Cast in Firelight

by Dana Swift

  I wait a beat, then jump into action. It occurs to me she might not be able to open it. “Here, let me.” I cast the intricate spell, and the door breaks apart, allowing buttery light to flood in. My magic floats like lost fog.

  “A white forte,” she says as if noting the weather. Maybe I gave myself away, but Kalyan is a white magic forte wizard too, so this shouldn’t blow my lie.

  “Yes.”

  A girl sitting on the stairs bounces to her feet as Jaya and I step over shards of ice. She is pretty in her own right, but she doesn’t have Jaya’s eyes, her rich dark skin, her cheekbones, hair that— Oh no, I’m staring again.

  “This is my friend, Riya.”

  I quickly bow and smile. She sizes me up and seems pleased to be doing so. She’s laughing at us, I realize. Well, at least me.

  “Riya, this is Kalyan.”

  “Oh.” She gives a little start. “I just thought…Never mind.”

  She thought I was Jatin. Oh Gods. I should admit it. I’m being so ridiculous. I’m going to look like a fool, but I open my mouth anyway.

  Jaya starts talking before I can say a word. “I—I did want to thank you for the other day. I realize most people black out when they burnout and it was nice to know if that had been me you wouldn’t have left me in the street.” She breathes as if blowing through a rehearsed speech.

  “You’re…you’re welcome.”

  She nods, turns, and unhitches her skyglider from her belt. “Come on, Riya, let’s go,” she says as she trudges down the stony path. I would have to yell for her to hear me now. I can’t force myself to do it.

  Jaya has almost reached the stairs that stick out of the mountain when a voice interrupts my reverie. “Raja Jatin, is there anything I can do for you?” a well-shaven guard in vest armor asks from behind me.

  I cross my arms and lean against the pillar that spouts from the entryway. The air up here is thin, but fresh and cool. The sky shimmers with wisps of pink, dusting the blue palace walls with a purple glow. “No, just enjoying the view.”

  “Yes, me too, sir.” The guard smirks. I follow his gaze to Jaya walking down the path.

  “Zitadloc,” I whisper, and point my white magic in his direction. It wisps up his leg and into his spine. The guard shudders. “Good Gods, man, decency.”

  * * *

  I don’t know what to do after an interaction like that, so I stumble to my father’s office, only to find it vacant. So I go back out to the practice fields to watch and help Kalyan as he sprints with the multilayered shield around him. But my mind has been warped. If the girl was a distraction before, she’s become all I can think about now. What had Jaya and my father talked about for so long? What plan was being implemented without me? Good friends, she said. It hits a sore spot I thought had healed long ago.

  I wander back to Father’s office over the next few hours in between more training and a cold bath. He’s properly swamped, as any maharaja should be. And yet I have way too much time on my hands with nothing to do. It’s Hughes who comes for me in the end.

  “Maharaja Naupure wants to see you.”

  My head jerks from the spell book I was no longer reading. “I’ll be right there.”

  Three minutes later, I’m standing in front of the man I’ve been trying to talk to for hours. While my head has been swarming all day, my father looks as if his has been swarming all month.

  “There’s been a skirmish near the Naupure and Moolek border, in Warwick territory,” he says bluntly.

  I stand straighter, completely focused for the first time in hours. That area has been in turmoil for years, but the look on my father’s face tells me I should be concerned. “How bad?”

  His face doesn’t crumble; there’s just a tightening around his eyes. “Six dead so far. A couple of fields of crops plundered.” He throws his hand in the air. “All in the name of the four gods, I imagine.”

  I nod and try to process what he’s told me. Six dead, not close to the worst I’ve heard, but it could get worse. There might be fighting at this very moment.

  “Jatin, with you home, I’m not as worried about leaving the capital.”

  I understand immediately. “I can do it.”

  “There is a lot you already know, of course, and you now have the title of raja for authority.”

  I repeat what will probably be my mantra for the coming weeks as I take care of my capital and country. “I can do it.”

  “Yes, I believe you can.” Father starts arranging folders and paperwork in the cabinets on the right wall. He tells me what is what. It’s a long hour with no time to interrupt about firelight, Adraa, or Jaya. I try to concentrate. After everything has been pointed to or addressed, Father leans back to gaze at his wall of work. Or now, my wall of work.

  He clears his throat. “I’m sorry I couldn’t introduce you to Adraa properly. It will have to wait until I get back.” He pauses as he contemplates the calendar on his desk. “She’s delivering firelight in two weeks. I’ll have to write to cancel.”

  “I can handle that without you.”

  He raises an eyebrow at me. “If you are sure.”

  I don’t want Adraa to feel like I’m avoiding her like she’s probably avoiding me. “We need the firelight, right?”

  “Yes, but the meeting is more so I can talk to her.”

  My stomach clenches and my throat tightens. She’s more of a daughter to him than I am a son. Maybe we should let her run the palace for the next few weeks.

  “Don’t worry. As long as no one gets slapped in the face it will be an improvement. Besides, I know you’ll like her.”

  How does he know this? How does he know what I find attractive? He doesn’t know me, not truly. Jaya pops into my head and this time I don’t smash the image away.

  “May I ask you something?” I ask.

  He is so overwhelmed with the situations at our borders I can pretty much ask anything. I could probably even ask about Mother. “Always,” he says, verifying my theory.

  “I want to know more about the Vencrin.” It’s been running through my head since getting back, how much I don’t know about Belwar’s troubles. Seeing the girl again reminded me of my ignorance. Adraa sent Jaya here to talk to my father about the Vencrin firelight problem, but I wasn’t included in the meeting. And I need to know, especially if Adraa is coming and might expect an update.

  “The Vencrin? Adraa wrote to you about it?”

  My father severely overestimates the substance of our letters. “No, I heard about it in the village.”

  He rubs his chin. “How much do you know?”

  “Only that they’re criminals in Belwar who sell drugs to the Belwarians.”

  “And Naupurians too. We are affected as well. Just in the capital at the moment, but it’s enough to make anyone concerned.”

  “Why wasn’t I made aware of this, then?”

  Father frowns. “I thought it would interfere with your studies. Knowing something bad is happening and not being able to do anything, that’s practically torture. Besides, the Belwars have helped. Especially Adraa, she wants to get to the bottom of it. It’s more in their territory, their domain.”

  I pause. Especially Adraa? She never bragged about this in any of the letters. She didn’t even mention her role in firelight. What else was everyone keeping from me? “I want to help too, or at least know everything there is to know,” I say.

  Father assesses me. Only for a second, but it’s a second Adraa Belwar probably never had to endure. “Recently, Adraa discovered the Vencrin are no longer dealing in drugs only. They’re also buying up firelight. I think they may be doing so under Maharaja Moolek’s instructions.”

  “Uncle Moolek?” I say, too loudly. First the skirmishes and now I learn my uncle is tampering with my fiancée’s invention. “What would Moolek—”

&nb
sp; “I just think that it looks like Moolek is involved. I suspect he wants firelight to replicate or destroy. Firelight has made Belwar less economically dependent on Moolek. It is also an insult to the Moolek ideology. Firelight lets any commoner with no skill in red magic wield fire and light. Meaning wizards and witches who are not blessed by the four main gods, or even the Untouched, are able to grasp that power and be equal to others. What if Adraa invented a green spell that could let anyone prosper in the fields, or a yellow spell that allowed anyone to fly a skyglider? Your uncle’s control would collapse.”

  “You’re right.” I sit down with a thump. My father doesn’t need to explain further. Moolek’s social hierarchy is built on taking advantage of those with less magical ability and crafting barriers and stereotypes around certain colors so that they remain inferior to the original elemental types. All of that makes sense to me—how could I not have seen it immediately? In the carriage Jaya said the theft of firelight felt personal against the Belwars. She sensed it, then.

  “It’s still only speculation. When I visit the border, I hope to meet with Maharaja Moolek. Currently we are in the middle of everything, both geographically and as the country with plans to unite with the girl who created a spell that threatens Moolek’s way of life.”

  Holy blood! “Maybe I shouldn’t marry her.” It’s a bad joke that hits too close to my true thoughts.

  Father goes quiet, painfully so. His next words are whispered harshly. “Jatin, if I’m correct about your uncle’s motives, he will try to control Adraa somehow. And that would be an alliance that would break our land in two. He would have her power, her brilliance, and her firelight.”

  I don’t know what to say. Never have I imagined how political my marriage might be. Yes, fulfilling family expectation, and yes, an alliance with Belwar, those were given. But now? I run my hands through my hair. Does the whole world revolve around the fact Adraa invented a fire spell? Feels like it.

  “And if I hate her? Or she hates me?” Maybe I should tell Father about our letters. Because I think she does hate me a bit. She’s not avoiding me because she’s shy.

  “Get to know her before you start a political crisis.” Father laughs, but it’s a dark one.

  He pulls a stack of papers from his desk drawer instead of the cabinet. This one must be special. “You are right, though. You should know everything.” He hands the stack to me.

  I flip it open to find page upon page of handwritten notes. “What is this?”

  “I have someone on the inside, someone undercover, in hopes of learning about and bringing down the Vencrin. And now that also means figuring out whether Moolek has a role in the firelight shortage.” Father points to the notes for emphasis. “This is their report.”

  I examine it. The first page marks day one, with the agent’s name, Smoke, written across the top. It looks like Adraa’s handwriting, but then I realize it’s too neat. Adraa’s writing swoops and swirls like a ten-year-old on a skyglider; this person swoops with smaller flourishes like a seventeen-year-old flier. But my guess is the writer is female.

  I want to learn, but this is more than textbook material. This is insider information, the secrets of an undercover operation. “What do you want me to do exactly?”

  “You asked. You care. Adraa cares too.” Father points at the report again. “Learn what there is to know. If you want to be a part of it I won’t stop you.”

  “A part of it?”

  He motions toward the papers. “You’ll see. She could use backup.”

  * * *

  At first the notes scramble to explain everything. The entire process of the investigation, the theory, the goal, the beginning, all are laid out in a jumble of details. But within five pages, the important pieces start to float above the garble. I turn a page. Vencrin and their marked attacks on ships on the Belwar coast. I turn another page. Vencrin and their marked hits on the streets of Belwar.

  The next few pages explain Bloodlurst. Extremely addictive and pleasurable to the senses on initial use, it says in large print at the top. I had remembered correctly; with recurring use the drug enhances one’s Touch. Another page, more reports of incidents in which an addict burned out or killed someone. I stop at one sentence. In the majority of cases, taking too much Bloodlurst burns out the user…I reread the next word to make sure I’m seeing it correctly. Permanently, it says.

  I leaf through more pages. Agent Smoke discovered a connection between the Vencrin and a place called the Underground, a hidden arena for cage casting, with weekly matches. There’s a calendar. The next date circled on it is in two days. The only other item emphasized with the same pugnacity is the name Sims, underlined with three bold strokes. Then there are name after name of cage casters. Next to some are Vs. The members proven to be Vencrin, I realize a second later as I scan down the page.

  Nightcaster: Rakesh: Black: V

  Tsunami: Beckman: Blue

  Thunder: Tenson: Yellow: V

  Lightning: Kuma: Orange: V

  Streak: Amit: Orange

  Ax: Anik: Purple: V

  Quake: Navin: Green

  Mist: Sonna: Blue

  I shuffle through a few more pages and a smaller page falls out. I grab it off the floor. It’s another city map, with six points marked by red dots. Next to each dot is writing. I peer closely at a dot. 2 V, 30 packs destroyed.

  I look up and realize hours have passed. I’ve read twenty-five victim cases and thirty fighter profiles. I rub my eyes, but can’t wipe away the headache behind them. So much was kept from me. I knew my country wasn’t perfect, but I thought it pure and clean compared with Moolek. Nothing like shattered illusions to make you feel both sick and exhausted.

  Adraa was doing something, Jaya was doing something, and Agent Smoke was doing something. I hit my desk, and the first red magic orb I ever created falls and rolls under my bed. Over the years it’s lost all resemblance to a flame; now it’s only a wisp of red smoke. If I opened the thing it would puff into nothing. I bend to get it, and when I set it back in line with the other eight orbs, resolve hits me in the chest. I’m no longer a pathetic ghostly spell sheltered in an orb. I am a raja in the nine gods’ eyes.

  Now I know what Father meant.

  I will be a part of it.

  Being undercover, being Jaya Smoke, means I must constantly live in confidence; must wear it like my Touch and let it grow and coat me like a second skin. The persona keeps me safe. But I can’t help but like and admire the woman I become when I’m Jaya. So much so that it seeps into other parts of my life. I curse more in the Underground and thus can’t hold back saying “blood” on a daily occurrence. I’m pretty sure I swore five times in front of Raja Jatin in the carriage and hadn’t even given it a second thought.

  I like Jaya so much that I have become my persona, which over these past months has confused me. Have I changed myself forcefully, to the point that I have lost myself? Who was I really before I took on this mission and became a cage caster and then a night stalker? Blood if I can remember, but that person feels weak and alien to me now. These are the thoughts that lurk in my mind when I use black magic, when I paint myself in it so I can’t be seen. As an invisible entity of the night, I sneak into the East Village and hunt for the landmarks that guide me toward the Underground.

  I round a corner, still expecting Basu to ambush me. But I shouldn’t worry. He’s gone. Two days ago my father finally read the update. After the interrogation, the truth spells revealed Basu didn’t know he had been selling my firelight to criminals. He’s been banned from selling firelight again, but that’s a whole lot better than time in the Dome.

  Basu begged for a guard to protect him until he could leave the city, my dad said. That’s the part that draws shivers down my spine and makes me keep glancing over my shoulder. The Vencrin started cropping up slowly about a year and half ago. From wha
t I’ve learned, most if not all Vencrin members are nothing more than thugs dragged into the drug-dealing game by the lure of power upgrades, money, and protection. But I can’t ignore all the evidence that points to them destroying Mr. Burman, one of the most powerful men I knew. So maybe I am wrong. If Basu is that scared of the Vencrin, should I be as well?

  That’s why tonight is so important. It’s taken me months to track down one drug den and stop a handful of drug transactions. And I’m nowhere near finding Mr. Burman’s assailants. If Moolek really has a hand in this mess it could take me months. Months I don’t have. Jaya Smoke’s days are numbered. Thirty-nine days and it’ll be my eighteenth birthday and the royal ceremony. And after my face is plastered all over the country as a rani, entering the streets in the red mask and breaking up drug deals won’t be easy. Without the information I gather as Jaya, I will basically be wandering around alone in search of illegal activity. I have to find new leads on what is happening to my firelight, and soon, before the royal ceremony, before I’m forced to be only Adraa Belwar for the rest of my life.

  The entryway into the club looks like nothing special. Several times I’ve had to double back to make sure it’s the same dull and litter-filled dead-end street. At the end of the grime, well, there’s more grime, and beyond that is your average broken window. Only after delivering a few harsh taps and dusting some of my magic over the opening does something interesting happen. The broken glass and the frame grow, elongating like a jaw dropping open. A huge wizard pushes aside the curtain behind the glass and throws open the window door. I no longer need the password because I get the nod, smirk, and sneer, in that order, indicating that I’m allowed entrance.

  I lower myself into the cesspool of smoke and haze. The stickiness of sweat and heat due to lack of ventilation hits me like an awkward hug. I’ve heard a few wizards exclaim, “Ah, back at home!” as they walk in. So yeah, the clientele who likes to watch cage casting isn’t the most profound or hygienic.