“We said no more lies.”
I take a deep breath as I tell him the truth about the last lie I’ve been holding on to. “I’m terrified.”
“I hope you’re referring to the ceremony.”
I laugh unexpectedly. “I wouldn’t say you are terrifying.”
“Good, I don’t want to get punched in the face again.”
I lightly push his shoulder. “It was more like a slap and you know it.”
He catches my hand and weaves his fingers through mine. It’s very distracting. “Why are you terrified?”
“I—I don’t want to fail.”
He frowns. “You won’t fail. Blood, you are the best witch I’ve—”
“Himadloc,”I whisper, and red drips off my hands and into the water below. With each splash of red smoke my spell courses through the water. It slows, gets a bit colder, and we both wait as a light frost glistens across the surface. Not even frozen. My cheeks flush. I never thought I would admit this to Jatin Naupure. Never thought I would showcase my greatest weakness quite like this.
“It’s moving water. It’s hard to freeze moving—”
“Don’t.”
“Well, I could help. It’s sort of my forte.” He smiles. “I would just need payment, of course.”
“Payment?” I snort. “The future Maharaja of Naupure needs to haggle a few gold coins out of me?”
“Who said anything about money?”
I narrow my eyes. “What exactly do you want?”
“You…”
I stare.
And then he continues with a smirk. “To admit that I’m the best wizard in all of Wick—”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because I lean forward and kiss him. He welcomes the interruption, pulling me closer so that our bodies press together. I pull back only an inch from his lips, dizzy with happiness. “I don’t think I can agree to those terms. We said no more lies, Jatin.”
Moolek has disappeared. All reports say he left the country. I don’t buy it for a second and the fact that we can find little to no information proves to me he’s still here, lurking. But with no leads and the wanted posters stuck to every corner I focus on my royal ceremony. Jaya Smoke might never be again, but I still have my mask. I’ll find a way. I already have plans to talk to Beckman, this time as a rani.
Jatin is true to his word. For the next week he trains me. And for once in my life, under his guidance, I don’t feel like a failure in white magic. I can’t freeze moving water, but I can freeze liquids. I can’t create snow, but I can control how it falls. Jatin smiles and reassures me that that will be enough. That I’m a nine. That I won’t disappoint. It’s everything I ever wanted to be and to hear. And in our bubble of training, and focus, and study, I almost believe him.
Yet, doubt still clangs inside my head.
Like all events one dreads and is unprepared for, my royal test arrives too soon. The night before I toss, turn, and dream myself into the land of red. I start awake each time, willing myself to think about anything but the ceremony, and yet it drags me back down. “You must go through with it,” the red room voice commands, ringing with intensity, until dawn strikes through my bedroom in staggered streaks and I fully awaken.
Zara pounces onto my bed. “I couldn’t sleep. All I could think about was how I could do your hair, and what ribbons we could use.” After that, she gets to work, painting, braiding, and fastening me to look like a genuine Lady of Belwar. It takes hours. But I don’t really mind it and before long I’m spinning in front of the mirror. “I have to say, you have outdone yourself,” I tell her. Zara has taken nine colored ribbons and woven them in my hair, creating a cascading rainbow effect I cannot even comprehend.
“It matches your ceremony garments perfectly,” she gushes.
She’s right. My lehenga is red with golden edging. Swirled and beaded into the fabric are all nine colors of the gods. The dupatta is sheer and catches a rainbow of colors every time I move.
She snags my eyes in the mirror. “It’s okay if you are nervous, but today you won’t worry about how you look.” I smile. It’s moments like this when Zara is most endearing. Even if she is all for love letters, romance, and clothes, she still understands how I might feel the day upon which I must pledge myself to the gods. And I love her for it.
Riya enters as I’m staring myself down, willing the nerves to cease their war within my gut. “Wow. Adraa, you look—”
“I know, right? I did a good job, didn’t I?” Zara gushes, dancing as she retrieves the leftover ribbons and hairpins.
