“I thought magic was a rare gift. How could Raikama have it too?”
“I said it’s rare, not that you’re the only one with it. And it’s really not strange at all. Magic attracts magic. What is strange is that my grandfather let her cross the Taijin Sea. He guards Kiata’s waters from foreign magic.”
“Maybe he didn’t know,” I said, the spinning in my head coming to an abrupt halt. Could this be the secret that Raikama kept so carefully—that she had magic, like me? “You should ask.”
“It isn’t wise to pester the Dragon King about human matters. Or to alert him to a mistake made years ago. Besides, she is not an enchanter.”
“What do you mean?”
“She isn’t one of those greedy fools bound to a thousand-year oath, sworn to serve whichever master possesses their amulet. It isn’t as grand as it sounds. Between masters, they have to spend their days in their spirit form, usually as some mangy beast without access to magic—or much intelligence.”
“If enchanters are bound to such an oath, why do we fear them?”
“You don’t, not in Kiata. They don’t have any power once they cross the Taijin Sea.”
“Why do we fear them outside of Kiata?” I corrected. I was curious.
“Because they’re one breath from becoming demons. That is their punishment, should they break their oath. They’re dangerous.”
“And my stepmother isn’t—dangerous?”
“Not in the same way,” Seryu replied. “Her sorcery is wild and unrestrained—like yours. Powerful, to be sure, but you both suffer a mortal’s short life-span.” He didn’t seem to notice my glare, and he went on. “The mystery is from where she draws her magic. She isn’t native to Kiata, like you are. She would need a source, a very great source, to emanate such power.”
“Maybe she drinks snake blood,” I said, rolling up my sleeves. “That would explain why she has so many.”
“I don’t think snakes are a source of magic.”
“Well, if you won’t ask your grandfather, then I’ll have to find out.” I shot Seryu a deviously smug look. “Sadly, you’ll have to wait until spring to hear what I learn.”
“A mortal’s spring is but a few weeks away in dragon time. I can wait.” Seryu grinned. “Now, I’ve already stayed longer than I should have. Not to worry, Princess. I’ll return.” He winked. “You’ve a tiny piece of my pearl, and I’ll be needing it back.”
When had he gotten so close? I could smell the sweetness of red bean paste on his breath. “Take it now, then,” I offered, moving a small step back. My foot wobbled over a loose stone, and Seryu grabbed me by the elbow to steady me.
“Keep it.” His eyes glittered as if he were carrying some secret. “You might need it.”
He kissed my cheek, his lips softer than I would have imagined for a dragon. Then, without waiting for my reaction, he dove into the water.
“I’ll see you in the spring!” he called with a wave, his tail splashing before I lost sight of him completely.
I picked up the walnut bowl we’d used as a marker of where to meet, brushed the dirt from its sides, and carried it home under my arm.
Spring suddenly seemed so far away.
CHAPTER SIX
With Seryu gone and my tapestry done, the rest of summer lumbered by. Lessons with my tutors resumed; the lectures on history, protocol, and language were tiresome, but I preferred them to sewing. I preferred anything to sewing.
Whenever I could, I made excuses to avoid my lessons. Harmless little lies, like telling my tutors that Andahai needed my help selecting a gift for his betrothed or telling the high priests that I couldn’t pay my respects to the gods that afternoon because Hasho was ill and needed me to make him soup. But the truth was, my brothers were always busy, and no one ever asked for me. Not even Raikama.
For once I didn’t mind, and I used my precious free time to spy on my stepmother.
After weeks of shadowing her, of sending Kiki to spy, all I’d learned was her palace routine. And what a monotonous routine it was! Breakfast with my father, then morning prayers, then a visit to her garden, where she fed her snakes and watered the chrysanthemums and swept the fallen wisteria petals. Then, worst of all, she sewed—for hours without end.
With a frustrated sigh, I flung a pebble into the Sacred Lake and watched the water ripple, then still. I sat and sank my ankles into the lake.
“She can’t be a sorceress, Kiki,” I told my bird. “Raikama has always hated magic.”
Hated was an understatement, though I had never dwelled on why. Most people in Kiata hated magic. But Raikama’s mysterious past did invite plenty of outlandish rumors about where she had come from, how she had met Father, and how she’d gotten her scar. Her fondness for snakes certainly didn’t help the speculation. Once, a minister had tried to convince Father that Raikama was a demon worshipper—one of those heretical priestesses who came by the palace every year, throwing ashes at the gates and chanting nonsense about dark magic returning to Kiata. Father had exiled the minister and banned the priestesses from Gindara, but now I couldn’t help wondering.
Could it be that Raikama hated magic because she was hiding her own?
I frowned. “She would have shown it by now. Seryu has to be wrong.”
Try again tomorrow, suggested Kiki. The dragon said she keeps her powers hidden.
“He also said to practice my magic,” I retorted. “Every hour I waste spying on her is a missed opportunity to improve my skills.”
So is every minute you waste complaining, quipped Kiki, my unlikely voice of reason.
I let out another sigh, but the bird had a point.
“Ripen,” I said to a budding berry, and it became plump enough that a kitebird dove to snatch it from my hand. “Skip,” I commanded a stone, and it hopped across the lake until it was far from sight.
Such spells were easy, but things like trying to change the direction of the wind or call the larks and swallows to my fingertips—simple enchantments that should have been natural for any sorceress—made me fall asleep from the effort.
It’s all right to feel bad about your lack of skill, Kiki said, trying to soothe me. Her sense of empathy was still a ways from being fine-tuned. At least you can do something, unlike everyone else in Kiata.
“Except Raikama.” I flicked my fingertips into the lake, trying to make a tidal wave like Seryu had, but the water barely rippled.
You don’t want to ask her for help?