The door was made of ice—glowing blue, crystalized ice. And behind that door was my…I guess I should say destiny, even though it sounded absurd. Meeting a boy whomightbe my husband one day should not qualify as destiny.
Yet here I stood with my parents in a gaping black mouth of an entryway, with columns that jutted out like fangs to a blue-stoned palace so massive I had to turn my head side to side to take it all in. The last beams of dusk caught the glassy surface and danced. I glanced at my parents, both of them unconcerned. I guess we weren’t going to talk about how strange it was to make a door using only white magic. Had that been in their lectures? And, Adraa, don’t mention the creepy door situation.
My father lifted a fist to knock and I lurched forward, tugging his arm down. But it was my mother’s words that stilled us both. “Maybe…maybe we should wait.”
Snow flurries whirled. The winter wind howled. Then Father gave us boththe look.“We’ve been talking about this for years,Ira.”
I hadn’t been involved in these annual discussions, obviously. I was eight. My parents had been considering my arranged marriage since forever.
“And after all those steps,” Father huffed.
I didn’t even want to glance behind me at the slope of stairs we had climbed. My legs ached, quivering in confusion as to why we hadn’t flown here on skygliders like sensible witches and wizards. By stair twenty I had begun imagining the Maharaja of Naupure made us walk up here, not to fulfill tradition as everyone had told me, but to weaken me. By stair sixty-two, a nagging thought crept in like the cold—I approached a prison, not a palace.
I could see from the crinkle of my mother’s crooked nose that she was about to laugh. And my one opportunity in this nightmare of steps and cold and weird doors was about to slip away.
“I’m with Mom. This is abadidea!” I said.
Both pairs of eyes shot to me. Father immediately bent down and clasped my shoulders. “Just think of this as meeting a new friend, Adraa.”
“But, but he’s—a boy.” A boy I would one day be expected to…kiss. I knew marriage also meant living with someone in the same dwelling, but it was the idea of kissing that rattled me. I would be expected to do that regularly and supposedly like it? I tugged Father’s arm again. With Mother’s help this could be over, forgotten. We could turn back from this mountain, board our skygliders, and return to our own palace and the coast, where winter didn’t try to freeze you to death.
But I had said the wrong thing. My father laughed and even my mother shook her head and covered her mouth with a gloved hand to conceal a smile. Sometimes I think they only had me for my unexpected one-liners.
“Yes.” Father chuckled, the warmth of his breath marking the frigid air. “Yes, he is a boy. And so am I, and you like me well enough, right?”
I didn’t like this logic. I had missed something stark and obvious, or my father had. My potential betrothed in all hisboyishnessmeant something completely different from my father’s broad frame and comforting arms. The question was a trap, so I answered the only way possible: “Yeah.”
Father laughed, tilted his head to Mother and repeated “yeah” to try to make her smile again. Then his green eyes thawed. “I know this must be scary.”
“I’m not scared,” I rushed out, but I couldn’t tell if I was lying. Naupure’s winter stung and I shook with it. Rising behind the palace, Mount Gandhak pierced the sky and the last beams of daylight bled onto the rocks in a yellow-orange paint. In the far distance, from my bedroom window, the volcano appeared as dormant as ever. Up close? The light mimicked lava.
Father peered at Mother and held her gaze. “It’s just a first meeting. Nothing will be written in blood. Tonight, it’s just a meeting,” he repeated. And before I could say anything more, even protest one last time, Father finally knocked.
Nothing happened. I was saved.
“No one’s home! Let’s go!” I shouted.
“Adraa,” Mother snapped. She opened her mouth to say more, but the ice groaned. Cracks splintered out in branchlike streaks. I stumbled back, listening as each glacial shard shattered and fell. And when the door was done pulling itself apart, only darkness greeted us. No flesh had touched that marbled ice. Wisps of blue smoke fluttered in the periphery of my vision. I spun to catch its potency. Magic!
The dim entryway awoke with light as candlespop, pop, popped to life, illuminating a wide staircase and an elaborately dressed man descending toward us.
“Greetings!” the man bellowed. This had to be Maharaja Naupure. But he was…skinny and short, which was unexpected. You don’t go imagining the most powerful wizard of our neighboring country as skinny or short. Both? This couldn’t be the man. But on his chest, he wore the Naupure emblem, a mountain embedded in blue wind.
He strolled toward us, and he and Father pressed their forearms together before hugging. Father laughed and said, “It’s been too long.”
Mother placed her fingers to her throat and bowed in dignified honor. Words garbled together and I retreated, the wind biting into my back.
Forget skinny and short. Forget first impressions. I had been utterly wrong. My parents knew this wizard well. Which meant this wasmorethan introductions and pleasantries. This was a decision, already decided. What about “It’s just a meeting, Adraa”? What about “It’s only a visit before Jatin goes away to school” as I sat and memorized what to say, word for word?
Father turned. “Adraa.”
I froze. Move me and I would break apart like the door.
Father didn’t notice. He reached for my hand and pulled me forward, into the hall. Arches upon arches, adorned in paisley and gold, glimmered down at me. Candles burned. The smell of crisp winter air mixed with bouquets of white frostlight blossoms. Yeah, it was pretty, but fear whispered that it was all a facade.
“Come on in. Get out of the cold.” Naupure motioned as though to swat away the wind. With a quick spell, blue smoke gushed off his arms, ran straight for me, and then spilled into the night.
I gaped as the ice shards picked themselves up and refroze in place. Frost crystals trailed over the wall’s marble veins, weaving across the door’s hinges and stopping only when they touched the bright-gold silks draped across the ceiling.
