by Dana Swift
“Hey,” I say as I sit and dangle my feet over the edge. I grab the railing and slip my arms over it to hold on. “Thanks for earlier.”
“That nothing blood of a wizard is getting worse these days,” he snarls. “He’s a psychopath in the making. Gods, if I were his father…”
A bubble inside my chest expands. Beckman is the father of two little girls. I’ve seen them once, at the market, following their giant of a dad around as if he were one of the gods. It’s one of the main reasons I chose to align myself with him and he has granted me some protection here. Which only means that he doesn’t give Rakesh the opportunity to be alone with me. But in one month I would fight Beckman. What had I done?
“Your guy any good?” he asks.
“He’s not my guy.”
“He’s something to you if you vouched for him to Sims and he wants to brawl with Rakesh.” Beckman’s harsh bearded face lifts in a “got you there” look.
Instead of answering, I stare down at Kalyan as he and Tenson stride into the ring. The two halves of the sphere rise to reconnect like broken wings. They click into place and then clunk as they buckle together. Kalyan twists to analyze the sphere that surrounds him.
This is it. I cannot help anymore, cannot intervene. Maybe I should have left Kalyan to the alleyway. Things can get bloody in the dome too. Kalyan’s gaze blazes through the crowd. Maybe he’s looking for me. I wave, but then feel ludicrous. He won’t know to look upward.
A voice booms, “To the right we have Thunder, a veteran of the ring at three years.”
Tenson shoots a stream of yellow magic and it bundles up above him like a rumbling cloud. It’s impressive and all, but when the clouds are bright yellow, they look jovial. It’s like trying to be fierce with colorful cotton candy swarming above your head.
“And to the left…”
I sit up straighter and lean forward.
“We have the White Knight in his debut fight.”
I have so much riding on this fight and yet I can’t help but laugh. Sims paints all of his fighters in exaggerated personae. I’m mysterious, alluring, and unattainable as Smoke. Beckman is formidable and daunting as the Tsunami. Guess Kalyan is getting the good-guy act. How fitting.
Kalyan frowns at the name and shakes his head. He’s at least confident in there. For now. He glances at the swarm of clouds still billowing above Tenson, then he casts a spell too. Good, I forgot to tell him the beginning procedure. Kalyan’s spell gusts from his right hand and the frosty white stream flies toward Tenson’s clouds and whips through them. It then tears itself around the sphere like some wild bird. Oh Gods.
“Whoa, already—” The rest of Beckman’s sentence is lost in the uproar of the crowd cheering or booing at Kalyan’s brazen prefight show of power. It’s definitely not very White Knightly of him.
The announcer stalls before yelling, “Fight!” Tenson leaps into the air, spins, and throws wind in a razor-sharp disk. Kalyan ducks and slides to the side smoothly. He rolls and builds a shield. Good. And he needs it too, because Tenson comes flying back at him and strikes downward with one foot. But as Tenson’s foot lands, the shield disperses and gathers around his leg. In a flash of white, Tenson’s foot ices over and thumps to the ground from the extra weight. Kalyan isn’t done yet, though. With control of Tenson’s leg, he whips him across the sphere, where he smashes against the wall.
Beckman whistles. “Good, smart casting.”
But it’s far from over. Tenson is already rolling and cracking the ice with his own white magic. The ice breaks apart with a blast and Tenson is free, sprinting around the sphere in different directions, looking for an opening. Kalyan stands in the middle observing, which is going to give me a heart attack.
Move!
In a split second the two wizards meet. Tenson comes from the left and Kalyan ducks his fist. They both craft knives and suddenly the battle is a whirlwind of movement, with arms jetting, retracting, and blocking.
I can’t tell who’s winning or whether either has been cut. Beckman pats me on the back hard enough to remind me to gulp in air.
“Not your guy, huh?”
“Not my guy.”
The two keep it up until Tenson twirls his arm and catches Kalyan’s wrist. The shoulder bends unnaturally. Applause clamors in approval. The crowd is fickle today, can’t decide which wizard they want to win. Then, still in the armlock, Tenson kicks Kalyan against the curved dome.
“Nooo.” Without thinking I cast an orange and pink spell to examine the damage. My eyes blur and then focus on the muscles and bones within Kalyan’s chest. I zero in on the shoulder. There is a tear in the muscle and it’s already swelling. I blink to cancel the spell. When I refocus on the fight, there’s been a shift. Kalyan has wrestled out of the armlock and is clutching his jaw.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Your man escaped the armlock, but Tenson punched him in the face.”
I squeeze the railing hard. If Kalyan gets seriously hurt it will be my fault. He shouldn’t have come here. Fighting in a bubble of five meters is drastically different from any training ground or battlefield.
Kalyan and Tenson circle each other. At least Kalyan’s movements are still calm. The fighting restarts in a blink. Wind tunnels, Tenson’s favorite, volley against Kalyan, but instead of shields he uses yellow magic too. White and yellow streams hammer against each other. The wizards’ hair and clothing ripple as if caught in a storm. Kalyan withdraws and lowers his injured arm. I can see Tenson’s smile from here. He thinks he has won.
Please. The word beats against my brain. Please don’t mess this up.
One of the spells connects directly. This is always dangerous in the ring. In the small space of the dome too much power can build up and the magic can be uncontrollable. It could kill them both. I’ve never seen a white forte wizard in the dome before, but the white-and-yellow mixture appears holy, and as if a god will manifest among the rays of color. Kalyan and Tenson look about equal, but the energy continues to build. One of them is going to have to let go, and soon.
Tenson mutters continuously and each new wind spell builds with rhythmic pulses into a collision. But then I realize that Kalyan, silent and one-armed, has cast only one spell. Wait, that can’t be right. One spell against the dozen Tenson has thrown?
I turn to Beckman. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
He nods slowly. I don’t think he can believe it either. “Tenson has no clue. He can’t see it.”
In a snap it’s over. Kalyan says one word, one small enhancement to his spell, and Tenson is thrown against the wall. Built-up yellow magic bounces off the sphere and clusters into clouds. Tenson is down, the match is over, but for the first time no one cheers. No one can grasp what’s happened. Snow cascades over the two wizards, one passed out and the other catching snowflakes in his outstretched palm.
Beckman whistles softly. “If he isn’t your guy, are you sure you don’t want him to be?”
“What?”
“I know that expression.” He nods to my face.
Beckman knows nothing of my real life, so I don’t care or listen when he doles out advice; like when he scanned me in the locker room my first day and blurted, “If you are here to escape abuse you came to the wrong place with that face.”
Yet, for the first time he has deciphered my feelings and emotions before I can even properly sort them. I do feel something, and it is more than happiness that Kalyan is safe and that I will get information from Sims. It’s something close to awe.
Beckman is still shaking his head at the snow scene when Sims appears behind us. They both look as stunned as I feel. “Where did you find him?” Sims asks me.
I didn’t find him so much as he was ordered to follow me here. I can’t say that, though. “Doesn’t matter. You got a good show out of it.”
Sims grunts in agreement.
“Now, let’s talk payment.”
Fifteen minutes I wait in Jaya’s solitary closet of a room nursing my shoulder. After that, I succumb to the dread that Jaya might not return. Officially ditched after winning for her and her mission? Gods, that’s rough. I contemplate going home or wandering around like a lost dog to make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble, but that sounds pathetic and a little too much like the stalker fan Sims first believed I was.
Then she appears in the doorway.
“Hey.” I jerk upright, sending a wrenching spasm down my back.
Jaya straddles the bench beside me. “It feel as bad as it looks?”
I swing my leg over the bench so I’m facing her. “No.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” She looks at me expectantly, like I’m suddenly going to admit it does hurt, that my jaw feels as if it unhinged and smashed onto the floor or my shoulder is about to tear off. But her presence makes me lighter, happier. I wasn’t forgotten or abandoned.
Jaya sighs. “You did well.”
“Because I didn’t die or because I won?”
“Because you didn’t die.” She laughs and rests one hand on my hurt shoulder. I look at it, then her. The world pauses and my breath hitches. She is very close.
“Jaya—” She gently squeezes my shoulder and I wince and jerk at the throbbing pain. “What the—”
“You were just going to sit here talking to me with a tear in your rotator cuff?”
“I…” The truth is I had already sent some pink magic in to fix it the moment I stepped out of the ring, but I can’t say that. “How did you know?”
“Can do pink magic, remember?” She points at herself.
“Oh,” I say dumbly. But how could she tell? What kind of spell is that, to diagnose me from meters away or through a light touch of her hand.
She tilts her head. “Does Raja Jatin know you are here?”
Oh Gods, she knows I lied. She can sense the pink magic I used to try to reduce the pain in my shoulder. “He, well, he…” I suck in a large breath. “Yes, he knows.”
She doesn’t seem to like the answer, but accepts it with a hard nod. Then she reaches into a nearby locker and brings out an orb of pink goo. “Okay, then I don’t have to do a complete conceal job.”
“What?”
“You can’t do healing magic, right? I’m not going to leave you like this.” She gestures to me like I’m broken. “I have to clean myself up all the time.” She points at her lips. Again, she makes me focus on them, and I get a little more aroused. I almost wish she would stop doing it. Almost…
“Ax busted up my lower lip earlier and now it’s good. Proof I know what I’m doing,” she clarifies.
“I didn’t doubt that.”
“Okay.” She waits uneasily. “It’s easier without your kurta.”
I raise my eyebrows, and the right side of my mouth twitches upward on its own.
She rolls her eyes, but as much as she wants to hide her awkwardness, I see it. “I’m not trying to make a pass at you,” she says.
Gods, I wish I didn’t hear the truth in those words.
I also wish I could take off my kurta without struggling with my right arm. Jaya helps me with the last bit and I feel like a wounded animal. Yet I do get to cherish the moment when her gaze lingers on my arms before she sets her hands on my shoulder.
“This will numb the pain,” she mumbles as she wipes the pink goo over the bruising and whispers a spell. While she works she’s fixated on my shoulder, and I’m fixated on her. For once it’s acceptable to stare and I take full advantage. Maybe others wouldn’t find her as gorgeous as I do because they overlook the kindness in her piercing eyes, or the way her mouth twitches when she curses or says something sarcastic. I play with the idea of teasing her about the red in her cheeks, but she might counter with the same claim about me. My whole body is warm except for the coolness surging through my shoulder blade. Finally the pain retreats behind the tingling cold.
Her eyes lock onto mine. We are even closer than before, kissable close. “You are in a lot better shape than I thought,” she says.
I sit up a little taller. I’ve never been the most muscular of men—I’m no Rakesh—but I’ll never need to print on a fake Touch, so there’s that. “I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Confusion spins in her eyes and then understanding hits her. She laughs. “No, I mean the tear. Your injury is only half as bad as I thought.” She returns to casting pink magic as she shakes her head. Maybe it’s the proximity and the view, but it’s the best healing I’ve ever received. My shoulder relaxes and begins to thank me. Jaya works with steady hands, as though she’s sewing my muscle back together. My pink magic, on the other hand, operates like an overdose, almost as painful as the initial injury.
“Okay. It will be sore for a few days, but how does that feel?” she asks as she wipes her hands on her pants. I contemplate lying so she’ll lean toward me again.
“Perfect.” I rotate my shoulder and it’s only stiff, as if I slept wrong.
“I expect you want me to do your jaw too.”
I angle forward. “If you insist.”
She slides forward until our knees bump and then whispers, “Goghatalaeh.”
I thought her hand on my shoulder was something. But this is almost unbearable. I imagine pulling her onto my lap…and the slap to the face that would surely follow.
As if she can read my thoughts, Jaya’s gaze flits upward and connects with mine. She must feel the tension. I mean, it’s palpable. In the next second we’ve both fallen silent. She’s stopped casting and we are just staring at each other.
“You’re distracting me,” she whispers.
“You’re the one who wanted my shirt off.”
“Goghatalaeh,” Jaya says, and a rush of red smoke dives into my jaw. I wince as the pain compacts, eases, and then releases. Yep, that’s how it feels when I heal myself, and now I remember how much it sucks. I would’ve studied pink magic more if I knew it didn’t always have to hurt like this.
Jaya bites her lip. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”
I rub my jaw. “Nope, I deserved it.” I shouldn’t be thinking about kissing her. I’m taken, by a girl she works for. And both of our countries depend upon Adraa and me marrying and standing up to my uncle’s potential threat. What’s wrong with me?
Jaya tosses me my kurta and I catch it as she stands. No, don’t leave. I have so much to ask her. I throw my kurta back on. “How did you get mixed up in all this?”
Jaya frowns deeply as she digs through her bag. “You read my reports.”
“No, I mean why you? Why did my…maharaja pick you as his agent?”
“First, he didn’t pick me. I went to him. With Lady Adraa’s blessing, of course.”
“What?”
She turns to face me. “A few months ago the head security guard of Maharaja Belwar was attacked by the Vencrin, and they put him in a coma. I watched a family be torn to pieces—my friend’s family.” She takes a deep breath. “I also work in the royal clinic. For months I’ve been treating wizards and witches, hurt by or addicted to the drugs the Vencrin have been selling. Everything else is spelled out in the reports. And tonight Sims has given me what I need. And that’s partly because of you.” Jaya clasps my arm. “So thanks,” she says while sliding around me.
She really is leaving. And Adraa has approved of all this? Just let Jaya come to the Underground alone and then…
“You aren’t done tonight, are you? You’re going somewhere else, going to trail one of the Vencrin.”
She stops in her tracks. “It’s not your concern.”
“Let me help you.”
“You’ve done enough, you’re hurt.”
“And you fixed me,” I counter. Like that
was going to be any excuse. “I know I’ve gotten in your way tonight, but I can make it up to you.” I step closer. “You need backup and I’m a good fighter.”
“I’ve been alone in this awhile. I can handle myself.”
That scrap of paper flips into my mind. Jaya Smoke was doing more than reporting Vencrin incidents in the streets; she was stopping them. But Bloodlurst can be sold by only one wizard. If she’s after firelight and it’s being stolen and taken elsewhere, this is going to be bigger than one or two wizards in an alley. “Two men dealing drugs is vastly different from an operation like this and you know it.”
She doesn’t flinch, but I can tell she’s deliberating by her expression, so I keep talking. Something I say might knock some sense into her. “Maharaja Naupure gave me your reports for a reason. And it was for this, to help you.”
“How do you know what kind of operation I’m after? How do I know I can trust you?”
She’s got me there. I am lying to her, after all. Maybe she can sense it. But if I tell her now she’ll freak out and go off alone against who knows how many criminals.
She steps toward me. “Prove that it was Maharaja Naupure who gave you my report.”
I scramble for an explanation. What would be unique to my father? What sign or information didn’t come from her written hand? I think about the first time we met.
Got it. “You are trying to prove the firelight shortage is Maharaja Moolek’s doing,” I say in a low voice.
Jaya falls back on her heels. I’ve obviously shocked her.
“That good enough?” I ask, though I know it is.
She squints at me, a measured look in her eyes. “You’re wrong about one thing. It’s not tonight. In three days meet me at the East Village square, two after dusk.”
Now it’s my turn to go on the offensive. “How do I know you aren’t lying?”
