Cast in Firelight

by Dana Swift

  She tugs her arm away and bangs on the wall once more before turning back to me.

  “I…I can’t do it.”

  She can’t do what? Stand the thought of marrying me?

  “Am I really that horrible?” I whisper.

  She gestures to the door. “I mean I can’t break it.”

  “Oh.”

  Carefully, I step closer. When she doesn’t protest, I take another step. I place one hand on the sheet of ice. “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Hima Diavadloc,” I cast. The ice cracks slowly around my fingers and then splinters outward. Ice rains on the floor, splintering and cracking like a small replica of the ice door downstairs. I don’t look at it, though, because Adraa is staring at me, and I at her. She’s especially beautiful right now: face flushed, strands of hair falling out of her braid, strength and stubbornness radiating off her as she takes in heavy breaths.

  “If you want to leave, you can,” I say.

  She doesn’t move. “You aren’t horrible.”

  “But are you…?” I can’t even say it. “Would you consider Moolek’s offer?”

  “No.”

  “So you would never—”

  “Of course I wouldn’t. Gods, Jatin, I like you!”

  The world pauses, the entire bloody world. Adraa looks down at her hands, rubbing them together. “I realize you don’t feel the same way. But somewhere in all this, even amid all our lies, I fell in love with you.”

  Everything lifts, spins, whirls. My heart beats so loudly it pounds in my ears. She loves me? “What do you mean I don’t feel the same way? Adraa—”

  “Kalyan told me you lied to stop our arguing and competitiveness so that we could become friends.”

  For blood’s sake. Kalyan is a dead man. I will never let him live this down. Only friends? “Adraa, I’ve loved you since—I can’t even pinpoint it, maybe since I met you.”

  “What?”

  “I love you.”

  I don’t know how long we stare at each other in silence. One moment our eyes are locked, and the next it’s our lips. I can’t even tell who moved first, but as soon as I start kissing her, I never want to stop. I push her against the door, one hand reaching into her hair, the other at her waist, pulling her closer to me. Gods, how I’ve waited for this, to feel her pressed against me. And blood, the way she feels. Her arms wind around my waist and her hands tug at my kurta. I groan. Adraa moans softly back. It’s the most attractive sound I’ve ever heard. To think she is as undone as I am.

  She smells like mountain air. Like each and every letter I raced to open. Her skin is soft, her hair is thick, and I get to kiss her.

  “This is how we should finish every argument we have from now on,” I whisper, catching my breath.

  She arches an eyebrow. “We better not have another argument like this one.”

  “You’re right. Let’s restart. No lies.” I tuck a few strands of her wavy hair behind her ears. “I’m Jatin Naupure, and I’m not a murderer or a mistress.”

  “Are you trying to remind me of all the embarrassing things I’ve said to you?”

  “Well, they did make me come to know your rambling problem and your constant implications of how you could kill me.” I smile.

  “It’s for your safety. You are more careless and accident-prone than I am.”

  “That’s not true.”

  She touches my shoulder, right where I tore it, my jaw, the scar along my torso from that night on the roof. “I thought we weren’t going to mention that?” I whisper.

  She smiles as she cups her hand to my cheek and I pull her toward me, kissing her again. And she kisses me back. She kisses me back.

  I don’t think I could come to my senses. Kissing Jatin…It’s like trying to describe pure happiness or the feeling of warmth. Your chest is light and heavy at the same time. You can feel each breath of air and it is both rich and all-consuming. I’m taller somehow, stronger.

  But then one name knocks us both back into reality. Maharaja Moolek.

  It’s like Jatin can read my mind, because we both reach for our skygliders at the same time.

  “Do you have a plan? Or are we just barging into the palace?” he asks as we descend the stairs.

  I look over at him. “It is my palace.”

  “Fair enough, but this is Moolek we’re talking about.”

  “We question him without getting manipulated, or killed.”

  Jatin unsheathes his skyglider and it glows white. “That’s the worst plan you have ever come up with.”

  I frown. “I know. Maybe we’ll think of something better as we fly.”

  * * *

  We don’t think of anything better. But we don’t exactly barge into the palace. I thrust the doors open to the throne room only to find it deserted.

  Jatin stares at the orange stone walls adorned with Belwar’s nine-pointed sun glowing with the afternoon light. With the room empty, that sun appears foreboding. Like the rising semicircle could also be setting. “This is a warm welcome.”

  A curtain at the other side of the hall shifts, revealing Prisha. “Adraa! There you are. I was worried and I didn’t know what to tell—” Prisha stops when she spots Jatin.

  “Prisha, this is Jatin Naupure.” I hurriedly motion through the introduction.

  “Jatin Naupure!” Her eyes widen as she looks him up and down. Her mouth does that mischievous twist. “I thought you would be taller.”

  “And, Jatin, this is my rude little sister, Prisha Belwar.”

  “I hear the resemblance,” he says as he gives her his respects.

  “Hey,” both Prisha and I say at the same time. After we exchange a look I laugh. She examines me like I’ve lost it. But it’s Jatin teasing me, the boy who smells like frost and tastes like happiness.

  “Prisha, do you know where Maharaja Moolek is?” I ask when I finally calm down.

  “He’s gone. He left right after talking to you in the temple.”

  “Gone where?” Jatin asks.

  Prisha shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not stupid enough to tail him.”

  Guess we didn’t need a better plan. There is no plan now. I turn to Jatin. “You think he came here to manipulate me? I thought for sure there were ulterior motives, like taking the firelight shipment or something. I’m not important enough to warrant a whole visit like this.”

  “You’re firelight’s creator, the only creator. If he is stealing it, you are important enough. You are the most important.”

  “But how are we going to find him?”

  Prisha steps forward. “What’s going on?”

  I had practically forgotten about her. And as I open my mouth to lie, something dawns in Prisha’s eyes and she jumps, waving her hands. “Wait— Oh my Gods. Hiren told me the Red Woman was after Bloodlurst and I thought that sounded wrong, but— You…you two are…You’re the Red—”

  As I lunge toward my sister and clamp my hand over her mouth, our mother billows around the corner. “Prisha! I needed that sheep kemp three minutes ago.”

  “I’ll explain later. Don’t say anything,” I whisper before releasing Prisha.

  My mother stops in her tracks. The smell of steamed vegetables meets us before she gets an arm’s length away. I envision the potion she is working on retroactively. “Adraa, there you are. I need you to—” My mother finally notices Jatin. “Hello.”

  All I can think about as my mother talks is Prisha, who holds the biggest secret of my life in her throat. “Oh, um, well, this is—”

  “Jatin Naupure!” Jatin exclaims with two fingers to his neck and a bow.

  My mother’s eyes spin and then light up. “Jatin. It’s so nice to meet you again.” She thrusts out her forearm and he presses his against it.

  “It’s very nice to see you,” Jatin says wit
h a smile.

  “Sorry, but I need to get back to the clinic. Prisha, get the kemp. Adraa, I really do need you.”

  “I’m kind of busy.”

  She gives me a look. Examines the two of us. For a second I register fear on her face. Then it disappears. “I have two patients with Bloodlurst poisoning. Two kids who flew deliveries all day. It’s bad, Adraa.”

  I tense, anger lapping at me. I need to stop the Vencrin. I need to get to Moolek. I need to talk to Prisha. I need—

  “What degree of burnout are they experiencing?” I ask, tugging up my sleeves.

  * * *

  For the next two hours I cast pink spell after pink spell to stabilize a drug addict. Mother was right. It’s the worst the clinic has ever seen. One is so red from windburn it looks like a rash. He keeps mumbling too, something about not being able to take any more.

  Jatin volunteers to help as always. As I work on the Bloodlurst poisoning he helps craft a few of the other potions Mother has fallen behind on. When we pass each other in the confusion of patients, potions, and magic, he always catches my eye and smiles. I melt and solidify at the same time.

  My happiness is only pierced by Prisha, who electrifies my nerves with every glance. I watch her piece together most of my story as the Red Woman. Of course, Hiren told her everything from a few nights ago. But I had forgotten just how observant my sister is. Her eyes scream questions and mine spark with what I hope communicates Wait, don’t say anything. But when’s the last time my sister listened to me? Jatin and I are doomed.

  My chance to talk to her finally comes in the potion room as Mother yells enchantments a wall away. I stir a gooey salve, with Prisha layering it on kemp to create a bandage. Jatin is next to me, glancing between us, waiting.

  “Prisha, let me explain,” I whisper.

  “Don’t bother. I want in.”

  “What?” I must have misheard her. There’s no way that—

  “I want in. I want to join you.”

  I turn to face her fully. She mirrors me. “No. You can’t,” I say.

  Jatin laughs.

  I turn to him. “Why are you laughing?”

  He leans toward me. “Because we literally had this same conversation in the Underground a month ago and you are still as stubborn as ever.”

  “Prisha, you don’t even understand what’s going on or what we’re fighting.”

  She crosses her arms. “You think Moolek has stolen your firelight and you want to find out why and then get it back.”

  “Yeah, but…yeah, I guess that’s most of it. But there’s also Vencrin and—”

  “You think Vencrin are the muscle behind Moolek’s plans. That’s why you fight in the Underground, to get close to them, right? It all makes sense now.” There is no doubt on her face or in her voice. She waits for me to verify.

  “Wow,” Jatin whispers. “She’s pretty good.”

  “Don’t encourage her.”

  He raises his hands, but a smile lingers.

  “I’m right, right?” Prisha asks with her signature smirk.

  “Yes, pretty much.”

  “I knew the Red Woman wasn’t bad. I’ve been researching her for weeks. But to think it was you this whole time.” Pride shines through the words. Pride. Like after my lies I can be forgiven. Like she truly respects what I’m trying to do.

  “I’m not going to tell Mom and Dad,” she says calmly.

  “I…”

  Mother glides into the room. “I want that salve on the Bloodlurst patients immediately.”

  Prisha and I both twist around and spread the ointment on the bandages. Jatin joins us, squeezing my hand and lacing the wool with the brown goo.

  My mother smiles knowingly. “I knew you two liked each other. You know, we never told Adraa to write to you, Jatin. She did that on her own. She would run off as soon as she received one of your letters when she was younger.”

  I give Jatin a sideways look. “I had to correct your arrogance or prove you wrong, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, me too.” And he winks.

  “Well, I personally always enjoyed your letters,” Prisha interjects.

  Good Gods. Prisha is making it very hard for me not to throttle her. I push her shoulder, but her smirk only grows.

  “I’m glad you liked them,” Jatin says, laughing.

  Mother smiles. “We just have to get through your ceremony now.”

  I try for a reassuring smile. Only Jatin catches that it’s more like a grimace.

  * * *

  Jatin and I wander out to the training ground, escaping the chaos of the clinic and my clever little sister for a few minutes. Of course any of the staff could be peering out a window. But they can’t hear what we are saying.

  “If possible, I feel as if I know you even better,” Jatin says as the crisp air knocks into us.

  “Was it watching me pour blood in a cauldron or freak out every time my sister even moved in our mother’s direction?”

  “Both. You know, your sister could help,” Jatin says.

  “I don’t know if I can watch out for the both of you.”

  “That hurts.” Then he gets serious. “When you turn eighteen, masquerading as Jaya won’t be as easy. We need to think of another way to get information. Your sister—”

  “My sister hasn’t been trained in the same way. She’s gifted, she’s never had to worry about the ceremony or fighting for her life.”

  Jatin gives me a look. “Are you scared about your royal ceremony, Adraa?”

  I step up onto the fountain, hang off Retaw’s stone hand and swing to the other side. Jatin jumps up on the rim as well, circling with me. We start a game of chase, my mission to avoid, his to capture. He tries to win, to look me in the eye, but talking about my shortcomings in front of him? It’s easier to not face him.

  “It’s weird hearing you call me Adraa.”

  “You prefer Smoke?” he teases.

  “Do you prefer Jatin?”

  I swing left and suddenly he’s in front of me. I guessed wrong.

  “Yes.” He smiles.

  “Good to know,” I breathe.

  “We said no more lies.”

  I take a deep breath as I tell him the truth about the last lie I’ve been holding on to. “I’m terrified.”

  “I hope you’re referring to the ceremony.”

  I laugh unexpectedly. “I wouldn’t say you are terrifying.”

  “Good, I don’t want to get punched in the face again.”

  I lightly push his shoulder. “It was more like a slap and you know it.”

  He catches my hand and weaves his fingers through mine. It’s very distracting. “Why are you terrified?”

  “I—I don’t want to fail.”

  He frowns. “You won’t fail. Blood, you are the best witch I’ve—”

  “Himadloc,” I whisper, and red drips off my hands and into the water below. With each splash of red smoke my spell courses through the water. It slows, gets a bit colder, and we both wait as a light frost glistens across the surface. Not even frozen. My cheeks flush. I never thought I would admit this to Jatin Naupure. Never thought I would showcase my greatest weakness quite like this.

  “It’s moving water. It’s hard to freeze moving—”

  “Don’t.”

  “Well, I could help. It’s sort of my forte.” He smiles. “I would just need payment, of course.”

  “Payment?” I snort. “The future Maharaja of Naupure needs to haggle a few gold coins out of me?”

  “Who said anything about money?”

  I narrow my eyes. “What exactly do you want?”

  “You…”

  I stare.

  And then he continues with a smirk. “To admit that I’m the best wizard in all of Wick—”

 
; He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because I lean forward and kiss him. He welcomes the interruption, pulling me closer so that our bodies press together. I pull back only an inch from his lips, dizzy with happiness. “I don’t think I can agree to those terms. We said no more lies, Jatin.”

  Moolek has disappeared. All reports say he left the country. I don’t buy it for a second and the fact that we can find little to no information proves to me he’s still here, lurking. But with no leads and the wanted posters stuck to every corner I focus on my royal ceremony. Jaya Smoke might never be again, but I still have my mask. I’ll find a way. I already have plans to talk to Beckman, this time as a rani.

  Jatin is true to his word. For the next week he trains me. And for once in my life, under his guidance, I don’t feel like a failure in white magic. I can’t freeze moving water, but I can freeze liquids. I can’t create snow, but I can control how it falls. Jatin smiles and reassures me that that will be enough. That I’m a nine. That I won’t disappoint. It’s everything I ever wanted to be and to hear. And in our bubble of training, and focus, and study, I almost believe him.

  Yet, doubt still clangs inside my head.

  Like all events one dreads and is unprepared for, my royal test arrives too soon. The night before I toss, turn, and dream myself into the land of red. I start awake each time, willing myself to think about anything but the ceremony, and yet it drags me back down. “You must go through with it,” the red room voice commands, ringing with intensity, until dawn strikes through my bedroom in staggered streaks and I fully awaken.

  Zara pounces onto my bed. “I couldn’t sleep. All I could think about was how I could do your hair, and what ribbons we could use.” After that, she gets to work, painting, braiding, and fastening me to look like a genuine Lady of Belwar. It takes hours. But I don’t really mind it and before long I’m spinning in front of the mirror. “I have to say, you have outdone yourself,” I tell her. Zara has taken nine colored ribbons and woven them in my hair, creating a cascading rainbow effect I cannot even comprehend.