“While the Sanhedrin would see student death as a tragedy, they’d understand it.” Aunt Tirtzah turned back to the mirror, combing out her wet, tangled curls. “They don’t understand how a shayd could cast that spell, even a high shayd. People fear what they don’t understand.”
I tried not to squirm. Maybe Ishouldadmit how we’d cast the spell, if it would make them fear Daziel less. Surely a consensual binding wasn’t illegal? “Fear doesn’t make arrests legal.”
Her comb caught on a knot, and I took it from her, working it carefully through the strands. I’d had years of experience fixing my sisters’ hair.
“Fear makes people irrational,” Aunt Tirtzah said, meeting my gaze in the mirror. “Everyone is already on edge—the treaty renewal is coming up in two years, and it’s negotiated by high shedim. People are going to think he’s a spy. Or a saboteur.”
I studied her. She was two years older than my father, but they shared so many of the same features—the texture of their hair, the curve of their noses, the color of their eyes. It comforted me, andeven though I didn’t know her well, it made me feel like I could ask of her what I would of my father, who loved and supported me unconditionally. And you couldn’t get anything if you didn’t ask for it. “He saved us. And I’m asking you for help.”
She turned, gently taking the comb from one hand and unwinding the fingers of my other from the fist they’d formed. “I like Daziel, and it’s clear you care for each other. But I don’t know his motivations, and I’m not sure they are good. You don’t, either.”
“He wants to see the world,” I told her. “Before he’s stuck at home running the family business.”
She gave me a sad smile, like she didn’t believe me. “It might be wise to disentangle yourself from him now. A wild shayd is one thing; they come to the border markets and have affairs with humans. But a high shayd—they’re very different from us. What do you think would happen if you, a human girl, married a high shayd? Do you think he’d stay here with you in Talum after you graduated? Would you take him home to your village?”
He’s not a high shayd, I wanted to say. Still, her words wormed their way inside me, and my unease started to grow. When it came down to it, I was a poor village girl from the high plains, and Daziel was…not. It shouldn’t have hurt, shouldn’t have twisted up my stomach and made me want to crawl into bed. Yet it did.
“We don’t know much about the shedim court,” Aunt Tirtzah said, “but we know anyone who can cast such a spell is very high-ranking. So high-ranking, he’s not going to stay in human lands. This isn’t his real life. This is just an adventure to him.”
My parents want me to step into the family business, I remembered him saying.Rocks, I’d thought, but maybe it wasn’t.
What if hewasa high shayd?
No. No, he wasn’t; it was the binding that had allowed us to cast the spell. He had told me as much. Still, I stared at my boots, the worn toes, the frayed laces. I felt very small and sad. “Very high-ranking” sounded bad. He was supposed to be normal, like me. “I don’t think I’m just an adventure to him.”
My aunt sighed. “Maybe not. But I want you to understand what’s going on. He’s a member of a mercurial species. I want you to be cognizant of the fact that while you’re opening up your heart, he could be using you.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know. And that’s what worries me.”
I was quiet for a moment. “You could be right,” I finally said. “But there could be more context. And he still doesn’t deserve to be arrested. He saved us. It’s my turn to save him.”
She looked so tired. “Fine. Let’s go try to rescue your boyfriend.”
~~~
The Sanhedrin’s official seatperched atop Society Hill, so it didn’t take long to get there from my aunt’s house—a short drive up sandstone streets, past parks, residences, and gardens. Most of the council members lived nearby to have a quick commute—helpful, Aunt Tirtzah said, when night sessions ran long or when they were summoned with little notice. As everyone had been today.
“You’ll have to impress them,” Aunt Tirtzah said. Chava sat across from us, flipping furiously through a notebook. My aunt sat beside me and redid my braids in a neat knot at my nape. I stared out the window at the world, still glistening from lastnight’s storm. Branches had been knocked to the sidewalks and even here, in Talum’s most exclusive neighborhood, not all cleaned up. “Many won’t want to listen to you because you’re young; others because you’re my niece. That is separate from your request, which is already something no one will want to grant.”
Nervous energy buzzed through me. “How do I impress them?”
“If I knew the answer, I’d be running the place.” Aunt Tirtzah straightened my collar. I’d thrown on a neat, respectable dress of my aunt’s and felt like a child playing dress-up. The weights in the hem pulled at my shoulders. I hadn’t worn a dress since arriving in Talum. I wore my blue School of Humanities blazer over it, the Lyceum’s emblem shining on the breast, since my aunt had said it would be good to remind everyone I was a student. It would make me more sympathetic.
We drove down a wide avenue, pausing at gilded gates. The guard gave our credentials a perfunctory check—she clearly knew my aunt—and Samuel drove us on.
I’d never been to the Sanhedrin’s House of Law before, and it impressed me more than I liked. Tall cypress trees lined the drive, which ended before a winged building made of three stories of golden sandstone. Businessfolk and messengers and well-dressed civilians bustled up and down the steps.
Samuel opened the carriage door and lowered the footstep. Aunt Tirtzah descended, then me, then Chava. We trailed her up the marble stairs. She nodded assertively to the entrance guards, and I tried to look like I belonged.
I didn’t. The entrance hall itself was humblingly large, two stories high and echoing with foot traffic. Whorls of paint formed sky and clouds on the ceiling. People swept about, the swish ofuniforms and clatter of heels aggressively loud. It even smelled expensive, hints of jasmine and rose lingering in the air.
“Councilwoman Bat Tovah.” A man appeared before us in the crisp gray uniform of a civil servant. “They’re ready.”
“I should expect so,” she said. She followed him, and so we all did, through an archway and down one hall, then another. “The petitioner’s entrance,” Tirtzah said to me when we reached a modest-looking antechamber. On the far side, a white plaque with neat gold font readGreat Council Chamber.
The civil servant stepped through first; Aunt Tirtzah held up a hand, so Chava and I waited. I could see only the floor inside, white marble, gleaming so brightly I thought I might slip when I stepped on it. I heard three loud bangs, like a gavel, and then the voice of the young man said, “Tirtzah bat Tovah, Naomi bat Yardena, and Chava Vilner.”
