Chapter Three
The water pooledaround her feet, black with soot. It clung to the ceramic tiles and hung in the grooves between them that surrounded her rectangular, wooden bath. It lingered bucket after bucket, its granules impossible to wash away from the inside of the tub.
Her eyes looked at it unseeing, focused instead on the vision.
Shaking, Vi continued to scrub.
She’d wanted magic. Future sight hadn’t been in the plans. Vi looked at the murky water as it slipped between her tan fingers.
That’s what it was, wasn’t it? It had to be, based on everything she’d read. But if she had future sight, why had she never received a vision when she looked into flames before?
There were four affinities that commanded the four elements: Windwalkers for air, Firebearers for fire, Groundbreakers for earth, and Waterrunners for water. Yet each of those four affinities could, sometimes, tap into a deeper, more mysterious magic called an affinity of the self.
For Firebearers, that was future sight.
“Do you need more water, your highness?” A servant called from outside the door to the bathing room.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
The water was tepid and like ice on her skin. But she relished every raised goose bump that now lined her arms. Smoldering embers had taken up residence in her stomach. White-hot lightning arced between them. It escaped, wrapping around her fingers if she moved them too quickly.
She was Awoken now, there was little doubt of that. Her uncle had said it would result in her being able to truly command her magic. But this did not feel like control.
The Crown Princess felt as if she was one breath away from burning alive.
As if she was one breath away from burningthem allalive.
“Can I get you anything else, your highness?” The woman asked. Vi knew to read between the lines and understood she needed to get moving, go about her day. But how could she act as if nothing had happened?
“I’m done.” Vi stood, wrapping her arms around herself, shivering. But she didn’t know what from—the cold, or feeling the rising tide of the magic within her. What a fitting tone for her birthday.
The servant came in, head bowed, towel in outstretched hands. Vi allowed herself to be attended to and was ushered out into the narrow dressing area that attached her closet, bath, and toilet with her bedroom. She was silent as the servant moved hastily around her, placing her mind as far from her body as possible.
She was no longer Vi the sorceress, but Vi the princess.
Princesses did not object. Princesses did not attempt to dry or perfume themselves. They didn’t choose their outfits or decide what powders to put on their cheeks.
Yet when the woman’s hands moved to plunge themselves into Vi’s hair, she raised a hand.
“I can plait it myself.”
“Are you certain?” It was the usual question, even though whoever was attending her among Vi’s rotation of servants already knew the answer.
“I’m certain. You can go now.”
The moment the servant was gone, Vi’s fingers were in her hair, weaving the braids her mother had taught her were fashionable in the South. They shouldn’t allow her this. But they did.
She carefully twisted the braids, stretching them back, pinning them in place, repeating the process time and again.
By the time Vi was done, she felt some sliver of emotion trying to work its way out from underneath the ash that still coated her soul. Between the strands of hair, she’d almost completely woven the morning out of her narrative. If she tried, she could convince herself to pretend this was like any other morning before her classes.
To sell herself on the fiction, Vi wandered from her bathing and dressing rooms to her study, as she would on any normal day.
Hair still wet and dripping from the ends of her braids, Vi pulled it over her shoulder and tucked it carefully under the collar of her shirt so it didn’t get water on any of her most prized possessions. She closed the door tightly behind her and shut out the world.
What should she do?
Write down her vision? Ignore it entirely? Vi’s eyes fell on her drafting table. The burnt spot stared at her like a bad omen. Could she trust herself with her magic feeling so unstable around her books?
