Before my parents could agree or Mother could shuffle out of the awkwardness of having to admit I was in fact her daughter, a boy, the boy, walked into the parlor. He had jet-black hair like my own, brown skin much lighter than mine, and shiny, glazed-over eyes. Jatin, my betro—I couldn’t even think it. Here I was, goose bumps radiating up my arms and down my legs, and he was calm. No, he looked…bored.
Not looking bored was rule one, right before being excessively polite. Which, when you think about it, is the same rule, because this calmness was all sorts of annoying. How could he be calm?
“Jatin, there you are. Come meet everyone. This is the Maharaja and Maharani of Belwar.”
Jatin nodded. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” So I wasn’t the only one with regurgitated lines.
Jatin bowed to my parents and then turned back to his father with a “what else must I do” expression.
“And, Jatin, this is Adraa.”
Should I stand or something? Before I could make up my mind, Jatin turned to me and gave the most awkward smile ever crafted. Both of his canines were missing.
“Hello,” we said simultaneously.
“Jatin, why don’t you show Adraa your room,” Maharaja Naupure suggested.
Jatin looked up at his father with calm obedience. No help for the cause there.
Mother nudged me with an elbow. “Go on, Adraa. We need to talk with Maharaja Naupure in private.”
I twisted around, ready to pout my way out of this, but then I saw my father’s eyes. They weren’t crinkled in humor. They were always crinkled in humor. But not today. I had to let this boy show me his room. Jatin nodded for me to follow. Nodded! You would think this kid owned the whole country. Well, I guess he would one day.
I trailed Jatin up more stone steps and through the labyrinth of the palace, staring at his back. Any time he even twitched to turn around and look at me, I pretended to be fascinated with the yellow and blue entanglement of colors on the archways.
When we finally stopped, Jatin gestured to a wood door with his name etched in swirly lines. “Here it is.”
I crossed my arms. I could play this game all day. “It’s a very nice door.”
Jatin stared at me, waiting, and then turned the handle and waited again. Nope. No way. I was not going in first. That was how I would get locked in a room and never be heard from again. My parents might trust this calm, polite boy, but I didn’t. It was an act, for sure.
“Ah, you can go in,” he said.
“You first.”
“But…you’re supposed to—”
“Supposed to what?” Fall for your tricks? Think again, boy.
“Never mind.” And with that, Jatin ambled into his room with me right behind.
I expected massive, like everything here, and while the furniture appeared oversized, it was because the room in fact was not enormous. It could hold a single elephant instead of an entire herd. The clutter might have also had something to do with it. A library had exploded upon the desk. Parchment dripped to the floor. Orbs and bottles glowed with tiny balls of magic on every flat surface. I stared, captivated by the glowing swirls of color. In one row sat all nine types of magic, neatly arranged and gleaming like a rainbow. A small red fire, an orange mist, a yellow glimmer of air, a bundle of green mossy material, a blue wave, a purple spike, a pink ball, a black fuming shadow, and, finally, white frost crystals. Was all this his?
It had to be. When first learning and trying to cast spells, young witches and wizards create each individual and godly color. Only at age sixteen is one’s forte determined. Then every spell filters through your particular blessed color. Which meant with the array of hues surrounding us, Jatin could already cast all nine!
Jatin grabbed a white orb, whipping my attention back to him. “Do you know magic yet?” he asked as he spun the translucent container. Snowflakes and frost crystals shimmered inside. His Touch swirled in an intricate design up the back of his right wrist.
“I’ve been studying.”
“No, I mean can you do it yet?”
“Well…” I searched for something to distract him and found only orb after orb of colorful smoke. Is that all this boy did—study and spell?
“You can’t!” His eyes bugged out in surprise and then shrank down into pride. They sure weren’t glazed over now. He looked at my hands. Cheeks flushing, I shifted my right arm behind my back slowly. This is why boys are the worst.
“What? Are these really yours?” I sputtered, but I already knew the answer.
“Yeah. Wanna see?” He jerked the container up. “This was my first freeze spell.”
He would open it in here? I knew this boy was dangerous. When one is first learning, magic either needed to be confined in an orb or cast in an open space. His room suddenly felt even smaller.
“Don’t! You can’t.”
He straightened. “Yeah I can! I’m a wizard.”
More like spoiled brat.
“I’m a witch too. I just haven’t gotten my powers yet,” I said.
He crossed his arms. At least the orb wasn’t about to be opened. I had saved myself by that much. “I bet you are not even a witch.”
“Am too.” I reached for my left sleeve to show him my Touch, but his laughter stopped me. Heat flushed my cheeks, hot coals pounded in my chest. “Take that back or else!”
“But if you can’t—”
I didn’t let him finish. I hurled myself toward him.
I meant to just make him lose his balance and maybe his grip on his precious orb, but in my frustration my hand slapped his cheek—with force. Jatin stumbled backward, falling to the floor with a thud. He yelped and the crystal-filled orb tumbled across the room.
Feet thumped up the stairs. I crouched, my anger wilting and blooming into fear as the footsteps approached.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it.” My throat constricted in regret. I really didn’t mean it.
Jatin held a hand to his cheek as he stared at me wide-eyed. At least he wasn’t crying.
“Let me see?” I edged closer when he continued to peer at me like a lifeless statue. I peeled his hand from his face and sighed. Nothing. No mark. No nothing. Well, it had only been my open palm.
“You hit me.”
“I’m sorry.” He was nowhere near crying, but I felt the hot press of emotion about to erupt in my own eyes. I had hit the future maharaja of Naupure. Even though it was an accident, I was as good as dead. And I guess a part of me deserved it.