Raja Jatin steps back and turns to the crowd, letting his guard, or whoever he is, take charge of the situation I have so amazingly created. The guard ruffles the crying boy’s hair. “Hey, it’s over. It’s okay. Your sister saved you.”
The boy finally looks up and peers into my eyes. “You did save me.” He sniffles. “Why?”
“Ah.” I’m unable to be articulate right now, let alone answer why I value life. The simple answer—because—seems underwhelming and foolish. What actually spills out of my mouth is much worse. “Just answer my questions, okay? Don’t run off.”
The boy nods. In one motion he unwraps his arms from my middle and pulls my firelight into view. “Here, it’s yours.”
I reach to take it, but my left arm falls to my side, limp like jelly. It aches as if the nerve endings have been snapped. Blood, not again. Not now! I grasp the orb with my right hand and let it fall in my lap. How am I going to escape this mess? To burnout at this moment…
I glance at Raja Jatin, who looks stiff, like a statue at a podium addressing the crowd. His guard, however, is enthralled by my exchange with the boy. Confusion lines his features.
He stands and the boy follows. Everyone is waiting on me. Even the crowd strains to catch a glance at the foolish girl who ran toward a royal carriage and now can’t seem to get up.
When I don’t stand, the guard raises his eyebrows and offers his hand. I peek at Raja Jatin again, who is talking to the carriage driver. At least he’s not paying attention to me and has no clue who I am.
“Can you take this?” I gesture to the orb.
“What is it?” the guard asks.
“Firelight,” the boy says before I can answer.
The guard’s eyes widen as he pockets the red magic before reaching down again and grabbing my good hand. With a majority of his help, I’m able to haul myself up. The crowd cheers. I can hear it, but the faces are smudged. My vision swims like I’ve dived into a murky pool. I sway and the guard grabs both my forearms to stabilize me. “Are you sure you are good? I think you burned out.”
I laugh at his puzzlement. Burned out—the term is particularly accurate for me even though it applies to all witches and wizards. I clench and unclench my left hand. The designs on my wrist don’t glow, and deeper, under the skin, my blood chugs along fast and scared, but not spiced with energy. I haven’t burned out since…ah, wait, there was that time last week.
“I’ve had a busy morning,” I murmur, striving to sound confident. It’s a mediocre attempt at best.
This is why I’m supposed to create firelight at night, so sleep and time can renew my magic. I love my invention, but it’s powerful and energy depleting. And currently I’m having time management regrets. I sway again, my body practically slamming into the guard’s. He catches me, this time by my shoulders.
“Yes, definitely burned out. You’re going to pass out soon. I promise you’ll be safe when you awaken.”
“No I won’t.”
“I can assure you, by the honor of Raja—”
I interrupt so I don’t have to hear the full name. I can’t bear the reality of it in full. “No, I mean I won’t pass out. I just need a few minutes.” The dizziness should fade in about five minutes. It always does. Blackness clouds my vision, but it won’t take over. The guard’s hands still hold my shoulders. Another bout of light-headedness hits me. I grab his forearm as an anchor. His skin is cool. I’m not only burning out but burning up.
“Do, um…do you mind if I…” He finishes with something, but I can’t make out the words. Blood, my brain’s swimming. I need to sit. Thinking I could stand in this condition was foolish. As I release the tension in my legs to crumple, the opposite happens. This man…this boy has the nerve to pick me up. I am in his arms, pressed against him. His left biceps digs into my back; the other arm hooks around my legs. Huh, he smells of frost. My nose notes it as if that’s an important element to life right now.
Oh blood. What’s going to happen to this guard when Raja Jatin finds out this man is carrying his betrothed? It’s too late. I’ve messed up. I can’t say anything anymore. I’m swimming. Guess I won’t need to ask Zara later how the parade went. I have become a part of it after all.
Of all the wild things one would expect at a homecoming parade, like an assassination attempt, for instance, a peasant girl throwing herself in front of an elephant is low on the list. Deep, actually, as in, I hadn’t planned for it. Hadn’t been watching the crowd for speed spells that would propel a girl into our path. I mean, what a way to go, death by royal carriage. Gods. A moment after she rolls to the ground and I calm the elephant, I understand. Not a suicide gone awry; a rescue gone well.
And now, somehow, I’m holding this burned-out witch in my arms and carrying firelight in my pocket. When her arm spilled to the ground like it was paralyzed I knew. Burnout. It’s drastic, but I guess for a peasant one act of bravery can use up a limited supply of magic. Still, I haven’t seen someone suddenly deplete themselves of all their magic since seventeenth year, when one of my classmates was trying to create a fifteen-meter wave. He fell to the sand like a coconut and had to be hauled off to medical.
She will surely pass out too, but I refuse to leave her in the street. The plan to take her to Azure Palace formed before I could reflect on all the potential downfalls. Like if Adraa is there already, what will she say when I bring in this dust-covered, unconscious girl? What will Father say? At this moment, I don’t care.
“Zaktirenni,” I whisper, to give myself a little strength. I don’t exactly have a good hold on her, having had to do the whole catch-and-lift motion all at once. I adjust and feel my orange magic take hold. The silk of her skirt shifts under my hand. Thank the gods she is wearing pants too.
I don’t carry her far, but those six meters ooze intimacy. She heats my chest like the sun has melted between us. That’s probably the burnout. Probably. I’ve never carried a girl before, never done much of anything besides talk to a witch. That’s the problem with a long-term engagement. You always feel obligated, guilty to do anything or form anything but friendship with the opposite sex. Besides, I had studying, and that was always more important.
The girl’s eyes are closed, but by the way she clenches and unclenches her hand against her forehead I know she’s still awake. The sun blankets her face, a dirty face. But under the dirt…I can’t help but stare. She’s beautiful; thick black hair windblown and scrambled, long dark eyelashes over even darker lively eyes. With my magic, the girl is light, but even if she were heavy, I would like this. She smells of mud and grass rippled by wind, fresh and real, like when rain wafts spring through the air. And the warmth, it’s…nice.