Magic of Wind and Mist

by Cassandra Rose Clarke

  “We’re twins,” I said.

  He blushed. “It’s customary for couples to wear similar colors here,” he said.

  And that made me blush.

  The excitement of the wedding was almost enough for me to forget about the Marista. All day I’d been watching singers and puppeteers, feasting and dancing, and all day I knew I would need to make a decision. I’d already sent a letter to Mama and Papa through the queen’s personal wizard, telling them everything that had happened since I was pulled into the Mists. At the very beginning, I wrote I AM SAFE in big block letters so they wouldn’t worry. I hadn’t gotten a response back yet, but I knew it was too soon for one.

  I told them about the Marista, but I didn’t tell them my decision—mostly because when I wrote it, I hadn’t made one. But when I finished the letter and sat back and read over my adventure, I knew I couldn’t go back home and become a fisherman like Papa. I’d finally had a taste of the wider world, and I knew, as much as I loved my family, and as much as I would miss them, that things would never be as simple as they’d been before.

  A bell chimed, echoing through the garden. It sounded like starlight. Isolfr stopped and looked at me. “It’s time,” he said in a soft voice.

  “For the Marista?”

  He shook his head. “For the marriage.”

  I smiled at that, trying to quell the queasiness in my stomach. After the ceremony would come the Marista, and then I would have to make my final decision—I would have to formalize my future.

  Isolfr and I were given places in the front row, next to Frida and Trystan and surrounded by courtiers. He and I held hands as Penelope and Kolur promised themselves to each other. They wound silvery-white ribbons around each other’s arms, and Queen Penelope sang the prayer of the bride in a voice like hot melted sugar. The priestess anointed them with scented oil and placed crowns of flowers on their heads as she spoke in a language I couldn’t understand. It was a short ceremony, and beautiful, and when they finished they ran through the crowd, their white-ribboned hands clutching each other. Music spilled out of the garden and they danced together to finalize their devotion to each other, the stars twinkling overhead.

  When the song ended and Kolur and Penelope kissed, the crowd leaped to their feet and applauded. Penelope held up one hand to silence us.

  “Tonight is a special night,” she called out. “For we are not celebrating only a wedding, but a Marista as well—a triple Marista, in honor of the three heroes who saved our world from the wiles of Lord Foxfollow.”

  The applause that followed her pronouncement rolled over me like thunder. I could feel it deep inside my chest.

  “May the three come forward,” she said, “to receive your wishes.”

  I looked over at Isolfr. He was smiling, as bright as starlight. I didn’t share his happiness. A few moments away and I knew what I wanted to ask for, but not if I would have the courage to ask for it.

  Trystan went up first, waving at the crowd. They cheered for him, seemingly not caring that he was a man of the Mists, and he basked in their admiration, soaking it up like the sun.

  “Lord Trystan of Llambric,” Queen Penelope said, “what is your wish?”

  Trystan straightened his shoulders. He looked over the crowd. “My greatest wish has already been granted,” he said, “and that was to see Lord Foxfollow killed.”

  Applause so loud it threatened to call snow down from the sky.

  “He destroyed my family’s name because of a centuries-old feud,” he said, “and took away our lands and placed them under his control. And while I’ve freed your land from Foxfollow’s grasp, I’m afraid mine is still tainted by his influence. He humiliated me in the days before I crossed over, and it will be difficult for me to return in my damaged state.”

  The audience had gone silent. They watched him with wide eyes.

  “All I ask,” Lord Trystan said, “is a title in Jandanvar. A connection to this world I helped save, and a way for me to begin rebuilding my family’s honor.”

  There was a pause. Queen Penelope stepped forward and placed her hand on the top of Trystan’s head. He closed his eyes.

  “My debt is paid,” she said. “And your wish is granted.”

  Something seemed to flow out of Trystan. A tension, perhaps, a fear of the future. He slumped beneath Penelope’s touch and sighed. The crowd roared their approval, and Trystan leaned close to Penelope and murmured something to her that I couldn’t hear over the applause.

  Penelope waited until the cheers died away before calling Isolfr.

  “The North Wind,” she said, “Spirit of Jandanvar, blessed protector.”

  The applause for Isolfr was more muted than it had been for Trystan—reverent, really. He walked forward. No one in this garden could mistake him for human, not in this moment. He was too beautiful.

  “What is your wish?” asked Penelope.

  Isolfr gazed over the crowd. I looked at him, my heart pounding. He’d already told me what he was going to ask for. It was a small thing, I thought. Nothing like the decision I would need to make.

  “I don’t want to ever have to do something like that again,” he said.

  The crowd burst into laughter, and Queen Penelope clasped her hands together and laughed too. Isolfr gave a wry smile out to the crowd.

  “I mean no disrespect,” he said, stammering a little. “But please—promise me you won’t try to marry any more lords of the Mists. That’s all.”

  I half expected Penelope to be angry with him, but instead she smiled and laid her hand on Isolfr’s head.

  “You have my word,” she said. “I will not agree to marry into the Mists again. My debt is paid, and your wish is granted.”

  Isolfr moved aside. My face felt hot. Queen Penelope turned toward me and she was all I could see. I could not think about the audience, about the stars, about the wind spirits knocking around the leaves of the trees.

  “Hanna Euli of Kjora,” Penelope said.

  Her words sounded far away. They were accompanied by a rumbling, thunder before a rainstorm. Applause. The audience, applauding for me.

  I walked forward.

  “What is your wish?” she said.

  For a moment I couldn’t move. Penelope smiled down at me. I looked away, over to Isolfr. I had a choice. I could wish for what I thought I’d wanted from the moment I realized that the adventuring wasn’t what I expected. I could wish to go home.

  Or I could wish for that thing I’d wanted since I first learned to control the wind. I could wish for a dream to become real.

  Isolfr smiled at me. A spirit of the wind. Of course I’d fallen in love with him.

  This time, I turned to the crowd. Their faces blurred together. I knew I couldn’t make an elegant speech, like Trystan, nor could I make them laugh, like Isolfr. I could only say what I wanted.

  “I wish to attend the Undim Citadels,” I said, “so I can study to become a witch.”

  For a moment I was certain the audience would laugh at me. But they only applauded and cheered. A wind stirred around my skirts—the south wind, smelling of spices and sunlight, but also of home, of Mama’s iceberry pie and Papa’s hot cider.

  You have my approval, the wind said, whistling in my ear. I smiled.

  Penelope laid her hand on my head. I felt it like a weight.

  “My debt is paid,” she said.

  I thought of my future. I thought of my magic, boiling up inside of me, burning with potential. The Undim Citadels. Attending was not a matter of my ability—I’d helped defeat Lord Foxfollow—but of payment. That’s why it was a wish.

  I knew I’d made the right decision. I didn’t worry about home. Lord Foxfollow was dead. I knew I’d see my parents again. That I’d see Henrik again, and Bryn. And I also knew that the next time I saw Kjora, it would not be as a fisherwoman, but as a witch.

  Queen Penelope smiled. The stars twinkled. The south wind swirled around me.

  “And your wish is granted,” she said.


  THE END

  Acknowledgments

  As always, I would like to thank my parents and Ross Andrews for their love and support. Special thanks goes out to all my friends-who-write: Amanda Cole, Bobby Mathews, Alexandre Maki, Laura Lam, and the members of the Northwest Houston SFF Writer’s Group. Writing is such a solitary activity that it’s a joy to find others willing to discuss the highs and lows in intricate detail.

  Furthermore, I would like to thank my agent, Stacia Decker, for reading The Wizard’s Promise and offering excellent suggestions for improvement, as well as for her constant hard work regarding my books and my career. Thank you to my editor, Amanda Rutter, for agreeing to take a chance on another set of stories set in this little fantasy world I made up all those years ago. And thank you to the rest of the Angry Robot staff—Mike Underwood, Lee Harris, Marc Gascoigne, and Caroline Lambe—for the wonderful support they give their authors. And I would be remiss if I did not mention the hardworking Angry Robot interns who have been wonderful about helping with marketing connections: Leah, Vicky, and Jamie.

  Finally, I would like to thank the readers, reviewers, and bloggers who helped make the Assassin’s Curse series such a success. Thank you, all!

  I ain’t never been one to trust beautiful people, and Tarrin of the Hariri was the most beautiful man I ever saw. You know how in the temples they got those paintings of all the gods and goddesses hanging on the wall above the row of prayer candles? And you’re supposed to meditate on them so as the gods can hear your request better? Tarrin of the Hariri looked just like one of those paintings. Golden skin and huge black eyes and this smile that probably worked on every girl from here to the ice-islands. I hated him on sight.

  We were standing in the Hariris’ garden, Mama and Papa flanking me on either side like a couple of armed guards. The sea crashed against the big marble wall, spray misting soft and salty across my face. I licked it away and Mama jabbed me in the side with the butt of her sword.

  “So I take it all the arrangements are in order?” asked Captain Hariri, Tarrin’s father. “You’re ready to finalize our agreement?”

  “Soon as we make the trade,” Papa said.

  I glowered at the word “trade” and squirmed around in my too-tight silk dress. My breasts squeezed out the top of it, not on purpose. I know that sort of thing is supposed to be appealing to men but you wouldn’t know it talking to me. At least the dress was a real pretty one, the color of cinnamon and draped the way the court ladies wore ’em a couple of seasons ago. We’d nicked it off a merchant ship a few months back. Mama had said it suited me when we were on board Papa’s boat and she was lining my eyes with kohl and pinning my hair on top of my head, trying to turn me into a beauty. I could tell by the expression on Mistress Hariri’s face that it hadn’t worked.

  “Tarrin!” Captain Hariri lifted his hand and Tarrin slunk out of the shadow of the gazebo where he’d been standing alongside his mother. The air was full up with these tiny white flowers from the trees nearby, and a couple of blossoms caught in Tarrin’s hair. He was dressed like his father, in dusty old aristocratic clothes, and that was the only sign either of ’em were pirates like me and my parents.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Ananna of the Tanarau.” He bowed, hinging at the waist. He said my name wrong. Mama shoved me forward, and I stumbled over the hem of my dress, stained first with seawater from clomping around on the boat and then with sand from walking through Lisirra to get to this stupid garden. The Hariris were the only clan in the whole Confederation that spent more time on land than they did at sea.

  Tarrin and I stared at each other for a few seconds, until Mama jabbed me in the back again, and I spat out one of the questions she made me memorize: “Have you got a ship yet?”

  Tarrin beamed. “A sleek little frigate, plucked out of the emperor’s own fleet. Fastest ship on the water.”

  “Yeah?” I said. “You got a crew for that ship or we just gonna look at her from the wall over there?”

  “Ananna,” Mama hissed, even as Papa tried to stifle a laugh.

  Tarrin’s face crumpled up and he looked at me like a little kid that knows you’re teasing him but doesn’t get the joke. “Finest crew out of the western islands.” It sounded rehearsed. “I got great plans for her, Mistress Tanarau.” He opened his eyes up real wide and his face glowed. “I want to take her out to the Isles of the Sky.”

  I about choked on my own spit. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Surely a girl raised on the Tanarau doesn’t fear the Isles of the Sky.”

  I glared at him. The air in the garden was hot and still, like pure sunlight, and even though the horrors I’d heard about the Isles of the Sky seemed distant and made-up here, Tarrin’s little plan set my nerves on edge. Even if he probably wasn’t talking truth: nobody makes a path for the Isles of the Sky, on account of folks going mad from visiting that little chain of islands. They’ll change you and change you until you ain’t even human no more. They’re pure magic, that’s what Mama told me. They’re the place where magic comes from.

  “I know the difference between bravery and stupidity,” I said. Tarrin laughed, but he looked uncomfortable, and his father was glowering and squinting into the sunlight.

  “She’s joking,” Mama said.

  “No, I ain’t.”

  Mama cuffed me hard on the back of the head. I stumbled forward and bumped right up against Tarrin. Under the gazebo, his mother scowled in her fancy silks.

  “It does sound like a nice ship, though,” I muttered, rubbing at my head.

  Captain Hariri puffed out his chest and coughed. “Why don’t you show Mistress Tanarau your ship, boy?”

  Tarrin gave him this real withering look, with enough nastiness in it to poison Lisirra’s main water well, then turned back to me and flashed me one of his lady-slaying smiles. I sighed, but my head still stung from where Mama’d smacked me, and I figured anything was better than fidgeting around in my dress while Papa and Captain Hariri yammered about the best way for the Tanarau clan to sack along the Jokja coast, now that the Tanarau had all the power of the Hariri and her rich-man’s armada behind them. Thanks to me, Papa would’ve said, even though I ain’t had no say in it.

  Tarrin led me down this narrow staircase that took us away from the garden and up to the water’s edge. Sure enough, a frigate bobbed in the ocean, the wood polished and waxed, the sails dyed pale blue—wedding sails.

  “You ain’t flying colors yet,” I said.

  Tarrin’s face got dark and stormy. “Father hasn’t given me the right. Said I have to prove myself first.”

  “So if we get married, we gotta sail colorless?” I frowned.

  “If we get married?” Tarrin turned to me. “I thought it was a done deal! Father and Captain Tanarau have been discussing it for months.” He paused. “This better not be some Tanarau trick.”

  “Trust me, it ain’t.”

  “ ’Cause I’ll tell you now, my father isn’t afraid to send the assassins after his enemies.”

  “Oh, how old do you think I am? Five?” I walked up to the edge of the pier and thumped the boat’s side with my palm. The wood was sturdy beneath my touch and smooth as silk. “I ain’t afraid of assassin stories no more.” I glanced over my shoulder at him. “But the Isles of the Sky, that’s another matter.” I paused. “That’s why you want to go north, ain’t it? ’Cause of your father?”

  Tarrin didn’t answer at first. Then he pushed his hair back away from his forehead and kind of smiled at me and said, “How did you know?”

  “Any fool could see it.”

  Tarrin looked at me, his eyes big and dark. “Do you really think it’s stupid?”

  “Yeah.”

  He smiled. “I like how honest you are with me.”

  I almost felt sorry for him then, ’cause I figured, with a face like that, ain’t no girl ever been honest to him in his whole life.

  “We could always fly Tanarau colors,” I suggested. “ ’St
ead of Hariri ones. That way you don’t have to wor—”

  Tarrin laughed. “Please. That would be even worse.”

  The wrong answer. I spun away from him, tripped on my damn dress hem again, and followed the path around the side of the cliff that headed back to the front of the Hariris’ manor. Tarrin trailed behind me, spitting out apologies—as if it mattered. We were getting married whether or not I hated him, whether or not Mistress Hariri thought I was too ugly to join in with her clan. See, Captain Hariri was low-ranked among the loose assortment of cutthroats and thieves that formed the Confederation. Papa wasn’t.

  There are three ways of bettering yourself in the Pirates’ Confederation, Mama told me once: murder, mutiny, and marriage. Figures the Hariri clan would be the sort to choose the most outwardly respectable of the three.

  I was up at street level by now, surrounded by fruit trees and vines hanging with bright flowers. The air in Lisirra always smells like cardamom and rosewater, especially in the garden district, which was where Captain Hariri kept his manor. It was built on a busy street, near a day market, and merchant camels paraded past its front garden, stirring up great clouds of dust. An idea swirled around in my head, not quite fully formed: a way out of the fix of arranged marriage.

  “Mistress Tanarau!” Tarrin ran up beside me. “There’s nothing interesting up here. The market’s terrible.” He pouted. “Don’t you want to go aboard my ship?”

  “Be aboard it plenty soon enough.” I kept watching those camels. The merchants always tied them off at their street-stalls, loose, lazy knots that weren’t nothing a pirate princess couldn’t untangle in five seconds flat.

  Papa told me once that you should never let a door slam shut on you. “Even if you can’t quite figure out how to work it in the moment,” he’d said. He wasn’t never one to miss an opportunity, and I am nothing if not my father’s daughter. Even if the bastard did want to marry me off.