Father turned. “Adraa.”
I froze. Move me and I would break apart like the door.
Father didn’t notice. He reached for my hand and pulled me forward, into the hall. Arches upon arches, adorned in paisley and gold, glimmered down at me. Candles burned. The smell of crisp winter air mixed with bouquets of white frostlight blossoms. Yeah, it was pretty, but fear whispered that it was all a facade.
“Come on in. Get out of the cold.” Naupure motioned as though to swat away the wind. With a quick spell, blue smoke gushed off his arms, ran straight for me, and then spilled into the night.
I gaped as the ice shards picked themselves up and refroze in place. Frost crystals trailed over the wall’s marble veins, weaving across the door’s hinges and stopping only when they touched the bright-gold silks draped across the ceiling.
I was so busy watching the show I didn’t notice the orange wisps of my father’s magic thawing me. Lingering snow on our cloaks sizzled into steam. When I turned around again, everyone’s attention focused on me.
“This must be Adraa.” Maharaja Naupure crouched, and now even I was taller than him. It didn’t help. “Pleasure, little miss.”
Here, I was supposed to say “Pleasure” and maybe add a “thank you for inviting us.” Silence. I would give them silence.
Mother frowned.
Maharaja Naupure continued to stare. “You are a pretty little thing, but I’m sure you know that, huh?”
This man obviously only had a son. “Pretty”? Really? He knew how many stairs I had just climbed, right? Where was my compliment for surmounting his torture? I glanced at my mother. She bit her lip, probably scared of what might tumble from my mouth. My mind buzzed with all sorts of retorts. My parents had lied. So I accompanied a shrug with something special: “I know.”
Mother took a quick, sucking breath as if preparing a spell, but Maharaja Naupure barked out a laugh. “That’s right. A pretty girl should know.”
What? What kind of response is that?
Maharaja Naupure swung toward the stairs and yelled, “Jatin! Don’t keep our guests waiting.”
A muffled thump echoed from upstairs. My throat dried, but my hands began to sweat. That thump was him, the boy, like a real monster in the depths trying to scare me.
Naupure guided us to the open room on the right. A prayer table cloaked in red stood before us. Tapestries in various colors covered the nine-sided room, every paneled wall praising a different god or goddess. Mother grew up on Pire Island, where they have long given up the idea that the gods bestowed our magic. But even though her eyes lingered on the tapestries uncertainly, Father had taught me enough about each peering face. I knew it would be under those eyes that we would spill our blood. I quickstepped to my father and tugged his hand. Please let him understand my concern. Please.
He nodded. “Adraa’s a little nervous about meeting Jatin.”
Betrayal. White-hot betrayal. I dropped his hand like it had scalded me.
“Of course,” Naupure said, just as I cried out, “No I’m not!”
Mother’s eyes seared into me. Our alliance, however short-lived, had fallen.
“I’m sorry. She’s normally not like this.” Mother pointed to the spot next to her. “Adraa, come here.”
I obeyed in a fumble of pink-and-orange skirts that I tried to straighten as I sat down next to her. I didn’t know what to do anymore to get out of this. To rebel even further would mean punishment. Or maybe I was past that. Maybe whatever I did—
“Have you come into your magic yet, Adraa?” Maharaja Naupure asked.
And just like that, the anger died. “No, sir.”
“She will, of course. She is a year younger than Jatin, if you remember,” Mother said quickly.
“Oh yes, I remember.” He peered at me, inspecting.
“She has her Touch. Adraa, show him.”
I automatically turned my left hand over, palm up, and placed it on the red cloth. The fabric was itchy, with little barblike tufts instead of nice velvet softness. Why would anyone buy an itchy tablecloth? The Naupures were monsters.
I displayed my Touch, a small marking that had flourished upon my left wrist. It was a reddish branchy swirl the size of a silver coin, darker than my brown skin. It held the only true indication that one day I would become a witch, and therefore was one of the only things that gave me hope as I crept closer to age nine. One day, if I was powerful enough, the design would spring up each arm, wrapping itself up to my shoulder like those of my parents, Maharaja Naupure, and half the country. Like a plant, I must nurture my Touch. I must study.
“And your other arm?” Maharaja Naupure asked.
Cautiously, I set my right arm on the table. My parents froze, because there was nothing there, only bare dark skin. The real concern, and the reason I feared I would be powerless, lay in this fact: my right arm was unnaturally naked. Everyone I had ever met reported their Touch appeared on both wrists simultaneously. There are the Touched and the Untouched. I’ve never heard of anything in between.
“Interesting,” Maharaja Naupure said.
“Have you seen this before?” Father asked. “I thought it was all myth and legend.”
I knew it. I knew my parents were concerned, and I knew I had a reason to be too.
“Well, according to legend, the gods are fighting over who should bless her.”
I snatched my arms off the table and glanced around the room at the tapestries of the nine Gods: the blue God, Retaw, commanded a flood; green Goddess Htrae reigned over a field; yellow God Ria flew in a tornado; red Goddess Erif ruled a volcano; white God Dloc swirled within a blizzard; pink Goddess Laeh cured sickness; black God Wodahs concealed himself in a dark cloak; purple God Raw stood on a battlefield; and orange Goddess Renni was enveloped in muscles and strength. They looked ready to eat me before considering giving me power. Could they really be arguing over me?
“That’s more reassuring than…the alternative.” Mother sighed.
I pressed my mark, hard. Without magic, without all nine types of magic, I was useless. No title. No ability to lead any country, let alone mine. When I glanced up to see Maharaja Naupure still inspecting me, the weekly lectures on politeness were completely forgotten.
“Do you need to check my molars too?” I opened my mouth.
“Adraa,” my mother spat. I closed my mouth quickly, but continued staring at him. See the real me, Maharaja Naupure. See how unsuitable I would be as maharani of Naupure! And not because my right arm is bare.
Maharaja Naupure again barked out a laugh, which seemed to be his only sound of amusement. “Oh my. You remind me of my Savi.”