Cast in Firelight

by Dana Swift

  Gods, I had a lot to answer for.

  * * *

  My father’s plan fails of course and not because I don’t cooperate with the Belwar Guard. Or even because of the simple fact they are searching for someone right in front of them. No, it fails because, like my dad, they distrust the Red Woman. As soon as I finish the meeting I fly to Azure Palace, needing to vent and update Kalyan. We naturally wind up on the training field, as we do most days.

  “So I think what you’re telling me is we are screwed. We now have not only the Vencrin but also the Belwar Guard after us,” Kalyan says.

  “Pretty much. The Belwar Guard won’t kill us, though, hopefully. That is if the right ones get to us. So, there’s that.”

  “Pavria.” Kalyan shoots a blast of air at my chest. I slink to the left, casting my own yellow magic to intercept his gust. I don’t know how Kalyan can talk and fight/train with me at the same time, but he can.

  I take a moment to gather a breath as I kneel on the warm dirt of the Naupure training field. My right side cramps, squeezing and tugging at me. “We need to move up our timeline.”

  Kalyan tilts his head and I know what he’s thinking. Watch. Plan. That’s what is decided this time around.

  But he can only rein me in so far. My birthday still lingers in warning like a piercing scream. Twelve days. Or maybe I should be worrying about the approaching fight with Beckman. Three days. “We’ve taken too much time as it is.”

  He finally nods. “Okay. Tomorrow night, then.”

  I nod. Pause. “Hilloretaw!” I shout, and try to catch Kalyan by surprise with a stream of water.

  “Vicalayati. Vikara. Himadloc,” he says calmly, and the water swivels in the opposite direction, turns to ice, and falls to the ground, breaking in the dirt.

  He ignores the shock and annoyance clearly written on my face. “And you are sure you can’t get the Guard on our side? None of them seem to believe you?”

  “What should I have said? ‘Hey, believe me that the Red Woman only means to help Belwar. I know this because I’m her.’ Should I have given them my entire mission file too?” I step closer to practice hand-to-hand combat, throwing two punches Kalyan blocks easily.

  “No,” he huffs. He throws a counterattack and I duck. “But we need them on our side, otherwise we’ll never know who and how many are corrupted by the Vencrin.”

  I twist around him and step away. “That’s the problem. I didn’t know whom to trust. I went in, I tried to convince them. It didn’t work out.”

  I throw the same punches again and then mimic a kick to his groin. He jerks backward reflexively and raises his eyebrows, giving me an expression of mock dismay.

  “What? Just because you will probably be fighting a man doesn’t mean he won’t use that.”

  “Yeah, but he wouldn’t look so pleased with himself.”

  I hold my side, willing the ache to disperse. “I bet he would look even more pleased. I didn’t even touch you.”

  He laughs. “You make it sound like he’s pleased because he got to touch me.”

  “Gods, you know what I meant.”

  “Sure I do, Smoke.” And he winks.

  I throw another combo. Our arms beat against each other as we block, attack, duck, swivel, block. The pain in my side intensifies, yelling at me to stop. When I go in again, I can tell I’m telegraphing.

  Kalyan catches my arm. “You’re slow today.”

  “Yeah, well.” I yank away. “I’m always slower on my period.”

  Kalyan’s face drops. Guess he wasn’t expecting that. “Okay, so we have entered that stage of our relationship.”

  I clutch my right side and try not to laugh. Laughing makes it hurt even worse. “I must have felt like it was time, or my uterus did.” I take the moment to drop to the ground and sprawl on my back. I need a break. The more I cast and use up my energy, the more my cramps seem to claw their way through my abdomen. At least I won’t be on my period during my royal ceremony. Some god is looking out for me.

  “Is there any pink magic that can help?”

  “Yes, but it’s a potion for this kind of pain and I left it at home.”

  Kalyan kicks at the dirt. “Right, of course.” Awkwardness settles over him. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. He sits down next to me in the dirt. “Guess I need to learn that one when I get married.”

  Unexpectedly, that last word bites and chews through my chest. Kalyan would marry one day. That shouldn’t bother me. But a thought bubbles up and swells in my throat and then pops. He wouldn’t marry…me. An image plays in my mind: Kalyan combining the herbs and infusing the potion with magic and love for his woman who bleeds and one day would give him children. Then logic evaporates the scene. “Wait, how?” I ask, sitting up and pressing my right side, as if menstruation can be stopped like a gushing wound. “You would need to be able to do pink magic.”

  “Oh, um. I’ve been studying.”

  “And you can do it? That’s amazing.”

  He grins. “Does this mean you’re impressed?”

  I shake my head no, but a new nervousness tugs at my gut. Our eyes lock onto each other. This is dangerous. We’re close and on the ground. The pain blew away the boundaries I’ve been so good about maintaining.

  His eyes dart to my hands holding my side. “Can I show you something?” he asks.

  “Right now?”

  Kalyan jumps to his feet and offers a hand. I take it and haul myself up. This better be worth the pain.

  We make our way toward the garrison, but instead of turning right for the entrance we go left. Left, which leads nowhere except the back of the building. The kind of place I imagine Guard members go to fool around.

  “Uh, where are we going?”

  “It’s really close.”

  When we reach the end of the garrison, a small stone staircase greets us. I never knew there was a path here. Frostlight trees converge behind the building, their branches bending over the hidden path, shedding and littering the ground with flowers. With the sunlight streaming in, and the mountain breeze tossing the bundles of white flowers it feels…magical.

  The pathway turns to the left and there lies a building, a strange little building with wooden walls and a— “Is that an ice roof?”

  “Would you expect anything different from Maharaja Naupure?”

  I laugh. “No.”

  We step inside, into a fully equipped medic center. To the right an array of plants spring from the ground and collide with each other in a torrent of leaves and flowers. The ceiling drips water onto the plants in a soft patter. To the left are shelves upon shelves of ingredients. Beetle legs, fish skeletons, goat hair, crushed rose petals, cumin, turmeric, tulsi, peppermint, sage—it’s all here.

  “I never knew this existed.”

  “After Maharani Naupure died, Maharaja Naupure created this for the troops and the staff. He wanted a full clinic to be closer to the palace.”

  “Of course,” I whisper. A stab of sadness awakens behind my eyes and I blink hard to try to block the tears. I can feel the pain Maharaja Naupure cast into making this place. The shelves are smooth and soft, painstakingly carved. Every herb, spice, and flower is marked and precisely spaced from the others. The clinic is so full of every kind of ingredient imaginable and yet so void of people. Created too late. Not that this place could have saved Maharani Naupure; childbirth when difficult can go wrong too quickly for a potion to help. But it might have saved his daughter.

  Kalyan rolls up his sleeves, showcasing the Touch that runs up his arms. I can’t help but stare. Gods, I’m always staring at him nowadays.

  “So what do we need first?” he asks.

  “For what? Are you wanting to make an explosion spell or something for the mission?”

  He gives me a bemused look. “No, but I think I should be wor
ried that you seem to know how to make explosion spells. I’m talking about the potion, for you.” He nods at my hand, still pressed to my side.

  “Oh…”

  Is he serious? He is going to create the daydream I just had. It’s not like he knows what I was thinking earlier, but blood, the very idea he could read my mind. I look around to avoid giving myself away further. “Valerian root first as the base and that bottle of oil right there. Oh, and grab the ginger. And that big ashoka flower bunch.” I pluck a cluster of peppermint leaves off a branch and search for the right kind of blood.

  After I light the fire under a large cauldron, Kalyan urges me out of the way and onto a wicker stool. “Just sit there. Tell me what to do.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I protest.

  “You’ll be telling me what to do, Smoke. You love that.”

  I roll my eyes. “Okay, but don’t poison me.”

  He rolls his sleeves up higher and grabs a mortar and pestle. “I guess that depends on how good a teacher you are.”

  Of all the potions to start a beginner on, this would be one of the last on the list. It’s beyond complex, edging into convoluted and at times traveling to the land of torturous. But if he really wants to learn I won’t stop him from trying. I explain the process of this particular potion, especially what needs to happen with the blood. He can’t mess that part up.

  And then, beyond my expectations, he does fairly well, listening each time I jerk from the stool to correct his technique. He only has to restart twice. Prisha had to restart eighteen times before Mother was satisfied. Which raises the question, how is Kalyan so bloody good at everything?

  Twenty minutes later, the potion froths, hot steam floats through the air, a bird sings as it bathes itself on the roof, and Kalyan and I are working together as usual. And yet it’s in a totally different way from fighting in the Underground or in the streets of the East Village. We are in our own little separate world. It’s like there’s no such thing as betrayal, political issues, or my fated marriage to worry about. Just me, cramping, and Kalyan trying to fix it.

  “How do you remember all of this?” Kalyan asks as he slices the lump of ginger root with a white knife.

  “Monthly practice.”

  “Ah, of course. And what about other potions?”

  “Daily practice.” I reach out and stop his hand. “You want each slice to be the same thickness, the exact same.”

  He cuts slower, more evenly, my hand guiding his for a couple of slices before I return to the stool next to his. “It also takes a great mentor,” I say.

  “Guess I’m out of luck, then,” he says as he beams at the ginger. He does that sometimes when he teases me; he looks away and smiles at his own joke as if I don’t notice it.

  I let out a huff. Gods, that cheeky smile. “And I was about to say how well you are doing.”

  “Too late, Smoke, too late. I’m taking the compliment.”

  “Well, we are on to the hard part, so you can truly prove yourself. This is the spell.” I grab a piece of paper and write it down. “It’s best to say it calmly and move your hands like this.” Index finger pressed to my thumb I wave and flip my hand.

  “Should I watch for a color change?” Kalyan asks.

  “Not with this potion. I know that sucks, but this one just bubbles more, if you’re lucky.”

  Kalyan takes a few breaths. I can’t tell whether he is being serious or teasing me, but I watch him intently regardless. “Alpaya Pidaleah Zantahileah,” he casts, and white magic drips off his hands like water as he twists them. Perfect.

  One large green bubble expands and pops. Kalyan turns to me expectant and hopeful. “Did it work?”

  I get up and stir the green liquid. It bubbles grotesquely. “Nope. Failed.”

  “Are you serious?” he asks from behind me, close behind me.

  I use the wooden spoon to smell the potion. Peppermint overpowers my nose. Perfect. So it’s true. Kalyan can do pink magic. He’s an eight. “No, I’m only messing with you. It’s good.” When I go to sip the potion, Kalyan clutches my hand, which means he’s kind of half hugging me. “Wait, are you sure? I don’t want to poison you.”

  His warmth is like a fever. I untangle myself, stepping away from our jumbled personal space. “Gods, I’m not that bad a teacher,” I answer, praying he doesn’t notice how my body reacts to his. How I as a person react to him. Even still, I should be nicer. Let him in on how good of a wizard he is. But I’ve never been the reassuring type. Jatin, with his overwhelming cockiness, and our competition over the years kind of beat that out of me.

  Kalyan, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have a problem complimenting others. “No, you’re a great witch.”

  I pour myself a glass of the green sludge, careful to maintain my distance while eyeing him and his overwhelming sincerity. I mean, he’s always sincere, his facial expressions so open, his smile bright, but today…Even Prisha grumbles when I ask her to make me this potion. And I shudder imagining Jatin’s disdain if I ever inquired. I take a gulp, watching Kalyan watch me. This feels so normal, so relaxed.

  My gut wrenches at a sudden thought. I don’t want him making this for his wife. I don’t want to think about how I’ve helped him woo her, like it…I shake my head. It didn’t affect you, Adraa. At all.

  “It looks like it’s pretty disgusting,” he says as he leans against the countertop.

  I try to recover. “With practice I’m sure you can fix that.” Gods, I cannot turn off my tongue. Even if I wanted to be kinder and to flirt I can’t.

  “Well, I was thinking. Could you substitute something for the oil?” He scans the clinic, examining the jars and containers. “Or maybe add something. Sugar or, or, something to make it taste—”

  “Kalyan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you for this. You’re a kind person.” I meant only to thank him. That last bit just spilled out. It—

  Kalyan gives me a weird look, as if he’s caught me in a lie. He bends toward me. “Kind, you say? So not an arrogant jerk?”

  “I don’t know. I guess you can be both.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, I suppose so. I suppose we all can be different depending on the situation or whom we are with.” His eyes find mine again. This time I don’t want to look away.

  Adraa and I are friends now. I know that much for sure. Every day I will myself to tell her the truth and then life gets in the way. There’s a new mission, we need to scout the trading bazaar, or I have to read reports and hold meetings with Naupure rajas all day. Then Beckman betrayed her and I couldn’t do it, couldn’t bear her loathing.

  Naively, I thought I would know when or if she liked me as more than a friend. Like I would just know? Ha! What was I thinking? As if I have a plethora of knowledge about this sort of thing. Sometimes I can’t see behind her wall of sarcasm and her determination to defeat the Vencrin.

  But being her friend? It’s everything, a connection I never knew I could experience. It’s different from Kalyan and me, because every once in a while he reminds me how unequal we really are, even if I don’t want us to be. Adraa and I were equals from the start, equals at lying to each other, equals at camouflaging our identities, equals at feeling like the world is our responsibility to fix. I think I finally understand her. She has moved away from the land of supposedly, into reality. But then she discovered how to bunk in my heart, for free nonetheless. I don’t know how she did that, but I’m sure she didn’t mean to. Even if she had, it would have been an impulsive decision, like every decision she makes.

  We might only be partners and nothing more for the rest of our lives. I can’t force her to like me like that and I would hate us together if it weren’t her choice. I just need to be observant enough to know when she has made her choice.

  It’s hard, though, especially when most of the time I spend with h
er we watch the warehouse that might house firelight. Tonight, though, we’re finally breaking in.

  Adraa and I perch on the edge of the neighboring roof, looking down at the huge arched building we’ve memorized by heart. Sweat beads behind my mask as a humid wind engulfs us.

  To the north, over the mountains, lightning blazes in the sky. Thunder grumbles in the distance like a wild animal. But here, it’s warm and dewy and I can’t smell anything but sea salt. These are not the conditions we talked about.

  “You still want to do this tonight?” I know what her answer will be, but I want to make sure, for posterity’s sake.

  “We have to do this.”

  “Okay, then, let’s—”

  Something sharp stabs between my shoulder blades. “Not a word. Not a spell,” a harsh voice whispers.

  Beside me another wizard holds a knife to Adraa’s throat. My whole body tenses.

  I straighten slowly, but my own assailant’s knife digs deeper. After weeks of gathering information and watching the empty bazaar from this very spot and now we’ve been discovered? Of all nights!

  “Hands up,” the voice says. “Slowly.”

  I obey, toggling between Adraa’s position and how fast I could cast. It doesn’t look good. Too risky. For a full minute the four of us stand, silent.

  We just stand there.

  Adraa huffs. “This is getting awkward.”

  The wizard holding her presses his red knife into Adraa’s throat and she hisses in pain.

  “Hey! Don’t—”

  The knife cuts into me and I jerk. “I said, ‘Not a word.’ ”

  “I think it’s protocol for you to give your demands, you know, eventually,” Adraa says.

  The way Adraa is talking, these aren’t Vencrin.

  “I was sent to bring you two in for questioning. So we—”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Adraa says calmly.

  And if not Vencrin, then that leaves only one other option. I just hope they are the good ones.