by Natalie Mae
I shove up from the bed and leave to find my friends.
* * *
I’m halfway to Hen’s room when I suspect I’m being followed.
It starts with a strange gray jay who hops between olive branches outside, alighting conveniently on a tree beside whatever window I’m passing and always within clusters of other songbirds, so if I listen for thoughts, I can’t tell its voice from the dozens beside it. Neither can I tell if it’s silent. So I veer for the palace’s inner hallways, out of view of any windows, and that’s when the cat appears.
A small silver tabby winds through the legs of the kitchen servers, emerging just as I reach the end of the hall. Far enough away that I can’t hear its thoughts or see the color of its eyes. But I turn a corner and reach the end of the corridor, and there it is again, a slip of silver between potted plants. I take another hallway, this one in the wrong direction from Hen’s room, and eyes shine behind a statue.
It’s both thrilling and terrifying to consider Kasta following me. On one hand, here is extremely solid proof that I’m right about him, but it also makes me wonder if there have been other times, when I haven’t been so alert, that he’s trailed me. I comfort myself that at least Jet and I had the foresight to ward all my advisors’ rooms against sound so we can speak together without fear of being overheard—until I remember we only soundproofed them against human hearing, and I have no idea if animals can hear through the wards.
Regardless, I need to lose him.
I weave my way under vaulted ceilings, back the direction I came. Back to my room, where I close the door and sprint to my balcony, through the glass partition, over the railing, and dangle down, down as far as I can before I let go, the shock of the landing biting up my legs. The Mestrah’s private garden is mercifully empty, but I don’t charge for the exit. Kasta could easily run through his room and see me that way, so I slink back under the balcony, behind a hedge, where no one overhead can see, and where anyone jumping down would have a hard time finding me.
I’ve only been there a few seconds when Kasta’s balcony door whispers open.
Footsteps on his landing. My blood pulses in my ears, and I hold my breath, exhilarated by the certainty now that he was the one following me. Of course, this victory will be short-lived if he finds me here, and I hold my breath, praying to Numet that he stays up.
The heat swells; moments tick by like days. But finally Kasta’s footsteps move away, and the partition glides, and he’s gone.
I breathe out, sliding down the wall. Triumph fizzles against my skin. For someone who shouldn’t have anything to hide, Kasta certainly seems worried about what I’m doing. And I wonder again if he might be hiding more than just Shifting. If that was all, he’d only need to be careful about where he put his pelts and how he sneaks out for his meals. He shouldn’t care at all what I’m doing in the meantime. But he’s tracking me. Like he’s afraid I might have found something else.
And now he’s getting as desperate as I am to uncover what I’m planning.
It makes me smile.
I take the long way to Hen’s. And this time, no animals follow.
* * *
Hen answers on the first knock.
“Zahru!” she says, her brown eyes widening.
“Hen!” I say. “You won’t believe what just—” The words catch in my throat, not only because I’m remembering that I should wait until we’re inside to spill this new information about Kasta, but also because I don’t know how to process what I’m looking at. Hen is in a strange green dress, the collar ruffled and as high as her chin, the sleeves tight and ending in white gloves. The skirt hangs long enough to cover her toes. Her sleek hair piles atop her head in black curls, and she’s cleared her face of makeup, save for a brush of emerald at her temples. I’m fairly certain this is the current Nadessan fashion, which still does not explain anything about this.
“Wow,” I say. “You look . . . unusual?”
“Unusual jobs call for unusual measures.” She grins, but before I can ask about this extremely concerning statement, she swings open the door. “Look who’s here, everyone!”
“Zahru!” Melia calls, from where she stands before one of the large room’s two windows, dressed in a similarly covering purple dress with black gloves. She fixes the high collar of Marcus’s silver suit while he shifts uncomfortably, tugging at the outfit’s stiff pants. “It’s good to see you free. Do you have the afternoon off?”
“I . . . sort of,” I say, caught completely off-guard both by their coordinated outfits and the concept that they’ve all been hanging out together. “I have a meeting in an hour. Hi, Marcus?”
“Zahru.” He nods, a triangular hat sitting roguishly atop his blond curls. It’s strange to see the full length of his legs. Orkenian terguses and tunics are always long enough to not warrant trousers.
All of this is alarming enough that I decide my news about Kasta can wait a moment. “What is happening here?”
Hen fixes a pearly button on her sleeve. “Marcus and Melia are just about to help me with something. Did you know the Nadessan emperor arrived this morning?”
I do not like this at all. “I’ve been studying, so no. Please tell me you’re not planning to sneak onto their boat.”
“Oh, you’re getting very good at guessing,” Hen says, looking impressed. “But you’re not entirely correct. We’re going to visit their Fortune bird.”
I grab the side of the dresser. Nadessa’s Fortune birds are only one step down from Orkena’s own legendary animals, for the simple fact that their power dies with them, versus the magic living on in their bones, but also because it’s only ever one type of magic, and one type of bird. They’re extremely hard to find. And definitely not the kind of treasure Nadessa would bring ashore to share.
“You mean the emperor’s prized pet?” I say. “Which is on his boat? How is this not sneaking onto it?” I open my hands at Melia and Marcus. “You two are going along with this?”
Melia adjusts a tiny purple top hat over her braids. “Hen is like the bad influence I always needed.” Which accurately sums up most people’s feelings for Hen, I think, but is shocking to hear from law-abiding Melia. “And I believe it’s not sneaking, because she has permission. Though I have decided not to ask from where.”
Marcus shrugs. “I was promised custard, and a bird answering any question I want. That was enough for me.”
Hen nods. “I have all the details worked out. They’ll never know we were there. You want to come, too?”
I gape between the three of them. “I think if a crown heir disguises herself and sneaks onto a foreign ship, that’s called espionage and grounds to spark an international conflict! And none of you can leave yet, anyway. Kasta just tried to trail me here as a cat. He is laughing his way through this moon, and we need a new strategy for exposing him!”
Melia freezes. “You saw him Shift?”
“Well . . . no,” I admit. “But this tabby started following me by the kitchens, no matter where I went, and then I ran back into my room and over the balcony and dropped down and then Kasta came outside to see—”
Marcus blanches. “You jumped off your balcony? How high is that?”
“I mean, maybe two stories.” I shrug. “I’m fine. It’s not my first time; I did it during the Choosing banquet with Jet. The point is”—I raise an important finger—“we’re on the right track, and we need to be extra careful about looking for him anytime we have one of these meetings.”
This is not met with the cheers and impressed claps on the back that I’m expecting. Instead, Melia taps her lips. “Was it a silver tabby?”
“Yes!” I say. “With four white socks. Has it followed you before, too?”
“That sounds like Etta,” Hen says. “She’s the kitchen cat. She follows anyone who smells like food.”
My chest pulls. “He killed the k
itchen cat?”
In answer, Hen smells my sleeve.
“What?” I ask.
“You smell like cupcakes,” she says.
Understanding dawns on me as I look across the patient, pitying eyes of my advisors. “You . . . don’t think it was him.”
Melia shrugs. “It’s probably good to be careful, just in case.”
I pull back from them. “But then why did it follow me for so long? And after I went outside, it was seconds before Kasta came out—”
Marcus clears his throat. “Have you considered that maybe he was working, and saw someone jump over your railing, and went outside because he wasn’t sure what he’d just watched?”
This makes me sound like a person who has come unhinged, and my stomach tightens. “But the cat was hiding! It wasn’t just following me; it didn’t want to be seen!”
Hen and Melia share a conspiratorial look.
“You’re right,” Melia says. “It’s bad. Look at those bags under her eyes, too.”
Hen tuts. “We’ve let this go on long enough. It’s time for an intervention.”
I huff, putting my hands up when she starts toward me. “I know what I saw! And I don’t have time for an intervention. I still have half an alphabet to learn, allies to secure, and two weeks before a Shifter plunges us into a war and starts eating people!”
Marcus adjusts his white gloves. “We have a saying in Greka: if you keep firing the same pie, you’ll end up with ashes. And no dessert. It’s only an hour, dōmmel. Come do something fun, and later, after your debut, we can meet again to discuss Kasta.”
I stare at him, betrayed. “You too? Does no one else care how serious this is?”
“Zahru.” Melia offers me a golden Nadessan suit and white gloves. “Sometimes looking away from something for a while is the only way to see it fresh. Come with us and let this go for a bit. We’ll have haru masks, the bird is on public display . . . We’ll be in and out before you know it.”
“And you can ask the bird any question you want.” Hen drops one of the lavish haru masks, with iridescent feathers across its porcelain brow and red ribbons to tie it, atop the suit. Garnets line the eye sockets; the rest of the mask is molded to hide the nose and top half of the wearer’s face, since unmarried Nadessans are expected to don these until their wedding day, to ensure they choose their soulmates based on personality. “If you want to be boring, you can even ask it about stopping Kasta.”
From the gleam in her eyes, I know she’s aware of the effect this will have on me. I can’t even care about the burst of triumph I feel from her when I don’t immediately answer. Because even though I’m no longer sure what just happened with the cat, if this fortune-telling bird can set my mind at ease, if I can go forward knowing I’ll be able to stop Kasta, then I can stop worrying about every little thing like this.
I should possibly be more concerned about what it will mean if the Nadessans find me sneaking around on their boat, but then I consider that after this morning’s Influence lesson, there’s no way we can be caught. If anyone starts to get suspicious or thinks they recognize us, I have the power now to change it.
That’s emergency use? comes Kasta’s amused voice in my ears. I shove the thought away. I need this answer.
I clasp my hands around the suit. “All right. You win.”
* * *
The emperor’s boat waits on the river like a floating palace.
An Earthmover had to physically adjust the wooden docks to make space for it, and it glitters like a frosted cake on the water, three levels of railings and windows and gold that dwarfs the silver Orkenian warships beside it. Seamless porcelain forms its sides, an obvious commission of Orkenian craft, especially considering the gold threaded in curling vines along the upper tiers. Spells that cost more than Fara and I would once have made in a year hum along its sides, warding it from breakage and wear.
It’s a great compliment to my tutors that my first thought is how I might use this in our negotiations. Those ship spells have to be constantly reapplied, and we’re the only country that can supply them. Greka may have a handful of Enchanters, and magicians have been born on rare occasions to Amian families, but most foreign-born magicians move here to make their living, where they have the best access to tutors and other magic. Something I’ll be sure to remind the Nadessans of if they want to keep traveling in such luxury.
Guards patrol the first level with spears and pressed black suits that look extremely uncomfortable for the high afternoon heat.
As I can personally attest, given how much I’m sweating in my own.
Hen hands me, Melia, and Marcus each a lacquered square of parchment. “We’re part of the emperor’s extended family. His third cousins, specifically, though no one’s going to look too closely. Lots of people will be coming on and off the boat to visit the palace. Though you have to have one of these cards, or they do a full background check on you.”
I turn the glossy square. “Where did you even get these cards?”
“I’m borrowing them.” Her eyes glitter behind her crystal-studded mask.
I almost drop it. “You picked these off allies I’m trying to convince to trust us? Do I even dare ask where you got the clothes?”
“Don’t be silly; I made the clothes. Relax, you’re ruining our vibe.”
I tug the ribbon on my own mask, making sure it’s tight, grumbling about deviant Materialists.
Marcus nudges me, his porcelain brow glittering with silver dust. “This is what fun is like, remember? Let us handle the worrying. That’s our job. You just worry about which type of custard you’ll try first, and what you’ll ask that Fortune bird.”
He winks, and I breathe out my nerves as I join Hen’s side. Melia and Marcus link arms behind us, and I look only forward, to the answer I’m going to get, to an hour where I can pretend I’m just me again, out with my friends. And technically I’m still fulfilling part of my royal duties, getting this answer about Kasta.
The guard checking the cards must have a great deal of faith in these small, unassuming pieces of paper, because he waves us onto the boat with barely a glance.
I make it ten steps before I look over my shoulder. “That felt really easy. Wasn’t that way too easy?”
Hen shrugs. “They’re inside a guarded dock with people trying to impress them. Why would they have high security right now?”
I frown. “I just have concerns about being allies with people who don’t even check paper cards.”
“Dōmmel.” Melia pokes my shoulder. “No more of this ruling speak. Nadessa is one of our most sympathetic allies, anyway. Which is nothing to dismiss in this climate.”
A fair point, as I remember there are kingdoms like Melia’s own birth country, Amian, who have only recently begun to accept magicians as human beings, and with whom we had to forge a treaty a century ago so they’d stop executing their few magicborn and send them here instead. Which is only slightly more horrible than Orkena’s own treatment of the Forsaken, who we may not kill, but who we still separate from their families and send off into the world with nothing.
Kasta’s note flashes through my head, and for once I don’t shove him away. This is another thing that will change when I’m Mestrah.
Melia points ahead. “Oh, wow. What is this made of?”
A grand indoor gallery opens before us, and we enter a wide, square tunnel, where the second and third floors of the ship cut away to a tall ceiling and a stunning view of the palm trees and white sand estates on the opposite shore. Everything glitters a smooth, iridescent white. The market stalls lining the paneled walls, the sharp chandeliers, the fine ice sculptures rising through the center of the gallery, each a different ocean creature native to Nadessa. Sparkling white flakes cascade constantly from the ceiling, and I inhale when we step out of the sun, our boots crunching into something cold and soft.
“It’s snow,” Marcus says, opening his hands to the falling flakes.
“It’s true,” I whisper as several of the glittering pieces melt on the back of my hand. For once, something the travelers told me wasn’t an exaggeration. They claimed the Nadessan palaces were made of ice, and while this is not quite ice, if the emperor would pay for this level of magic just for his transport, I can only imagine what he’s commissioned for his home.
It’s everything I have not to take off my gloves and dig my fingers into the floor, to feel this rare substance all over my skin.
Melia grunts. “Well, that explains why they dress like this even while they’re visiting. It’s freezing in here.”
“Tiny dolphins!” Hen says, tugging my sleeve. The nearest market stall holds shelves of clear goblets swimming with the blue and pink creatures, and I’m just starting for them when Marcus lightly smacks my arm.
“Dessert,” he says.
This is an extremely effective way to get my attention. I follow his pointing finger to the sculptures in the aisle, where a handful of unmasked Nadessans mingle in their high collars and pearl-studded gloves, because the sculptures are not just pieces of art, but tables. A vast, sparkling clamshell yawns open, little pink and white delicacies set in the crushed snow around a bowl of red sauce; a dolphin pod curls around cauldrons of chilled soups; a giant octopus with golden suction cups holds up trays of chocolate and yellow pudding and little cakes topped with whipped cream.
“This is why we’re friends, Marcus,” I say, taking his arm. “What are those pink and white things?”
“Shrimp,” he says. “It’s kind of like a fish. And that golden, shining cup of perfection by the cakes is called custard. Tomás’s mother makes a version of it that could convert you away from chocolate.”
I snicker. “I’m going to need you to prove that sometime.”
