by Dana Swift
“I should probably give it to him myself.”
She’s going to do it then, introduce herself to me, the real me. But I don’t want that to happen. “I thought this would also be easier, so we could train together after.”
Adraa’s eyes brighten at that, and then dull just as quickly. “I should tell you something.”
Blood. She’s going to say it. But I’m not ready to tell her. My mind sweeps through all the interactions we’ve had since I’ve been here. Pretty sure she would still hate me. I’ve got to distract her.
“It’s okay. I’ll tell Jatin these firelights won’t last the full two months. Don’t think he will even notice.”
“He’s that busy, huh?” She looks to the stairs, and then sighs. “Still, I should meet him properly.”
Gods, she doesn’t want to meet me as much as I don’t want her too. My chest tightens. This further solidifies my dread. I think it would be worse—contempt. That’s what she had said. The word contempt bounces around my head.
“Rainbow.”
Adraa swivels her attention back to me and away from those bloody stairs. “What?”
“Do you want to rainbow? It’s something we did at the academy. Duel through all nine types of magic. Skip the colors your opponent can’t do.”
“I know what rainbowing is.”
I smile broadly. “Good. You’ll take the challenge, then?”
“So we would start with orange instead of red?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, then. One.” She points to herself as she drops the saddlebag. “Zero.” And she points to me like she’s won something. I’d have to beg to differ. Relief and happiness soar through me and it feels like victory.
* * *
Despite all my planning, I didn’t ask the palace guard to stop their training for the day. My acts of deception shouldn’t negatively affect everyone surrounding me. But now Adraa and I walk to the training field with a hundred men and women sparring or developing their magic. Kalyan isn’t among them, even though he should be. Guess I negatively affected him with my tangle of lies.
Heads are already turning, one after the other. The men nearest us have lowered their weapons completely. Adraa is unfazed.
“Oh, that man is going to burn a building down one day if he continues to jerk like that when he casts red magic.” She nods her head in indication.
I follow her gesture to a trainee jolting his arm upward every time he casts a small ball of flame. Nice assessment.
“He should focus on one hand at a time, hold it with the other if he needs to and concentrate on casting only enough fire to light a candle.” She looks at me expectantly. “Be best if you tell him.”
“Don’t think he’ll listen to you?” I don’t know why I challenge her like this all the time. I can’t seem to turn that part of me off when I’m around her.
Something sparks in her eyes. “No, I thought it would be better coming from a fellow guard.” She pushes past me and onto the training yard. “But I guess we’ll see.”
I stare after her, a laugh bubbling at the back of my throat. How did I ever think she was anyone else besides Adraa?
“Raja Jatin?” a voice asks.
I whip toward my left to find one of the lead trainers. “Don’t call me that today.”
“Oh, right.” He frowns. “Ah, sir, do you need something?”
“Start to clear the grounds please. We are going to rainbow.” I nod toward Adraa.
His mouth falls open. “She’s going to rainbow with…okay, whatever you say, sir.” He calls to his fellow guards and trainers and they shuffle off the field. A big portion of them sticks around, clogging the perimeter. Oh Gods. Guess they want to see the show.
I peer over at Adraa, not wanting to interrupt her lesson. The kid nods wildly after seeing her demonstrate a small flicker of intense flame. She smiles at something he says and my gut wrenches. It’s nothing, I tell myself. She has a right to smile at anyone she wishes. Then she touches his arm and holds on to his wrist. I take a deep breath. It’s a bloody lesson, Jatin. Get ahold of yourself.
My guards stare from the sidelines, pointing, questioning. They really don’t know who she is. Belwar has always had the custom of privacy, of not letting royals be introduced to the public until after the ceremony. That’s how it is supposed to be, to ensure the gods’ consent for the new generation of rajas and ranis before being named heir. But the gods have not denied a potential heir in hundreds of years. No one has died in decades. At the beginning of school, my name transcended my skill because with my parentage I would surely amass power. I was identified immediately, exposed. But I had the talent everyone expected.
To live a somewhat normal life, not having everyone know who you are at all times, it’s what I’ve yearned for my entire life, what I falsely created with Kalyan at every opportunity. Is that why it’s so easy for Adraa to lie and construct this Jaya Smoke identity? She’s had practice at obscurity.
I laugh as the guardsman twists and flinches in embarrassment at the sudden emptiness around him. He bows to Adraa and runs off the field.
Adraa jogs back to me. “He listened. You can thank me for saving the barracks from burning down one day.”
“Good, one less problem to deal with in the future.”
She watches the crowd of guards awaiting our tournament. “Didn’t realize we would have an audience.”
I shrug. “Rainbows aren’t too common. Most of them are only a four or five.” I pause. “So, race for orange?”
“All right.” Adraa places her obviously new skyglider to the side. Then, unexpectedly, she unknots her pink skirt, folds the fabric in half, and reties it around her waist. Now instead of falling a little below her knees, a breeze brushes the silk across her thighs. She’s still wearing flying pants, but blood, it’s like she knows exactly what to do to distract me.
I force myself to look away and bend into a running stance.
She whips her braid over her shoulder and looks at me. “I hope you aren’t a sore loser.”
Before I can reply, one of the guards yells and we are off.
“Tvarenni!” we both shout. My legs pump hard as the orange magic spreads into my muscles. Dirt slips beneath my shoes and the training field whooshes past me. Adraa surges ahead and I urge my magic to work harder. But within seconds it’s done and I’ve lost. Adraa has already turned to face me beyond the finish line. I duly tune into the roar of my Guard taunting me.
“Two.” She points to herself. “Zero.” She gestures to me, grinning. Gods, why is that smile so aggravating and intoxicating at the same time?
“It’s only the beginning,” I huff.
“Yeah, but I’m setting a precedent.”
I remember now how much I loved competing with Adraa. Sometimes I would run across campus to get to my desk and write her. We were never friends exactly, but she was the first person I wanted to tell of my accomplishments. Other classmates would ignore or taunt me. Father would say things like “that’s nice” or “good job,” but Adraa would get irritated. The more irritated she got, the more I knew I really had done well. It was empowering. But actually standing next to her, feeling my muscles yearn to cast more complicated spells? It’s like the physical embodiment of all those letters and my body loves it, hums with genuine competitive energy. She isn’t holding back either. Never before has someone gone up against me and not held back just a little. At the academy I could imagine the warnings behind closed doors: “Don’t you dare hurt the future Maharaja of Naupure. He’s the only heir.”
But all I sense from Adraa is pure fire behind her eyes as she scoops up air and blows it a hundred meters across the training yard and knocks down a target. I hate to admit I barely win yellow magic, but it’s the truth—barely.
I rightly take back my dignity when we get to green. Agsa is known f
or its agriculture and Adraa is a city witch, born and bred. Growing trees, fruit and all, has always been an expertise of mine. I also win blue magic quite easily, but maybe that’s to be expected knowing my father. I give her a big smile, not unlike the one she doled out to me. “What did you say earlier? Precedent, was it?”
Red mist swirls around her hand until a sword manifests and gleams like blood. “For purple let’s actually duel.” She doesn’t say it too loudly, but the watching guards can sniff the whisper of a fight. They whoop in approval.
I gulp. I don’t know if I can do this. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Just to first blood, nothing like the Underground.”
I sigh in what I hope conveys annoyance, and then generate my own white sword. “Swords only.” Gods know I didn’t want to chunk daggers at her or swing an ax.
“Fine, swords only.” Red smoke blooms into a second sword in her right hand.
Blood.
She lunges forward and cuts, aiming for my upper arm. I only scarcely make the parry, and use the close distance to swipe at her outstretched arm. She blocks with her other sword and pushes back at the same time. Fighting lefties is the worst. Adraa swipes again with a lunge to the right. At least I think she’s a lefty.
I had watched her fight the Vencrin sailors out of the corner of my eye, but fighting her myself is different. She moves like fire, lashing, fluid, consuming. Together we weave and twist around one another. Jab. Parry. Twist. Slide. Duck. More ducking than I have ever done in any fight.
The guards on the sidelines are having fun, though, at my expense, of course. They holler cheerfully as I twist away from Adraa’s sword, try to lock out the other one, and narrowly escape with an unscathed arm. I breathe heavily. Blood, she moves fast. In fact, we have skated around so much that a cloud of dust skims around our legs and nestles in itchy bundles in my throat. I cough.
Adraa makes another slice at my chest.
I retreat to regain distance. “You sure you aren’t trying to kill me?”
“Never.” She smirks. “In front of all these witnesses.”
“Reassuring.”
Pivot. Shift. Cut. Parry. Riposte. Parry. Adraa and I are too agile for this kind of fight. We both aim for the easy and nonlethal targets to draw blood. But she’s too fast. I have to break this pattern we’ve created. With a quick flip of my hand I lower my blade and stab for her stomach instead of slashing. She jumps back and tries to sweep her blade in defense. Our swords skate up one another, white on red blending into pink, and our guards lock. Adraa whips her other blade forward, slashing at my face. I counter and angle the red sword away, another lock. For a moment, we are like statues, fastened together like ice. The crowd jeers.
“Want to call it even?” I ask, her face mere centimeters from mine.
“No,” she huffs. She jerks back and I wrench my wrist at an angle, unlocking our guards and slicing into her calf. Adraa grimaces and her leg buckles. A roar erupts from the sidelines.
I pull away and drop both swords. They vanish in a puff of white smoke before touching the dirt. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Adraa relents. She clutches her calf, stands, and shows the crowd of guards the blood on her hand. “To appease the bloodthirsty masses,” she explains with an eye roll.
They cheer at my small victory. Adraa nods toward them. “I guess most bet on you.”
I turn to see a few men and women exchanging coins. “Can’t believe anyone betted against me.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not like you are their raja.”
“Yeah, of course. That would be embarrassing….”
Adraa sits down on the ground and begins to heal the cut on her leg.
I squat beside her, trying to forget the biting irony in her words. “You know what this means?”
Adraa continues to cast, ignoring me, then looks up. “That for someone who once told me guardsmen try to fight honorably, you don’t.”
“No.” I pause. Was my move shrewd? I did warn her somewhat. I shake the thought from my head. “Four.” I smile and gesture to myself, then to her. “Two.”
“No, four, three.” She twists her leg so I can see the smooth brown skin through the rip in her orange flying pants. There is no hint of even a scratch. “I haven’t forgotten about your limitations.”
I hold out a hand to help her up. “Yeah, and what are yours?”
“You’re going to have to find—” Adraa stops, staring at our audience. I turn to see what, or whom, she’s looking at. For a heartbeat I picture Kalyan in the crowd, but he’s obeyed my request.
“What is it?”
“I just realized something.”
“Yeah?”
She turns to me, her face bright. “Do you have a map of Belwar and a copy of my report?”
* * *
I lead us to one of the palace tearooms. This one is on my mother’s side of the palace and thus rarely used. Years after she died, many of these rooms were kept clean but untouched, like an artifact polished and then encased for study. I used to sneak in here and learn what I could. Fiddle with the array of birdhouses hanging outside each window (most are empty now), scan the shelves for the most worn books, and touch the silkiness of her yellow robes. I was allowed anywhere in the palace as a child, except the nursery.
“I didn’t know whether this side of the house was used anymore,” Adraa whispers, as if a ghost lives here.
“That’s why it’s good for our meetings. Also this.” I gesture to the painting on the floor, my mother’s huge map of Wickery gleaming in the sunshine.
“Now I understand when Maharaja Naupure said she strategized like a bird.”
I start. I heard my father say that about my mother once. Once. “You know a lot about the Naupures, don’t you?”
“Maharaja Naupure and I talk when I bring the firelight, so yeah, I guess,” she agrees as she nudges aside a card table to reveal the entire map.
I don’t push the issue further.
“You don’t need to move the furniture.” I lay my hands on the floor, whisper some black magic into the painting, and shove outward. The white mist of my magic soaks into the floor and the map moves beneath us. With another swipe, it zooms in on Belwar as if we’re nose-diving on skygliders. I’ve always loved this room.
“It’s like flying with you all over again,” Adraa jokes.
I give her a teasing smile.
She plops down, sitting right on the illustration of her palace. “My report?”
I hand over the bundle of paperwork. With a few glances at her own map and simple purple spells, she throws her hands outward and small pinpoints fall upon the East Village. I examine the jumble of marks, trying to see what she does. “What did you figure out?”
“Limitations,” she answers with a grin.
I slowly sit next to her. “What do you mean?”
“Firelight. It doesn’t magically make its way to Pier Sixteen. With the drugs, any back shop or home could be used to make it or house it. I’ve tracked down one drug den.” She lights up a marker. “There must be more. I just can’t find them. That’s what’s so hard about all this. But only one person makes firelight.”
“Adraa Belwar,” I whisper, the sound of her name nice to finally say aloud.
She doesn’t even flinch. “Yes, and with Basu out of the picture and not handing over his entire shipment, the Vencrin will have to buy it slowly or steal it. Which means…” She smiles wide, drawing a large circle that surrounds every reported drug deal. Then, slowly, she sketches triangles, connecting dots until the map bleeds. “Limitations.”
I manifest my own magic, lighting up the key spots and outlining my own triangle—Pier Sixteen, the Underground, and Basu’s shop. “You’re right. Glowing balls of light with expiration dates are hard to move across the city unnoticed. They h
ave to have a—”
“A warehouse or something.” She smiles at me, lit up like I’ve never seen before. It melts me.
I zoom in even closer and our image breezes past temples, streets of squished houses, and market squares. There aren’t many structures large enough to house such an operation. Time evaporates as we pick apart possibilities. Adraa has an answer for every building, proving she knows Belwar like the scroll of her Touch. Finally, I get to a tall rectangular structure near the East and North Village border. For the first time she pauses.
“That used to be a trading bazaar, but once a few bigger grand bazaars opened it was converted for the homeless and Untouched,” she says.
So the perfect place for Vencrin to seize.
“We found it,” she breathes. Relief releases her laugh. It’s such a wonderful sound.
So we plan, discussing possible ambushes and her past tactics. I lean forward to point out the building next to the former trading bazaar that will be the best lookout point, and my hand brushes hers, by accident. I stop talking, and for a second, we stay frozen like that, my fingers covering hers.
Adraa looks up and our eyes connect. “You really don’t care, do you?” she asks.
Gods, even simple contact with her and I become undone, unfocused on the facts and the mission before us. “What? No, I’m with you on this.” I gesture to the map, forcing myself to look at our red and white pinpoints. What was I saying, again?
“No, I mean my arm. It doesn’t bother you at all, does it?” She nods at our hands, causing my lips to curl upward with happiness.
I lean toward her. “You’re right. Doesn’t bother me at all.” My gaze flits between her eyes and her lips. Gods, I want to kiss her, to mimic our hands. I think maybe, just maybe, she wants the same thing. But she wouldn’t be kissing me, Jatin. She would think she’s kissing a guard, and that would be a lie. A cold tremor hits me straight in the chest. A lie she wants?
A bell chimes and, whoosh, the curtain on the far side of the room unveils one of our maids. She yelps. “Gods, my apologies, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here.”
