“Well, consider yourselves aware of it now,” Denata barks, livid. “The brazenness with which those half breeds made a mockery of the court cannot be allowed to stand. Have your seers start searching futures immediately.”
“Of course.” My father’s tone turns placating. “Though I’d be remiss not to warn you that half breeds can be difficult to divine—it’s the diluted blood, we think—so this may take some time.”
“Then you’d better get started, Bastian. I want those abominations rounded up fast.”
“I’ll go instruct the guild right now. Let me walk you out, Councilman.”
A moment later, the door to the study swings open and both men depart the tower with urgent strides, so engrossed in their mutterings that they don’t even notice me lurking in the antechamber.
“Mother?” I wait until they’re gone before poking my head inside. Perhaps it’s for the best that my father is otherwise preoccupied. He’s not an easy man to talk to on a good day, and since the moment Ibrought shame on this familyby failing my initial trials, they’ve all been pretty bad. I’ll have more luck teasing the truths I need from my mother; I just have to be careful in how I go about phrasing my asks. If she finds out I fate-touched my magic, the only thing I’ll be getting is kicked out.
“Raya? What a surprise.” Her face puckers in question. “I was under the illusion that the public portals were still shut.” The wordpubliccurdles like sour milk on her tongue. She and my father actually have their own private portals right here at the house, for when they need to conduct business in the castle. But I’ve never been allowed to use them; I haven’t yetearnedthat privilege.
“Erm, yeah, they are, but they made an exception so that I could come and tell you in person what happened at the trial,” I say, shuffling into the room proper. My mother keeps her study decorated in the customary Indigo style, with dark painted walls and a mountain of lavish cushions piled neatly atop the rug, only a small desk andtwo chairs in way of actual furniture. Sitting on the ground—or in a gloomy tower, for that matter—isn’t actually a requisite for seeing the future, but the practice stems back to a time when the elders believed it was, a respectful nod to tradition.
“Oh, yes, Lars mentioned that you performed admirably during the crisis.”
It’s amazing how even the smallest hint of praise from her is like a warm cockle to the heart.
“If only you would apply yourself to your magic in the same way.”
And how quickly her barbs can deflate me. We’re barely even past the pleasantries, and already she’s managed to express her disappointment at having me for a child, at getting stuck with a daughter who can’t corral the future. Unlike other Shade pairings, she and my father didn’t have to wonder which of their colors I’d inherit; since they’re both Indigos, there was only ever one possible outcome for the color flowing through my blood. I, like every other Wryvern before me, was born to speak to the fates. Yet somehow, I wound up speaking a different language.
“I actually do have a question for you about my magic,” I say, and it deflates me even more to see her ears perk and her interest spark. I’ve never had that much in common with my mother. She’s dark of hair where mine’s reddish, tanned where I’m pale and freckled, and pinched everywhere my features sweeten to a heart. In looks, I’m actually the spitting image of my father. In everything else, I’m the black sheep in a pen full of prize bucks.
Just get this over with.
“I wanted to ask if—? Can a—are there any circumstances in which an Indigo might see their own death?” I wince as the words finally sputter their way out, all too prepared for the force of the reaction they might receive.
“Good Gods, Raya, has the Academy truly taught you nothing?” My mother’s voice instantly grows sharp. “An Indigo cannot see their own death. You’ve known that since you were five.”
Yes, I have.
But then I asked an open question and the future showed me something it can’t.
“So, there are no exceptions?” I ask. “Like . . . ever?”
“The future doesn’t make exceptions.” She dismisses the idea out of hand. “The future is simply the future.”
It’s an axiom Professor Lyons has fed us hundreds of times, another fundamental truth of seeing. Except the future does make exceptions, doesn’t it? Or else why would some Shades lose the ability to cast altogether when others simply find themselves sidelined for a short while?
“Not even if an Indigo is fate-touched?” So I keep right on pressing, though I’m well aware that I’m flying dangerously close to the sun.
“Colors help me, are they still forcing you to learn that nonsense?” Luckily, my mother thinks I’m incompetent, not reckless, so it doesn’t occur to her that I might have risked what little ability I had.
“No, I was just . . . doing some reading around constructions and that term kept cropping up.”
“Then you should already know that our methods have evolved beyond such rudimentary forms of premonition,” she clips.
“I know, but it used to be quite common, right? Indigos would choose to do it?”
“Some—yes, but it was a very different time. Back then, the guild wasn’t responsible for helping the Council with the day-to-day minutiae. Their seers worked in much broader strokes and their efforts weren’t as crucial to keeping us safe, so they could afford to risk some of their number. All of which is irrelevant, because being fate-touched changed the way those Shades saw, not the laws of seeing, and the futurecannotpredict its own end. The closest it could come is by predicting the end of the means by which we see it.”
“The means by which we see it?” It takes me a minute to decipher the precise turn of her phrase. “Are you saying it could show us the death of all magic?”
“Oh, don’t sound so surprised, Raya.” She sighs as if the Academy truly has taught me nothing. “Our magics are subject to the whims of fortune just like everything else. They’re not beyond fail.”
“But I—”I don’t understand. “Our colors live in the blood. If they were to fail, wouldn’t that mean we’d—”
