Ashes

by C B Samet

  “Is that so bad?” He winked.

  My gaze followed around the room as we spun. Natalie still conversed with the Queen. A few ministers watched Tarik and I dance. Another man stared. He had sun-weathered skin and appeared to be about forty. A long scar extended down one side of his face. I didn’t recognize him.

  Looking back at Tarik, I asked, “What foreign affairs are keeping you on your toes these days?”

  “You want me to bore you with talk of tariff negotiations with Bellos?”

  Anything to take my mind off the fact that I was dancing with a politician who made my skin crawl.

  “I’ve heard they’re being brutish and taxing imports too heavily.”

  “It’s just business,” he replied dismissively.

  The man with the scar on his face materialized beside us. “May I cut in?”

  Tarik’s lip curled before a smile graced his expression. “Certainly, Ambassador.” Without asking if I wanted to switch partners, he gave my hands to the ambassador. “Abigail Cross, I introduce you to Goran Foal, ambassador to Kovia.”

  I bowed my head in greeting, before I found myself dancing with this stranger.

  Goran held my right hand in his left and rested the other on my waist. He glanced at my left hand on his shoulder. “You’re married.”

  “I am.”

  His stiff posture, practiced movements, and stoic expression contained no trace of seduction—so I waited for him to explain the significance of his question.

  “Yet, you dance with that snake.” He nodded subtly towards Tarik. I noticed how the stranger’s eyes scanned the room even more intently than mine. Despite his thick Kovian accent, his Crithian was still clear.

  “He’s not so bad.” In truth, Tarik was loathsome, but I always thought my feelings against the minister were a manifestation of my own prejudice against politicians. If he was a snake, I’d envision him as more of a small, scaly ground-dweller than a venomous adder.

  I continued, “I’m not here to dance with anyone. I’m just a chaperone.”

  He followed my gaze toward Natalie. “She’s charming. But no one here is ‘just a chaperone.’”

  “What’s your quarrel with Tarik?”

  Goran grunted, as though the answer should be obvious. “He’s hardly adequate at his job.”

  “Why do say that?”

  “I had to travel all the way from Kovo to ask the Queen for assistance after our earthquake. Tarik did nothing to convey our needs in a time of crisis.”

  “Earthquake?” I wondered if Kovo, the capital of Kovia, had been damaged.

  Goran pursed his lips. “You see how little regard is given for our country? You didn’t even know about our earthquake.”

  “I don’t spend much time at court, or within the circles who might have received such news.”

  “An earthquake struck our eastern shores. It’s devastated thousands of lives and destroyed an entire city.”

  “That’s terrible!” I knew Kovo wasn’t on the coast, but my geography of Kovia lacked detail enough to know any of the eastern port cities.

  Goran stared at me, as if only seeing me for the first time since we’d started dancing. He blinked, and his expression softened. “Yes, it is.”

  “Did the Queen agree to send aid?”

  “She did. She’s generous—but it’s difficult to gain an audience with her.”

  “Is anyone still in danger?” My mind began churning. Perhaps I, as the Avant Champion, could help.

  “No.” He drew out the word as if my question were peculiar.

  Goran turned my hand in his and ran a calloused thumb over my star tattoo. His eyes widened. “You are her. I wondered if half the room was staring at us because a disfigured man is dancing with a beautiful woman—but it’s because you are the champ—”

  “Chaperone, remember?” I swallowed. A fleeting stab of panic struck me.

  For the first time since seeing him, Goran smiled. It transformed his appearance from rugged ruffian to handsome and approachable. “A legend, encased in a small body, wrapped in a shell of humility. How refreshing.”

  “And you’re an intelligent warrior, poorly disguised as a politician.”

  “You’re changing the subject again. You do that well, Champion.”

  “It’s not humility. It’s self-preservation.”

  “Self-preservation? Or protecting those you love?” His gentle gaze flickered towards Natalie and then back to me.

  My stomach knotted.

  “I think I understand. If the stories of your abilities are true, you want to help—probably even like to help—but you have a family to consider.”

  “Family comes first.”

  “As they should, milady.”

  Goran took me in one last circle before stopping and dropping his hands. “Thank you for the dance. I expect it will be the highlight of my evening. I’ll maintain discretion, but if you’re ever in my country, you’ll find hospitality in Kovia if you mention my name.” He walked away and vanished into the crowd.

  “Mama, who were you dancing with?”

  Looking down, I saw Natalie by my side. “That was an ambassador to Kovia, and a remarkable man.” I wondered if she detected that I’d never made a similar statement about Minister Tarik. “His name is Goran Foal. He was telling me that his country recently suffered an earthquake on their eastern coast. They have a lot of rebuilding to do.”

  Her brow furrowed.

  Had that been too much information for a seven-year-old? With a healer for a father, she wasn't shielded from discussions about the suffering of others. Perhaps images of mass devastation were too much.

  Her face turned contemplative.

  As I knelt beside her, I asked, “What are you thinking, sweetheart?”

  Natalie blinked and seemed to gather her thoughts. “I overheard the municipal judge of Waterton. I believe her name was Bev. She spoke with another woman about a fishing boat of sailors. The boat was caught in a storm and all the fishermen were lost at sea. Bev put together a donation center, and people from the town gave food and clothing to the wives and children.” Her face brightened. “We could do that for Kovia! You could transport everything we collect there.”

  I smiled. “That's a brilliant idea.” I glanced around and, seeing Goran again, added, “Shall we go tell him?”

  As I stood, Natalie began walking across the room. The way she carried herself—so unselfconsciously, and with such natural dignity—revealed a self-confidence I didn't acquire until I was much older. She looked almost queenly as the crowd parted for her.

  When we reached Goran, I made the introductions. “Ambassador Foal, this is my daughter Natalie.”

  Natalie extended her hand, and Goran politely kissed it, with a charmed expression.

  “She has a proposal to help Kovia.”

  As Natalie spoke, Goran knelt to listen carefully. With her in her luxurious dress, standing before a man on one knee, the scene looked like the many times I’d seen subjects bow before Queen Rebekah.

  When Natalie had finished speaking, Goran straightened and adjusted his dress shirt. “I think yours is a wonderful plan.”

  I grinned, full of pleasure and pride. “Can you stay at the castle for a week, while we gather donations?”

  He grimaced. “I've already been away two weeks, and it's another week of travel back. Can the items be shipped by land or sea when they’re ready?”

  I open my mouth, but Natalie was already speaking. “Mama can transport the supplies in seconds.”

  I shot her a warning glance, before looking around our immediate vicinity to see if anyone had overheard her.

  Goran arched an eyebrow.

  I gave a nervous cough as I cleared my throat. Lowering my voice, I leaned closer. “I can bring any donated objects—and you—back to Kovia. The transportation process is quick.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “How does that work?”

  “Magic,” blurted Natalie.

  “Ye
s,” I hissed at her. She knew I liked discretion.

  She smiled sweetly back at me, and I narrowed my eyes in response. Turning back to Goran, I nodded once to confirm her admission. “Magic.”

  “That I would very much like to see.”

  Natalie remained dedicated to her plan. She spent the following week on the university campus recruiting students to her cause. Students set up a tent in the campus quad filled with empty crates. Day after day, the donations poured into them. When I wasn’t teaching class or grading papers, I helped organize the donations, placing like objects in similar crates. People had brought clothes of all sizes, shoes, blankets, sheets, towels, pots, pans, goblets, plates, utensils, candles, bioluminescent lamps, books, and toys. The art class donated paintings and pottery. The metallurgy students donated hammers, mallets, saws, and nails. Other students donated food–salted meats, crackers, hard candies, and anything else which wouldn’t perish in a few days.

  By the end of the week, we’d sealed twenty full crates. As I stared at my daughter's achievement, Dean Lariat approached.

  “Quite the accomplishment,” the Dean commented.

  “All of the credit goes to Natalie.” I placed a hand on my daughter’s shoulder.

  She beamed.

  “Well, it's wonderful. I think it reflects your commitment to the university. The whole town is buzzing about the help we’re providing. The students are planning bi-annual meetings to discuss the next relief effort.” She put her hands on her hips, nodding. “Well done.”

  As she walked away, I stood in silent disbelief. This activity was in no way intended to gain favor with the Dean. Given my recent suspension, I needed all of the help I could get, but I’d never have schemed to use my daughter in such a way. Nor did I see how a charity event was representative of commitment to the university. The idea seemed exploitive.

  “Magnificent,” a deep voice sounded.

  I turned to see Goran standing beside me in awe.

  He turned his grin toward me, before his expression faltered. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Sorry. I'm under a lot of pressure at work at the university, and I was distracted by it.”

  Why am I sharing this with him?

  He looked to the crate and back to me. “Is this a problem?”

  “No,” I said hurriedly. “No, this is perfect. This is exactly what I need. I never mind focusing on other people’s problems, so I can forget my own for a spell.”

  Not sure why I shared that, either.

  I supposed something about the jagged scar made Goran seem trustworthy.

  He clasped his hands behind his back. “Well, I must admit, I’ve been eagerly anticipating watching how you intend to get all of this to Kovia.”

  “Magic,” Natalie said.

  I looked around the quad of the campus. The late afternoon sun bathed the trees, grass, and gray stone buildings. Since it was at the end of the week, the students had vacated the premises to spend the weekend at home. During the collection process, as we’d organized the donated items, I’d been careful to tell Natalie that she wasn't to mention how the items would get to Kovia. My plan was to take them, and the ambassador, to Kovia at dusk. The students would return in two days and, when they did, they’d assume the crates had been carted off to the east by carriage.

  “I suppose now is as good a time as any,” I said.

  Natalie climbed onto the crates, sitting with her feet dangling off the edge.

  “Ambassador Foal.” I gestured toward the crates.

  With a half-bemused, half-cautious expression, he climbed and sat on the wood.

  “If you please, think of a location near to where these need to be delivered but far from crowds or onlookers.” I laid a hand on the nearest crate and activated my star. I stretched the power around each touching crate, feeling their geometric shapes pressed against each other—and two other people touching them.

  As the campus dissipated and our destination materialized, four walls formed around us. Dark wood panel walls surrounded us. Stale and musky air replaced the smell of grass and blooms from the campus.

  I peeled off the wooden shell around my warrior stone necklace and set the stone glowing. Night had long descended upon this part of the world. Other crates surrounded us, as well as rusted machinery and dusty chests.

  I looked at Goran. “Is this the right place?”

  He hopped off the crate. “Yes. Amazing.” He looked around the room. “This is a warehouse outside of the city. It's close enough to the port so we can claim the donations came by ship.”

  I gave him a grateful smile.

  He raised his hand slightly. “It's obvious you want discretion. You don't want knowledge of your powers to draw attention to yourself. I don't want to have to explain a transcontinental trip that occurred in three seconds, either—so we'll settle on a story of traveling by ship, and I hope no one assembles the impossibility of that timeline.”

  Natalie climbed off the crates.

  “Thank you. You'll be able to get the supplies where they need to go from here?”

  “Yes.”

  I turned to take Natalie's hand.

  “But I have two more requests.”

  I turned back to him.

  His expression, initially amazed at the expedited form of travel, transformed into the conservative face of the ambassador I’d first met at the spring ball. “Could you take me to my home? And honor my family with the company of your family for dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Yes—and no.”

  Natalie, whose face lit up at the mention of a social visit, turned a scowl towards me.

  Goran looked troubled.

  I continued, “Our dinner time is probably breakfast for you, given the distances between my home and yours. We can come during our breakfast time, which would be a dinner for you. However, my husband is working Saturday—so we couldn't come until Sunday.”

  Goran nodded. “Perfect. My wife would disown me if I gave her less than a day to prepare for company, anyway.” He extended his hand.

  I reached to accept it. “Let's get you home, ambassador.”

  5

  Two days later, my family invaded Ambassador Goran's home.

  With three children and two adults between us, he and his wife would know the full rambunctiousness of the Colt-Cross family. We brought with us a chocolate torte cake Paul and Mo had made, plus a quart of moon juice so the adults could better endure the screaming joy of children at play.

  I could see the house in the daylight. The narrow, three-story building sat in a neighborhood of other homes. A broad lane stretched on either side, decorated by a spattering of cherry blossom trees.

  When Goran opened the door, I realized I’d dressed more formally than the occasion required. My light-blue cotton dress, with lace and silver embroidery, contrasted against Goran’s brown pants and shirt. Joshua similarly wore a decorated tunic. I’d imagined dinner to be a formal affair, at the table of an ambassador, while Goran had clearly imagined a casual dinner with new friends.

  I relaxed instantly, liking Goran’s approach much better.

  After introductions, the children went outside to play. Joshua and Goran followed to talk while supervising the children. I remained in the kitchen and offered to help with the preparations. Lorraine, Goran’s wife, waved me off as she took the cake and flask of moon juice we had brought as gifts.

  She poured the spirits into a glass and handed it to me. “You're a guest, and I won't have you fixing your own appreciation meal.” Her Crithian accent was thicker and less refined than Goran’s but still easily comprehensible.

  I sipped my moon juice and smiled. Lorraine was my height but with more robust curves than I’d ever possessed. Her bosom appeared large and generous in the cream colored dress she wore. Her long, copper-colored hair was efficiently braided back.

  “You probably don't want me destroying your meal anyway.”

  “You don't cook?”

  “I'm better in a chem
istry lab than a kitchen.”

  She chuckled. “Goran told me you teach chemistry.”

  With those words, and a brief rake of her eyes from my head to my toes, I felt her appraisal. Did Lorraine wonder or worry about the strange teacher from another continent being invited to her home? Or was she happy to have guests over for a meal?

  Unlike Coco DeFay’s perpetual disapproving appraisal of me, I sensed Lorraine felt at ease. She didn't perceive me as a threat, and I wondered if that meant Goran hadn't told her of my powers. Or better yet, he had, and she just didn't fear them.

  “Yes. I studied at the University of Marrington, and now I teach there.”

  “Goran said the students launched quite the relief effort.” Lorraine began to beat eggs and milk in a bowl.

  “Twenty crates of supplies.”

  She nodded, turning to roll dough on the countertop. As Goran’s wife fixated on her tasks, she said, “Goran told me you helped bring him home.” Her voice cracked at the last word.

  I swallowed and straightened.

  Without looking up at me, she added, “With his ambassador position, I never know when he'll be home. Thank you.” As her eyes met mine, she blinked away tears. “He's providing for his family, but it's still hard to be without him so often.”

  At a loss for words, I walked around the counter and hugged Lorraine, not caring that flour would get on my dress from her apron.

  She returned the hug. “Thank you,” she repeated.

  “It was no trouble at all. He seems like a nice and genuine man.”

  As she pulled away, Lorraine snorted. “Yes, he is. Funny though—most people never know it because they take one look at the long scar and rugged face and assume he's unapproachable.” She placed the dough in a cast iron pan and began pressing it into the edges. “Don't mistake me, he's no puppy dog. He's battle-hardened and has killed men when he saw no other way. But he's decent and fair, and he’ll always choose resolution over conflict when he can.”

  “A good ambassador, then.”

  She beamed. “Yes. Quite.”

  “He misses you, too, while he’s away.”

  Lorraine gave me a quizzical look.