“You have firelight too?” Something in the way I sayfirelightmust sound puzzling because he smiles and replies, “We thought the name was fitting.”
“We?”
“Let’s sit down and talk.” He walks toward his office, not even wondering whether I will follow him. Of course, I do, still holding the orb.
We take the staircase on the right and wander through a long hall until we reach the end. For some reason, I remember Father always saying he liked the view here, even though the room doesn’t have a balcony or windows. Must have been a joke my young brain didn’t grasp at the time. More firelight orbs light up Father’s large central desk and the half-dozen chairs strewn about.
“What you hold there is Adraa’s invention. I helped her start the distribution process and gave her a good discount on large quantities of orbs. She crafted the spell on her own. The light will burn for two months straight.”
“Two months?”
“I know; it is quite impressive. Belwar doesn’t need to trade with Moolek for ghee for lantern oil, meaning a newfound independence and stability. Various industries and craftspeople now work after dusk; thieves are more easily caught; and the number of household fires has dramatically decreased. Adraa has changed the entire economy. It’s a new era, an age of light.”
“Who produces them?”
“Adraa, of course.”
“Just her?”
“That is why she only supplies her kingdom and our capital, but we will have to change that soon. Only, she is having a hard time finding a witch or wizard powerful enough in red magic to copy her spell.”
“You cannot copy the spell?”
“Unfortunately, no. But then, Goddess Erif has never particularly liked me.” He laughs like there is some inside joke I’m not allowed to be a part of.
“Adraa never mentioned firelight to this extent in her letters.” Even Father cannot produce firelight? By Gods, this was winning. She had been winning the whole time. When I was nine I had wanted to impress her with a freeze spell. Naive me had wanted her to praise me, wanted her good opinion. But I’m a fraud compared with her. I only learn spells and recast them to perfection. She invented an entirely new one. I had never even thought of trying that.
Father smiles. “So you still write to her, then? I know I made you when you first went off, but you continued. I’m glad.”
“Yeah, I wrote.” I can’t tell him what our letters consist of, teasing and competition, nothing of real value. I was so pleased with myself earlier knowing she would have received my letter today, but now? I desperately want to take it back, rip up what has already been sent.
Then again, the letters weren’t completely terrible. In the beginning, I wrote just two lines—how are you, or such nonsense—because Father made me. I don’t think I could have endured anything more, what with me still harboring embarrassment from that slap in the face. Adraa replied with questions about school. I think she was jealous I went off to the academy to learn magic, while she had to stay in Belwar and be tutored. I read those letters all the time. They smelled of sea salt and reminded me I was the lucky one. How could someone be lonely and homesick knowing they were winning in the game of life? And answers to her questions came so easily, what with being a year ahead of her in training.
Adraa:I learned how to fly. Have you flown yet?
Jatin:Yes, of course. In Agsa we get to fly over miles of flowers and fields.
Adraa:I learned how to fix a broken femur. Can you do that?
Jatin:Yeah, that’s simple pink magic.
Then it became about earning top marks in our studies. Who was best in every subject? She got potions hands down; I was better at subtle, tricky magic like growing fruit.
Adraa:My tutor says I am number one in his class.
Jatin:Yeah, because you are the only one in it.
Adraa:That’s not true. He teaches others. You’re unbelievable. You think you are so great.
Jatin:Probably because I’m number one in my class.
A few years later, we moved on to acts of bravery or feats of prowess. I protected a kid from being bullied; she joined her mother at the clinic and started healing villagers. She saved a dozen horses from a stable fire; I helped people, including Kalyan, in the aftermath of the worst storm Agsa had ever seen.
Then, after a dare from Kalyan, I turned the letters into love letters with taunts hidden in ice. I also did it to get Fiza, one of the ladies of Agsa, off my back. When rumors spread about me writing love notes to my fiancée, it stalled her flirtation.
But I had agonized over the stupidity of that decision until Adraa had sent back a blank letter I had to freeze to read. She was all sorts of irritated I had claimed victory. She didn’t even say anything about the confession of love. I had been so relieved she hadn’t taken it seriously, I kept it going to tease her further. I don’t quite know why she is so fun to mess with. Probably because she tries so bloody hard when it comes to magic. Or maybe I liked the fact that I was winning our little competition and wanted to keep that going.
In truth, I have no idea what kind of student or wizard I would be without Adraa. I was one of the best because I couldn’t let a girl a year younger than I was and hundreds of miles away win. And maybe I pushed her too. Maybe we would be great together—pushing each other to be better in magic and life. Or…we might argue all the time about everything. I can’t tell, and that’s what petrifies me.
