Cast in Firelight

by Dana Swift

  Adraa’s hand slinks back to her side, and with a wave the red spikes on the map burst into smoke. “I should go.” She flies to her feet.

  I cast away my own spikes and send the map reeling out of the illusion and back to a mere painting. “Wait!” I yell as Adraa runs out the door and her footsteps echo in the hallway.

  “Raja Jatin, I—”

  I wave a hand toward the maid. “It’s fine. Pretend this never happened.” And I bolt after Adraa.

  “Jaya, wait!” I yell again.

  Ahead, Adraa slows and finally turns around, panic still on her face.

  “It’s fine. She’s a maid. She didn’t see enough to understand what we were planning,” I try to reassure her.

  Adraa looks down at her right hand and squeezes it into a tight fist. “I…maybe I should do this on my own.”

  What? So this is more than embarrassment. My brain fumbles through every possible way a single maid could have thrown me into useless guard territory again. No matter what has driven Adraa to this decision, I can’t let it stand. I can’t let her go out alone, knowing every drug dealer is looking to ambush her, to kill her. “After all that planning, everything we heard at Pier Sixteen, you would do this alone?”

  “It’s more complicated than that. Kalyan, you and I…I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

  “And with me there, there will be a less likely chance of that happening. Please, tell me we are still partners in this.” I can’t help but beg at this point.

  She withdraws. “Yes, fine. Partners. But nothing more.”

  Nothing more. It’s not rejection. It’s not even bad news. I’ve won, really. She’ll listen to reason and won’t go into the streets without me. But as I watch her turn and leave, it still feels like I’ve lost. And it’s never quite hurt this badly.

  For the next two weeks, on every other night, we stalk the empty shell of what used to be the grand trading bazaar. It’s seen better days. A web of cracks stretch across its rounded roof and arched windows. The sand-colored stone, which most of Belwar’s buildings are constructed with, has faded along the top and blackened at the base.

  By day five I’m sure this is the place. It may not scream Vencrin, but it both smells of ruin and bustles with activity, a combo that can only mean one thing. And if that weren’t clear enough, I asked my North Village distributor to place firelight in the public lanterns that used to house sticky candles and dripping wax. At nightfall Kalyan and I witnessed each glowing light of comfort and warmth snatched from their containers. So now we watch in the heavy darkness.

  Which normally wouldn’t be a problem. I’m not afraid of the dark. Kalyan and I are both talented enough in orange magic to zoom in and see through the murk. No, the problem is Kalyan. For the past two weeks I’ve set boundaries. Don’t get physically close. Don’t sit, or Gods forbid lie, on the ground together. The darkness scatters my rules across the rooftop like they’re a joke.

  I thought my “nothing more” could halt my feelings at partnership. Nope.

  Two nights ago Kalyan suggested that if we get caught we could pretend to be two teenagers messing around on a rooftop. I don’t normally become engulfed in flames, figuratively, but my cheeks burned as I tried to play it off like that was a solid plan.

  Then he choked on laughter and said, “I didn’t mean it like that.” Which meant that not only was I the embarrassed one but my mind is the one that went there, that jumped. I may not have voiced my rooftop rules, but I’m the individual pushing them over the ledge.

  Before all this, I hid my identity to do one thing—gather information. Now, it’s something else. The lie also lives out a fantasy. Kalyan and Jaya could be together, could fall in love. My birthday, edging ever closer, brings a whole different level of anxiety.

  But I shouldn’t think about this. I have a job. Watch. Plan. Then we will raid this makeshift warehouse. Once in I’ll be able to find my firelight. I’ll have proof.

  The threat of ambush and the Vencrin leader’s order to destroy us still hang thick in the air. Twice we have been attacked on our way here. Once, streams of magic pelted from the sky. The other attack was two blocks away, drenched in black magic. Eleven bodies fell.

  Midfight, Kalyan and I developed a tactic for watching each other’s backs, one we call rings: let one or two Vencrin come close, send them to the ground, and expand in small and steady increments. We also started to work on levels too, one of us on the roof, one on the ground. Assassins not only love jumping out of shadows but down from them as well.

  I’ve stopped wearing my Red Woman uniform. Tonight, I’ve opted for purple flying pants, pink blouse, and lavender wraparound skirt, which is long enough for me to fasten and pleat over one shoulder like a sari. No masks. No shadowy costume that the God of Wodahs would be proud of. Just two teenagers…messing around.

  Kalyan bumps my shoulder with his. Every particle of my being focuses on the tap like I’m an orange forte and my nerves have been enriched. At first it was just my hand that became warmer when he touched me. Now that feeling has swum up my arm and throughout my body these past weeks. It’s beyond irritating, not to mention unprofessional.

  “Someone’s rounding the corner on our left,” Kalyan whispers.

  I swivel my attention, dragging my bloody senses away from the minimal contact. Kalyan’s right. The hulking form of a man steps under an empty lantern and trudges up the road. Something about the walk and the frame has an air of familiarity I can’t seem to—

  No! My stomach bottoms out. A lump rams into my throat and I choke on surprise.

  “I don’t recognize him. Can you see his face?” Kalyan says.

  I turn around and crouch so that nothing pokes above the roof’s ledge. My lungs work overtime.

  “Smoke?”

  I can’t answer.

  Kalyan leans close. “Who is it?”

  I look into his sincere eyes. “Beckman.”

  After I let the truth into the air I whip around because I have to make sure. Maybe he’s just passing by. This doesn’t mean he’s a part of the Vencrin. He’s too good. He’s not a junkie and not once has he lamented about money issues. Maybe he has nothing to do with destroying everything I stand for.

  One extra glance and I know it’s Beckman. I’d spot one of the tallest and most solidly built men in existence. But I don’t want to see him here. Anywhere but here. My knuckles ache from clenching them against the roof’s edge. Keep walking. Go home to your girls.

  He doesn’t. Upon nearing the warehouse we’ve been watching for days, the one I saw Nightcaster himself slip into yesterday, Beckman slides under a curtain and vanishes. Something in me hollows out.

  “I’m sorry,” Kalyan whispers.

  The term friend is used loosely to craft allies. My father’s words ring in my ears. I guess that’s what Beckman and I had done. To Beckman I was nothing more than a young cage caster in over her head. That night with Rakesh, the upper deck, the shame and terror—all meaningless to him. Still, I thought we were friends. Wrong. Always wrong. I can’t seem to learn my lesson.

  But it’s more than that if I really comb through my feelings. Beckman isn’t just a friend but also the wizard connected to the worst, most terrifying moment of my life. And he saved me from it. How could someone like that be working for the Vencrin?

  “Can I never trust anyone?” I look over at Kalyan and he appears as devastated as I am. “What?”

  He stares at the alleyway. “I should tell you something,” he finally voices.

  “Did you suspect him?”

  “No, I—” Kalyan’s eyes widen at something over my shoulder. “He’s out.”

  I whip my head around so fast my neck spasms. But I ignore the pain because Beckman is walking again. He stops at the corner, wads up something in his hands, and discards it in a bin.

  “D
o you see that?” I ask, finely tuned to each movement, each step. Then he’s disappeared into the shadows.

  “At least he’s not a litterer.” Kalyan rises to his feet slowly. “I’m going to check it out.”

  I grab his wrist. He stares at me until I let go. “Be careful.”

  Then he says the words I crave more than anything right now. “I trust you. Rings?”

  “Rings,” I affirm.

  I watch Kalyan land in a cloak of black magic, grab the item, and then, just as fast, ascend to our hiding spot.

  “What was it?”

  Kalyan holds out a sheet of parchment. “We’re famous.”

  I seize the thin paper. It takes a second to process the image is of us, or at least our vigilante personae. A drawing with no detail, just red magic swarming a female face. They’ve made my features more triangular and feminine than they actually are. Which must mean that no one knows much about me besides the fact that I’m Erif Touched and female. Guess my unoriginal name has done me some good. Gives nothing but the obvious away.

  Kalyan’s silhouette, right beside mine, is even more obscure. The cloud of white smoke has confused the illustrator to the point where Kalyan’s brown skin could be misconstrued as three shades paler than it is, as if he were an Agsa native. My black illusion spell has turned out better than I could have ever imagined, for the both of us.

  Atop, an inscription reads night and the red woman. It seems Kalyan has finally been saddled with his own unoriginal moniker. But why did Beckman have this? And why did he throw it away?

  “What are you thinking?” Kalyan asks.

  “Wondering why you got first billing,” I joke, lying because the hurt is too much to handle.

  He smiles that smile of his. “It’s obviously catchier that way.”

  “Yeah, but they want me dead more than you.”

  He opens his mouth to retort, probably to say the death threat is equal at this point, but then closes it quickly. Instead he looks me in the eye. “Let’s not fight about who the Vencrin want dead more.”

  He’s right. I have more important things to worry about. Like if Beckman wants to kill me, too. Because if he does, our cage-casting showdown is only days away and I’ve handed him the perfect opportunity.

  * * *

  I’ve committed one of the worst mistakes an undercover operative can make—I’ve underestimated my target. The posters are a new level of brilliance, one I didn’t think the Vencrin were capable of. Within a day the pieces of paper litter the streets. They hang from market stalls, on the windows of most restaurants, even from flying stations. Now, everyone who sees Night or the Red Woman can alert the Vencrin. We are being hunted through paper and blotchy ink.

  Within mere hours the Red Woman becomes a household name. I know because she’s discussed in my own home the next afternoon. Reviewed in the hallways, debated between patient beds, whispered about among palace staff as they go about their duties. Riya, with growing suspicion, wants to talk about her during any spare moment we take a breath from training. Eventually the news becomes important enough that it reaches my father’s desk.

  The parchment my father has facedown and tucked beneath other paperwork has to be one of the posters. It curls at the edges like wind has beaten it against the side of a building for too long. I tense on reflex, but I knew this moment was coming. Ever since Beckman’s trash unfurled in front of me, I expected she, or rather I, would be brought to my father’s attention.

  He holds up the poster and clears his throat. “My daily meeting today was about the Red Woman. I’ll have to make a statement soon about how we view her and what actions we plan to take. I’m sure everyone has heard the rumors.”

  “What do your advisors and the Belwar rajas say?” I jump in. I’ve been waiting impatiently for this moment. With open discussion I can obtain information without my overt curiosity becoming suspicious. I just hope my family sides with my other identity when it comes to what will be done.

  “Most recommend that she be stopped.”

  I drop my spoon, and desperately try to steady my voice for the next question that needs to be asked. “They mean to kill her?”

  “No, I think the Guard wish to understand her motives, then use her. They say she is a powerful red forte.” He pauses and his eyes brighten.

  Blood, does he know? Can he sense it? Can he see my hands bundling and twisting my napkin under the table?

  “Adraa. You worked with many red magic users after you created firelight. Could you imagine any of them being the Red Woman?”

  I choke back panic, thankful this time that I gave up eating. Still, I play with the curry dish, to present a false casualness. “Ah, not sure, I tested them only on the one spell, so I don’t really know what any of them are fully capable of.”

  I feel Prisha’s eyes.

  “But you could help narrow down the suspects,” Father barrels onward.

  “Not every red forte came to be tested,” I try to reason.

  “Still. Talk to our Guard. See if you can help their investigation.”

  Mother leans forward. “I don’t know. Mrs. Burman says this Red Woman is only going after Vencrin. I’m so tired of all these Bloodlurst addicts in the clinic, some mere kids trying to increase their Touches and burning out forever. In Pire, those with power are meant to stand against those that abuse the gods’ Touch. That’s the whole purpose of our leadership.”

  My mouth falls open, and it feels like my brain has too. After all these years of “do this,” “wear that,” “stand up straight,” my mother has finally approved of my actions. Of course, she doesn’t know they’re mine, but still. She supports Jaya Smoke, who in some ways is the total opposite of how my mother tried to raise me.

  Prisha takes a bite of her dosa and nods. “I agree with Mother. They’re criminals.”

  This from my younger sister! Now, if she knew it was me under that red mask, her opinion would not be of admiration.

  Father’s voice rises. “Even so, the Red Woman dishonors the truth accords. We have no real way of knowing what her goal is. She could be trying to undermine our right to lead.”

  Why would I try to take away my own destiny? My heart pumps hard and fast. My father truly thinks she is a commoner, seeking violence or a coup. For the millionth time I think of telling them about the Underground, about the cage casting, about Jaya. The words stick in my mouth. My tongue feels heavy.

  “I would like to hear Maharaja Naupure’s opinion on this,” Mother says.

  Father nods in agreement. “He is to return from Moolek soon.”

  Prisha leans toward me. “You know what that means. You won’t be able to get out of a formal engagement meeting anymore.”

  I give Prisha a dirty look, but she is right. Jatin and I would be expected to officially meet and our parents to make the last arrangements for the blood contract and marriage ceremony. They might even speed it up to generate a sense of unity and stability. Two weeks ago I had lied and told them all that Jatin and I met at my firelight delivery. But compared with my other lies and the fact my father holds a wanted poster so the thugs in town can smoke me out, my arranged marriage seems trivial. I have more important problems than Jatin Naupure!

  I interrupt my parents’ hypotheticals. “I think I know how Naupure will respond.”

  Father’s eyes crinkle as he scoops up a handful of rice. “Yes, Miss Made to Be a Naupure?”

  I roll my eyes, but continue. “On a personal level he wouldn’t want a witch to be hurt or killed, but the idea of her…well, this Red Woman can investigate the Vencrin like no one else can.”

  Father arches an eyebrow. “Investigate the Vencrin? How do you know that is what she is doing?”

  I’m sweating, dripping with anxiety. It’s imperative I word everything clearly and fluidly. “It’s obvious she is against them. As Mom said
, only Vencrin members have been taken down.”

  “Even so, I need to make sure. The Dome Guard will test her with a truth spell.”

  I shake my head, hard. “Why is that the only way?”

  “Because it’s the law.”

  “A bad law. To have only Dome Guard able—” I stop myself, realizing what I have said, how much my voice has risen. It’s Father who separated himself from court and trial, giving the Dome Guard the power to cast truth spells and pass judgment.

  His expression falls. “It’s a balance of power, Adraa. Look to Moolek to see what happens without it. Without our power checked. With believing the forte system defines someone’s worth. Soon one starts believing they are Godlike.” He holds up the poster. “This woman isn’t noble because she is powerful. In fact most of the time in life it’s the exact opposite. She must be checked.”

  His green eyes convey only sternness. The fact he must use them on me now hurts. But I’ve hurt him too. Bad law. Heat rises to my face, the napkin rips in my lap, but I don’t say a thing. I agreed with the truth accords, praised him for it at the time. Then I discovered my own truth: Even those meant to save us can be corrupted. Even the Beckmans of the world can slip.

  Father compares the Red Woman to Moolek’s power-hungry inequality? No. Blood no. I’ve seen the streets; I’ve seen the bodies in the clinic. My secret is the only way, as is my silence.

  Because I know under my mask I will always protect our people.

  Father’s voice evens out, trying to infuse peace back into dinner. “For now, Adraa will help with the preliminary investigation and eliminate suspects with the Guard. I’ll have the Guard question the Red Woman at the earliest opportunity. Best scenario, she is brought to the palace. Maybe you would like to question her too, Adraa?” He smiles in encouragement at the opportunity he has bestowed, trying to mend our disagreement, not understanding how it condemns me.

  I can imagine the scene: me being dragged into the throne room and Riya or Zara scouring the palace. I shudder. “Sure.”