You have firelight too?” Something in the way I say firelight must sound puzzling because he smiles and replies, “We thought the name was fitting.”
“We?”
“Let’s sit down and talk.” He walks toward his office, not even wondering whether I will follow him. Of course, I do, still holding the orb.
We take the staircase on the right and wander through a long hall until we reach the end. For some reason, I remember Father always saying he liked the view here, even though the room doesn’t have a balcony or windows. Must have been a joke my young brain didn’t grasp at the time. More firelight orbs light up Father’s large central desk and the half-dozen chairs strewn about.
“What you hold there is Adraa’s invention. I helped her start the distribution process and gave her a good discount on large quantities of orbs. She crafted the spell on her own. The light will burn for two months straight.”
“Two months?”
“I know; it is quite impressive. Belwar doesn’t need to trade with Moolek for ghee for lantern oil, meaning a newfound independence and stability. Various industries and craftspeople now work after dusk; thieves are more easily caught; and the number of household fires has dramatically decreased. Adraa has changed the entire economy. It’s a new era, an age of light.”
“Who produces them?”
“Adraa, of course.”
“Just her?”
“That is why she only supplies her kingdom and our capital, but we will have to change that soon. Only, she is having a hard time finding a witch or wizard powerful enough in red magic to copy her spell.”
“You cannot copy the spell?”
“Unfortunately, no. But then, Goddess Erif has never particularly liked me.” He laughs like there is some inside joke I’m not allowed to be a part of.
“Adraa never mentioned firelight to this extent in her letters.” Even Father cannot produce firelight? By Gods, this was winning. She had been winning the whole time. When I was nine I had wanted to impress her with a freeze spell. Naive me had wanted her to praise me, wanted her good opinion. But I’m a fraud compared with her. I only learn spells and recast them to perfection. She invented an entirely new one. I had never even thought of trying that.
Father smiles. “So you still write to her, then? I know I made you when you first went off, but you continued. I’m glad.”
“Yeah, I wrote.” I can’t tell him what our letters consist of, teasing and competition, nothing of real value. I was so pleased with myself earlier knowing she would have received my letter today, but now? I desperately want to take it back, rip up what has already been sent.
Then again, the letters weren’t completely terrible. In the beginning, I wrote just two lines—how are you, or such nonsense—because Father made me. I don’t think I could have endured anything more, what with me still harboring embarrassment from that slap in the face. Adraa replied with questions about school. I think she was jealous I went off to the academy to learn magic, while she had to stay in Belwar and be tutored. I read those letters all the time. They smelled of sea salt and reminded me I was the lucky one. How could someone be lonely and homesick knowing they were winning in the game of life? And answers to her questions came so easily, what with being a year ahead of her in training.
Adraa: I learned how to fly. Have you flown yet?
Jatin: Yes, of course. In Agsa we get to fly over miles of flowers and fields.
Adraa: I learned how to fix a broken femur. Can you do that?
Jatin: Yeah, that’s simple pink magic.
Then it became about earning top marks in our studies. Who was best in every subject? She got potions hands down; I was better at subtle, tricky magic like growing fruit.
Adraa: My tutor says I am number one in his class.
Jatin: Yeah, because you are the only one in it.
Adraa: That’s not true. He teaches others. You’re unbelievable. You think you are so great.
Jatin: Probably because I’m number one in my class.
A few years later, we moved on to acts of bravery or feats of prowess. I protected a kid from being bullied; she joined her mother at the clinic and started healing villagers. She saved a dozen horses from a stable fire; I helped people, including Kalyan, in the aftermath of the worst storm Agsa had ever seen.
Then, after a dare from Kalyan, I turned the letters into love letters with taunts hidden in ice. I also did it to get Fiza, one of the ladies of Agsa, off my back. When rumors spread about me writing love notes to my fiancée, it stalled her flirtation.
But I had agonized over the stupidity of that decision until Adraa had sent back a blank letter I had to freeze to read. She was all sorts of irritated I had claimed victory. She didn’t even say anything about the confession of love. I had been so relieved she hadn’t taken it seriously, I kept it going to tease her further. I don’t quite know why she is so fun to mess with. Probably because she tries so bloody hard when it comes to magic. Or maybe I liked the fact that I was winning our little competition and wanted to keep that going.
In truth, I have no idea what kind of student or wizard I would be without Adraa. I was one of the best because I couldn’t let a girl a year younger than I was and hundreds of miles away win. And maybe I pushed her too. Maybe we would be great together—pushing each other to be better in magic and life. Or…we might argue all the time about everything. I can’t tell, and that’s what petrifies me.
Father interrupts my thoughts. “I was thinking about a proper meeting, but not quite sure what would be best. Your mother was always better at things of this nature.” He rubs the gold wedding bangle wrapped around his wrist. Fourteen years and he still wears it. He stares over my shoulder at the huge map of Wickery covering one wall. What is he thinking when he looks at that map? Naupure’s vast land, our oath to our people? Or about our future alliance with Belwar?
I open my mouth to respond, but stop when someone knocks on the door. We both turn.
“Yes?” my father asks.
“A letter for you, Maharaja,” a man’s voice calls through the door.
“Come in.”
The young man who thanked me for his sister’s life holds out a note. I take it and my father thanks him. I look down and stare at Adraa’s name, and the envelope addressed to the maharaja.
“Like she knew we were talking about her.” I give Father the envelope. I imagine it’s some apology about her not being here today, but Adraa surprises me again when Father reveals the contents.
“She says she has recently found out about a corruption in firelight distribution and wants to set a time to meet with me.” The girl from the street had already gotten to Adraa, then. She worked fast.
“
I’m going to respond. Maybe this will be an opportune moment for you two to meet again?” Father raises his eyebrows in question.
“Fine by me,” I lie.
Two full excruciating days pass before I have the time to visit Maharaja Naupure. Re-creating and distributing firelight, and questioning people in the East Village, takes up most of the hours, but I have other responsibilities as well. And during it all I have to act normal and sit on the one lead I have that connects Vencrin and my missing firelight.
I distract myself with training with Riya in the courtyard, each session getting me closer to the final test and no nearer to mastering white magic. I also observe one of Father’s meetings, which went particularly poorly considering Hiren’s father, the raja of the northern mountainous region, asked why I was so out of it. So with my leftover hours I help Mother in her smell factory. I cook up most of the potent potions, boiling them just right to be mixed with some other herb or by-product. Riya always tells me she doesn’t want to hear about the bitter herbs or goat eyes unless it is a potion she should learn for her father, so I don’t. Much of pink magic is used to heal ailments like a broken bone or an open wound. This is the type that, as a guard, Riya is trained for. But disease and sickness need potions infused with a healing spell. That is the type my mother excels at.
Pink magic might be the rarest on the mainland. In our coastal homestead, most study blue water magic to catch fish or green vegetation magic to produce bountiful crops. Everyone wants to learn yellow to be able to fly and orange and purple to protect themselves. For an average citizen, the ability to do up to three or four types of magic is a blessing. Healing spells are hard to master, and the materials difficult to acquire. But injury and sickness are rampant in the harsh wilds of Pire Island, so pink magic is a necessity there. Thus, the best healers come from Pire, and Mother might be the best Wickery has ever seen.
And yet, when one’s fingers fish for the liver of a goat, one doesn’t feel high and mighty or grateful for the opportunity to work under the best. Zara, my maid and Mother’s top apprentice, is sure grateful, though. I’ve seen the girl up to her knees in sheep dung and the happier for it.
“Your mother wants to know how that liver is going,” Zara says, rounding the corner from the patient room to the workroom, where jars of everything imaginable line the walls and kettles filled with thick liquid bubble.
Half a goat lies on a smooth metal table before me. Its head is missing, but I don’t want to know what’s happened to it, especially the eyeballs. “I’ve got one lobe.” I point to a platter.
Zara nods, all smiles, and turns, ready to report.
“Hey,” I call. Zara bends back around the door. “Tell her after this I’m leaving. My appointment with Maharaja Naupure is in an hour.”
Zara’s eyes go wide. I’m sure she can’t imagine jetting off to another country to meet with a maharaja. She can’t fly either, so the prospect must seem doubly inconceivable. I think she sometimes forgets she doesn’t work only for a powerful pink magic user but also the Maharani of Belwar. Though sometimes even I forget how hard it is for most. The trip might be only an hour away, but some wizards can’t make the journey without resting at one of the three flying stations floating over the city.
“Yes, of course, my lady,” Zara replies, before doubling back. “Oh wait. Does this mean you’ll be meeting…” She claps with excitement. “Want me to do your hair?”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” I start to reach for the braid and remember the goat’s blood.
“Ah…”
I point a finger. “You did my hair this morning.”
“Ah,” she repeats, and then ducks away with a smile. Never mind. I can’t begin to comprehend Zara. She’s an amalgamation, code switching based on her duties so fast I can hardly keep track.
Someone knocks on the door on the other side of the room, where the palace hallway connects to Mother’s area. I withdraw from the goat’s intestines and shoot a purple magic lever that flips the locked hatch. Riya barrels in, blowing my fading red mist into chaos before it disappears.
“Hey, Adraa, we better get—” She stops upon seeing me covered in blood. “Gods, couldn’t you have warned me?”
“Not exactly.”
“You should clean up. We need to go.” She pulls out a timepiece. “Hope the wind is with us.”
“Or we can make some,” I say as I dive back into the goat. I’ve cast a purple spell to materialize a thin knife, but my red tools are hard to see amid all the goat blood. I slice away at the fat and at last I dislodge the rest of the liver. “Got it.” I place the meaty piece on the tray.
“That’s really great, Adraa. Really great.”
I take off my apron and wash my arms in a water basin, bathing away the blood.
“Adraa?” Mother rushes through the workroom door. “You’re still here?”
I point to the goat. “ ‘Adraa, don’t you leave until you get this last piece of liver for me.’ That’s what you said.”
“But I didn’t realize the time.” Mother wrings her hands and then reaches forward to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.
I jerk away. “Zara can help me. But Maharaja Naupure already knows I’m a mess.” I smile at that. “So you don’t need to—”
“Just Maharaja Naupure?” she scoffs. “Raja Jatin is home from the academy. You will surely see him. It’s very important you look…” She frowns. “Oh, you are going to have to change at once.” She points at my silk orange blouse and the slash of blood dripping down it. It looks as if I walked into the middle of a gruesome murder. I had been careful too.
“Blood,” I swear.
“Don’t curse,” Mother reprimands.
Riya laughs behind me. “I think she meant it literally.”
* * *
“You look fine, stop fussing,” Riya commands.
“It’s not the style or fit; it’s the…” I unleash my hands from the folds of my lehenga and the wind whips the ornate orange fabric into my face. “This.” I gesture to my half-covered face, then thrust the skirt back down and pin it as I hold Hubris tight. I can’t even see my skyglider in the mess of skirts. Of course, it’s not only the outfit. With all the firelight business, I had almost forgotten about Jatin, but I don’t want Riya to know that. “Have you ever flown with a long skirt?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Well, I dislike it, immensely.”
“I can see that.”
I shoot her a look. Then the pink fabric wrapped around my hips and thrown over my right shoulder hits me in the face from the other direction. All the pins holding the silk in place are about to fly off, if they haven’t already.
“I think it’s great you are wearing traditional dress. You desperately need the practice wearing one on a skyglider.”
I detect something in Riya’s voice and spin toward her, which throws more fabric in my face. “You! You hid all my flying pants, didn’t you? No wonder Zara got confused and nervous.”
“You can’t prove anything.”
“Which is basically an admission of guilt. I hope you are happy. Maharaja Naupure is going to have a big laugh.”
“I bet Raja Jatin will like it.”
“I won’t be seeing Jatin.” Maybe if I say it enough I can conjure it into truth.
“Yeah, right. That’s what you think. Your mother knew better. And I know a setup when I see one.”
“Riya, I have important business to discuss with Maharaja Naupure.”
“Yes, I know that, and you know that. But Naupure and Jatin probably think this is a ploy to get to the palace and meet.”
“Oh Gods,” I breathe. Riya is right. And once again fabric slaps me in the face.
* * *
I’m worried Riya is right, so when we part ways on the front stairs, I don’t wait for Naupure to come get me. Hu
ghes, Naupure’s main associate, asks me to wait in the main hall, but I can’t linger there like a sitting duck.
“I’m going to go up. Save him the trip down.”
“Lady Adraa, I insist!” Hughes calls after me. I lean over the thick stone banister. I do feel bad after seeing his panicked face. Hughes and I have had several great silent conversations as I’ve waited for Naupure in the past. We’re practically best friends.
“He’s expecting me. I promise you won’t get in trouble.” And I continue to climb, one set of stairs, turn, and then the other. I have to pass Jatin’s room to get to the office, or at least what used to be his room. The carved Jatin upon the door appears worn and reminds me too much of the nine-year-old I once knew. He sure doesn’t look like that anymore.
I’m so stupidly nervous that I consider muffling my footsteps with black magic so Jatin won’t hear me passing his room. He’s probably not even in there, I tell myself, but I still hurry by the door and make it to the end of the hallway. I knock and pray Naupure answers quickly. I’m still vulnerable out here after all.
“Yes?”
“It’s Adraa.”
Papers stir, a chair screeches against stone. “Come in.”
Naupure gives a little start of surprise as I enter. “Hughes didn’t tell me you were here.”
“I’m sorry, I ditched him.”
“Wondered when you would start to do that.” Naupure’s eyes widen a little as he processes the parade of fabric I’m wearing. “You’re all dressed up.”
“Yes, well, I got blood on my other clothes.”
Naupure bursts out laughing. “Not yours, I hope,” he says as we both sit.
“No, I was cutting out a goat’s liver before setting out.”
He smiles brightly. “Some days I just can’t wait until you are living here.”
I squirm in my seat, fixing how the lehenga falls around me. Naupure and I hardly ever talk about the impending marriage. That’s why we get along so well. I should have expected this, though. Jatin home. Me in fancy attire. Suddenly, it all seems real. I would one day live in this palace instead of my own.
