“Do you know what a commenia flower is, little bird?”
I shake my head.
“It’s a vine that only grows in the shade of the bayani trees,” Cal answers.
Aggie looks pleased. “Yes. Its flowers are arguably the most beautiful in Ferusa and they only thrive in the nutrients of the bayani soil. And in return, the scent of the commenia blooms keeps pests away from the bayani, so that their branches may reach the sky unhindered. Without the other, both would be alive, but they would be sickly and weak, never reaching their full beauty and strength.”
She swipes her fingers gently across the table until they find mine. Her hands are calloused and warm as they wrap around mine. “Do you see, little bird? We need magic as much as magic needs us. We have both been slowly dying since its banishment.”
I stare at her hand, mulling over her words. “Why did the water magic choose me after being gone for hundreds of years? Why me?”
Aggie studies me. “That is not for me to know. There are good magics and bad, same as people. They are attracted to strong emotions, so I admit it is ironic that this one has chosen a Similian. But I’m not prideful enough to doubt or try to understand its choice.”
“Don’t you have magic, too? Isn’t that how you know the things you do?”
Something like sadness glints in Aggie’s eyes. “I do not. I was only blessed with being attuned to the changes of the world, to the sense of change and the whisper of the future. Every so often, a spirit will choose to speak through me as when Anrai searched for Denver and last night when I spoke with you.”
My heart sinks. For as much as Aggie knows, she won’t be able to train me in the ways of my power. How long will it take for me to figure out how to use it?
“Come back tomorrow,” Aggie says, setting her teacup firmly on the table. Her face is pale, and she hunches, as if telling the stories of the world has sapped her energy.
Our chairs scrape against the planked floor as we stand.
“Bring Anrai,” she says as we turn toward the door.
“Thank the gods Anni is the one who has to deal with this nonsense tomorrow,” Cal mutters under his breath.
“Oh, and Calloway,” Aggie says from behind us as we step into the sunlight, “beware brick walls.”
* * *
Shaw
The hot stink of the council house is unpleasant even in the best of times. The fact that I spent my morning bathed in Mirren’s intoxicating scent makes it seem more untenable than usual as I skirt through a side door. The air inside is hot and heavy, awash with the smell of warm bodies and damp stone. So very at odds with the fresh, flowery aroma that still lingers around me.
The building is the oldest in Nadjaa, built as a stronghold for some ancient warlord. It has since been converted to the city’s center. The city guard is now housed in the East wing, barracks and training grounds built up around the expansive courtyard. The sprawling throne rooms have been converted to council meeting centers and the small bedrooms of old now serve as council members’ private chambers. Despite the changes to its usefulness, the building still feels ancient and brutal. A fortress made for keeping enemies out, along with fresh breezes.
The only part of the fortress that still serves its intended purpose are the dungeons far below. Built of pure iron and stone, they are just as impenetrable now as they were hundreds of years ago. It is where Jayan is certainly lobbying for me to be kept. I’m sure by now, he’s whipped up at least half the council’s support in burning me at the stake.
I hold my breath and paste myself against a cold stone wall as two city guards round the corner. The guard is made up entirely of volunteers, men who have a vested interest in keeping the home they love safe, and I’ve never had a problem with them, until now. Being stuffed in the dungeons while Jayan takes over Nadjaa and leaves it wide open for the Praeceptor isn’t an option.
They pay me no mind, focused instead on the punchline of a bawdy joke as they disappear down the opposite hall. I let the breath out slowly and move forward on silent feet. I reach for my daggers out of habit. The feel of them grounds me, even if there will be no use for them. Today is of the diplomatic variety, and I highly doubt Denver will appreciate my stabbing his loyal guardsmen when he returns.
I find the door I seek on the second floor. The dank walls are covered in brightly woven tapestries, an effort to support local artists and brighten the place up. It takes less than a minute for the large oak door to succumb to my small pick and I’m almost disappointed at how easy it is to sneak in. I have no interest in being seen, but a challenge might be a nice way to stretch rarely used muscles.
The council is aware I was previously Denver’s ward, but nothing beyond that. I can’t afford the questions that will be asked if I’m caught and brought to trial for accosting Jayan. It’s better that this remain intimate until I can retrieve Denver. He can sort the rest out and tell them whatever he wishes about me.
Mirren’s father.
I shake the words away. They are still abstract, and I have no wish to make them real now. Not when so many lives depend on me being entirely focused.Later. I will deal with them later.Even if I know the longer I wait, the more likely they will feel like a dam bursting over me.
The office is small but cozy. A breeze flutters through an open window making it seem much more palatable than the rest of the building. A mahogany desk is piled with neatly stacked papers, a large leather chair sitting behind it. One wall is lined with bookshelves and old habits have me perusing the titles.
A key jingles in the lock outside and the door pops open. A stout woman with orange hair and a no-nonsense mannerism appears. I wait until she has locked us in before making my presence known with a quick clearing of my throat.
The woman startles, throwing a hand to her ample chest and whipping around. Her gray eyes land on me, before they roll straight to the ceiling as if she prays to the old gods. “Shaw,” Evie says begrudgingly. “Must you sneak around like a Xamani mountain cat? I’m to be married soon, I don’t need to be keeling over of a frozen heart.”
“Evie,” I say by way of greeting, nodding my head in respect. “I do hope I’ve purchased enough of your scones to garner an invitation.”
