by Dana Swift
I gesture to my outfit. “Don’t go expecting this on a daily occasion.” I don’t mind more traditional wear like lehengas or saris, really, only flying had been too difficult for words, and I know I can’t train in it either, meaning in one single day I would have to change three times to get anything done. That sounds like the most absurd waste of time.
Naupure’s chest shakes as he chuckles. “I’ll be sure to set my expectations.”
I sense a pause and go for it. I need to change this conversation before I can’t think properly about what really matters. “There has been a new development in Project Smoke.”
“I assumed when I got your letter.”
“Oh, good. I was thinking…” How should I word this?
“What?”
“Nothing,” I say. I can’t tell him how all the women in my life assumed he didn’t want to listen to me, but only reintroduce me to Jatin. A warm fluttery feeling soars through my chest. For Maharaja Naupure, Project Smoke is more important than me as a marital piece to maneuver around a board. But by now I should know better. It was Maharaja Naupure who comforted me when I broke down in this very office after Riya’s father was injured. It was Maharaja Naupure who hugged me tight and said, “Do you want me to help you find the culprits?”
I start by telling him the story of the thief, bypassing the carriage interaction altogether, but sharing my interrogation of Basu. “I got him to admit he was selling my firelight to a boy named Nightcaster.”
“As in—”
“Yes, I can’t imagine who else it could be. Which means Basu was selling directly to the Vencrin. I need to go back into the Underground to fight as Jaya Smoke and I’m going to find out why the Vencrin are hoarding firelight.”
“Hoarding? In your letter you said they were taking it and selling it for five silvers.”
“I thought so too, but I was in the East Village all yesterday giving shop owners orbs of firelight. I mark the orbs to let people know how long the firelight will last. Basu was either wrong or he lied to me. The East Village hasn’t received a shipment of one thousand firelights in two months. Firelight was up-charged because it has become so scarce. The North and South villages were affected too.”
“So, you question Sims, maybe even Nightcaster. If they say nothing or don’t know, what then?”
“Then I’m going to follow Nightcaster, see who he reports to. And I’m going to shut this corruption down.”
“Adraa, this mission was dangerous enough the first dozen times. And now you want to go outside of the cage-casting ring? If you push hard enough, you will be discovered.”
That’s a risk I’m willing to take. I want to prove myself, demonstrate I’m more than a one-armed Touch. But Maharaja Naupure works on logic. “Sims gives me more information the more I win. I’m doing well, well enough he might give up meeting times, shipments.” I pause, awaiting Naupure’s acceptance to my plan. Knowing he is behind me in this gives me a safety net. One I don’t think I could live without.
“So this mission isn’t about Mr. Burman or the drugs anymore.”
“It will always be about that. I’m not going to stop until the streets are clean. But I know what they’re doing with the drugs. What could they want firelight for?”
Naupure rests his chin in his hands. “I have a guess.”
I lean forward, eager. This is why I was so desperate to come here. “What do you think?”
“It’s only a guess and a troubling one at that.”
I stare at him until he continues.
“Maharaja Moolek.” He pauses as I absorb the name. Naupure goes on to explain before I can grasp the entire implication. “Why else would the Vencrin overpay for something so cheap? It’s not their style. Vencrin would steal it. Mounds of money? That’s my brother-in-law wanting his hands on firelight.”
I have to get up and move. It helps me think. I pace in front of Naupure’s desk. “Moolek was angry a year ago when Father told him that firelight had replaced lanterns, that we no longer needed to import his ghee. And I wrote the letter saying I couldn’t supply his country, his enormous country.” I gesture to a map on the wall; the one of Wickery, where Moolek’s lands stretch above Naupure and the even smaller Belwar. Moolek sits upon us both like a shoe crushing an ant. “I can’t do it until I find more witches or wizards who can perform the spell.”
“And Moolek isn’t about to send you his best red magic users to help find candidates.”
“Of course not.” I’m past the point of pacing, my hands accentuating each word. “I guess he is just going to hire criminals to take it for himself!”
“This is only a guess, Adraa.”
I turn to Naupure and lean forward earnestly. “A good guess. One that is logical and sound.” Why hadn’t I realized it before? “I just need proof. Let me get it.”
He pauses, probably to judge my anger. I stand upright and lean back on my heels.
“I don’t control you. I don’t think anyone could,” he says.
“But you don’t approve?” I ask with as calm a voice as I can muster.
“Let’s go over the plan step by step.”
I sit again and Naupure pulls out my report. Fifty sheets representing six months of trying to understand and ultimately destroy the Vencrin.
“Let’s start.”
* * *
An hour later, I inspect everything again and smile. “I can do it.”
“There is so much that could go wrong.”
“Then I fall back. I go home. I can bail out at any moment.” I point to several places on the map.
“But will you? If you see something going awry, will you leave?”
I know Naupure needs a definite answer. So I pause, look him straight in the eye, and chill my voice. “Yes.” I can’t exactly tell if it is a lie.
Naupure sighs. “I think you should take your guard.”
“We’ve talked about this.” Riya being there would cause suspicion, and she can’t keep the secret from her mother. But I don’t blame Riya. Blood, if I were Riya I couldn’t keep the secret from Mrs. Burman.
“What about someone else, one of my trusted guards?” Naupure asks.
I shake my head. “It would cause suspicion in the Underground. The fact that I don’t have friends there makes Sims think he has the advantage.”
“And how very wrong he is.” Naupure stands and extends his forearm.
I maneuver and press my left arm to his. “Thank you.”
He has always trusted me, believed in me more than my own parents do. I may not want him to become my father-in-law, but he is practically my second father already. A bang on the door breaks the moment.
“Yes?”
“Maharaja, the Raja of Warwick is waiting for you,” Hughes says through the door.
Naupure glares at his timepiece. “My brother is early, which means I’m late.”
“I can see myself out.” I’ve never felt luckier. Happy relief flies from my worry-bound shoulders. Naupure frowns and I know what’s coming. A nervous chill slides down my spine and suddenly I’m cold and sweaty at the same time.
“I was hoping you and Jatin could meet again today.”
“Um, I should be going.” I fiddle with my belt, checking that Hubris is attached securely. Riya prepared me for this and yet I’m an ice sculpture pooling onto the floor.
“You don’t come here that often, so I was thinking it would be convenient for both of you. If the wind is against you it’s more than an hour of hard flying.”
Jatin hasn’t told his father about our first meeting, of course. Why would he when he had no idea who I was at the time? I meant to use that to my advantage, but what was I really going to do with it? I know this, though: I don’t want it taken away, with me left awkward and foolish for not announcing who I was at once.
&nb
sp; “Maybe your parents would prefer a more formal introduction.” Naupure gazes at the map of Wickery. I know for a fact that his wife’s portrait used to hang there. Every time he stares at it, I have the feeling he looks past the squiggly lines of Wickery’s borders and at her face. He once said I reminded him of her, of Savi.
Maybe this whole thing is uncomfortable for him as well. When I was a child it must have been more entertaining and interesting to meet and assess me. Now the process is a whole lot of work for all of us. But I guess marriage always is.
“Perhaps,” I say at last. My parents only want me to make a good impression. Want there to be some chance, before I ruin it. But what do I want? I want there to be a way for Jatin to meet the real me first before seeing me dolled up like the Festival of Color. Maybe underneath everything, that is why I didn’t reveal myself in the East Village.
Maharaja Naupure checks his timepiece again.
I motion to the door. “You should get to Raja Warwick.”
“Another time, then.”
“Of course. I’m here every month. And in two weeks I’m bringing firelight.” I gulp. Two weeks, then, that’s how long I have to think about everything. I bow and salute.
Hughes stands at attention as I open the door. I give him a guilty smile and he makes no visible motion, but I see disapproval written on his face. A fair trade I’d say.
“Goodbye, Adraa. Be safe.” Maharaja Naupure clutches my shoulder and then turns for the throne room.
I don’t breathe easy until I pass Jatin’s door. I can’t help but feel it’s going to burst open like he and his father have laid a trap for me. But nothing happens; it remains sealed and ghostly quiet just like it has been for nine years. I take the stairs breezily, even with a little hop in my step. I have more time. I was going to figure out what was happening to my firelight and then I was going to take down the Vencrin. There is hope, a plan, and a path that will lead Belwar to success. And if Moolek is behind the firelight shortage, then my first political move lies before me.
I round the second staircase. A man is making his way up. My eyes meet his and we both stop on the same footfall. No!
Once, when I was little, a fly landed on one of my burning training candlesticks and got stuck in the hot wax. I blew out the candle to see if that would help him, but it was too late. He buzzed in panic and yet his death was so quiet. It would have been unnoticeable if I hadn’t witnessed the whole thing. I never quite understood the sheer terror he must have gone through. But now I understand, because the eternal gooey silence that the two of us have stepped in creates a deathlike panic within me, one no one will ever notice and I can’t escape.
After an hour of training on the practice fields, I can’t take looking casual and acting surprised if my future wife might suddenly emerge with my father. I motion to Kalyan, who is working on his purple magic. A grayish wall surrounds him as he stands quietly casting a spell on repeat so the surrounding bubble builds on itself. I’m going in, I mouth through his shield.
A few layers of the bubble burst and he glances up, surprised. “Want me to come?”
“No, this is good work. Keep at it to see if you can run and sustain it.”
He nods and I track across the dirt. I thought Father and Adraa would come out thirty minutes ago and it wouldn’t be that awkward. Now? I’m sweating. A lot. I don’t think it can be explained away by training anymore. Actually, it probably looks like I have a condition. I wipe my brow.
What’s the worst that can happen? I ask myself for the thousandth time. She hates you, you hate her, and you marry someone else. The peasant girl flits into my mind. Yes, someone exactly like that, who saves people’s lives without hesitation. I choke the thought down as I step through a side door and into the palace. What’s wrong with me?
I thump up the main staircase. About five stairs from the landing a flutter of pink twists around the corner and I freeze. It’s her, the peasant girl from the market. How in Wickery…
She’s in a lehenga, one with an orange skirt that brushes the floor and a pink sash that wraps around her waist and over one shoulder. No dirt in sight. In fact, I’m the bedraggled one. My mouth goes dumb.
She finally breathes and removes her hand from her chest. Then she laughs with what looks like relief. “Blood, I thought you were someone else.”
How…What? I stumble into question, but then realize I haven’t yet vocalized the words. Probably because so many questions are running through my head. Who is she? Why is she here, alone? How did she get word to Adraa so fast? She can’t be a peasant. There is no way in Wickery she is an average commoner, not wearing that outfit.
“I was just leaving.” She indicates the stairs I’m blocking. The ones I will keep blocking forever if that’s what it takes to be able to properly talk to her. Say something before she disappears, I urge myself.
“I’ll walk you out,” I’m finally able to articulate. It’s a small but important accomplishment.
The girl has another excuse at the ready. “I’ve got it. I have someone waiting for—”
“I’ll be happy to. Please,” I add when she doesn’t look too thrilled at the prospect. I breathe, trying to remove the awkwardness of our last encounter. I can still feel her in my arms, the heat of her body. Blood, I may be blushing.
“All right,” she says.
We begin down the stairs, a descent into another world. I’m unsure how to break the silence. Should I say something about the street incident or maybe inquire after her health? I go with something simple and significant. “So, I never did learn your name.”
She hesitates and not in the timid, five-second kind of way. I undergo a solid brick of silent calculation. I am talking ten cold hard steps that clack against the stone.
She finally relents. “It’s Jaya.”
Victory wells up from my stomach for a split second before her counterattack lands. “Yours?” she asks.
I hadn’t even thought…“Kalyan,” I supply, and twist to offer her my forearm. I should have told her who I really am, but I can’t. I can’t give up the facade just yet. She hesitates for half a second, then presses her right arm against mine, Touch to Touch. And there, within the ultimate sign of respect and equality, the lie seals itself.
Too late I realize how sweaty and dirty I am, how I might have ruined her brocaded sleeve. She looks down at her arm and I want to die.
“Sorry, I’ve been training….”
“What? Oh no, you’re fine.” She doesn’t wipe her arm on her skirt and I’m so thankful. Two more stairs of awkwardness.
“So, what are you doing here, Jaya?” I hope that sounds casual, not desperate. She squints at me as if I’m a servant who spoke out of place. Guess I kind of am in her eyes, but what about her? What does she do to warrant a private audience with my father?
“Some business for Lady Adraa.”
So Adraa wasn’t coming. She had sent the girl who had discovered the problem instead. But does that mean Adraa is avoiding me? I need answers.
“So you work for her?”
“Well, yes.” Jaya pauses. “I’m practically family.”
Three more steps. I’m running out of steps.
“You don’t need to look so concerned,” she says. “I mean, I have already been cleared entrance; I’ve already had ample time to kill Maharaja Naupure if that were my intention and now I’m leaving.” She gestures toward the ice door, which lies ahead.
What the blood? “Implying murder and treason isn’t exactly reassuring.”
“Sorry, that came out wrong.”
“You implied—”
“I’m a friend to Maharaja Naupure, a good friend.”
Good friend? Private audience? My brain clangs. Oh Gods, could this girl, this girl who must be my age or younger, be sleeping with my father? Sudden rage snaps behind my eyes. No. It’s b
een ages since Mother died and normally I would be disgusted at the notion of Father eliciting young commoners into his bed, but not her. Not her!
“Good Gods, now you think I’m sleeping with your maharaja.” She rubs her temples.
Is she admitting it?
She waves one hand at me. “I’m not,” she practically yells.
We have both stopped right outside the staircase’s mouth. For the first time since the street incident I look into those fiery brown eyes. Without dirt on her face I can better see the fierceness in her features. We are almost the exact same height. That spurs a fluttery lightness in my chest. We are eye to eye, which somehow grants us equal footing and intimacy.
She breaks the gaze and walks forward. “I’m not,” she says more evenly, staring straight ahead. Relief wants to restart my heart, and I let it; I believe her. Why am I jumping to such wild conclusions about this girl? I jog to catch up with her.
“I’m sorry if I insulted you in any way.”
She meets my eyes. “Let’s restart. I’m just a girl who is not a murderer or a mistress.”
“Same.” I smile at her and she laughs. And with that, I feel powerful. We walk the last few steps to the ice door. I don’t want to let her go, but I also don’t want our conversation to erupt into awkwardness or horrible implication again. She touches the door, something I’ve never seen anyone do before. But that was nine years ago, a lifetime. Maybe this has become a thing.
“I love this door. It’s marvelous, isn’t it?” she says. I used to love it too, probably the reason I spent most of my time on white magic. Now, all I can think is that I had to walk out of it a decade ago.
I reach forward to pull her back. “Yes, but you don’t want to touch it for too long, it can give you frostbite.”
Her hand steams. “I’ve always been careful.” She keeps staring at the door and I wonder if she is trying to see her reflection in the ice. The warped image doesn’t do its owner justice.
