I’ve never been this mentally exhausted. I might have worked my magic harder at training a few times, but never before have I had to cast for my life quite like fighting a ship full of Vencrin. I mean, I was a raja in the gods’ eyes and thus my people’s. Unnecessary risks like this are practically forbidden. Yet, it feels good. Real, like the Alkin avalanche or saving people from the wreckage of the Southern Bay monsoon in Agsa five years ago.
Looking up at the ship from the pier, a majority of my mind still tumbles with the knowledge that Jaya and I took down ten decently skilled wizards, no, criminals, who couldn’t care less if their spells were lethal. Their bodies lie strewn before us. And while I wouldn’t want to leave them to be torched by the pyre, I can’t spur any sympathy for their injuries or their blood-splattered faces. I heard the spells they were casting. I could have been an innocent bystander on the pier when the first three rushed in to attack me. And I didn’t walk away unharmed. Bruises already bloom over my torso, the tenderness and ache verifying their color and circumference.
As soon as Jaya extinguishes the fire, it’s quiet again. Only the waves brush against the shore. A loud rip tears the silence. The tatters from Jaya’s right sleeve sway in the night air. Blood patters onto the pier.
“How bad is it? Let me see,” I say.
“I’ve got it.” She twists away, impeding my view. Red glows around her arm as she recites a healing spell. An intake of air hisses through her teeth and the magic disperses.
“Jaya, I have experience with this sort of thing.”
“Yeah, me too.” That’s true. The way she commands pink magic she must have buckets more experience treating wounds than I do. And yet, I want to check for myself. Verify she’s actually okay. I would never have brought another wizard or witch into the unpredictable danger of that fight. For a majority of it, I had no clue whether she was hurt, or dead. But if it weren’t for her wrenching me down, I would be convulsing in a fit of pain until I gladly welcomed darkness. It was a quick moment, but I still feel the huff of her breath on my face when I landed on top of her. Just like I still remember my arms wrapped around her when I carried her days ago. It’s too late for me. It’s more than attraction and wanting to help someone in trouble. I care about her, enough that her winces and small gasps now stab at my concern.
She lifts her right arm and tears off the black sleeve. It’s dark out, but the moon casts a wide glowing net. And in that net I extend my neck and finally glimpse Jaya’s arm. I can’t understand what I’m seeing at first, maybe the blood covers the designs, but no, that’s wrong. There is no Touch at all. Her arm is bare.
Hesitantly, I move closer. “Jaya?”
She doesn’t glance up from her arm. “Yeah?”
I step even closer, right in front of her. Strands of red magic penetrate the wound and begin stitching the skin together. She presses at the raw streak and wipes away the blood. Now I am dead sure. No Touch.
She finally looks up and staggers back a little at my closeness. “Blood, don’t do that.”
“Your arm…”
She tilts her head and smirks. “And you said you had experience with this sort of thing.” When she sees how blank my face must be, she sighs and gestures back at the ship. “A Vencrin sliced around my shield. I’m going to fix it.”
“N-n-no, I-I mean…,” I stutter, then trail off. This can’t be.
Then she stills. Her eye’s hook mine and slowly she pulls her arm away and behind her so it’s no longer in view. The action nags at a memory, one where a young girl slid her arm behind her back as I told her she wasn’t a witch.
“Oh, that, it’s nothing,” she says.
“Let me see your arm.”
She tries to laugh. “Kalyan, I fixedyou.I can heal a little scratch.”
“Please,” I say as tenderly as possible. The truth is I need to clarify what I saw more than anything in the entire bloody world, because every Touched member of society I have ever met has had at least a swirl or two on both wrists. There is only one person who has a one-armed Touch, is about my age, is a red magic forte witch, and knows my father. Adraa Belwar.
Jaya, or Adraa, or whoever she is, sweeps both her arms forward and with a quick spell her left sleeve also rips off. Her Touch is dense; swirls, sweeping lines and flourishes whirl up her forearm, and higher, I’m sure. It’s an arm of power, but I’ve yet to see her this vulnerable. Caution lingers in her eyes as she takes me in. “I’m a one-armed Touch, and whatever you think, it’s not contagious or a weakness.”
She folds her arms into herself. Time teeters on what will be said next, but I’m reeling. All the pieces have fallen into place, but the puzzle in my mind is exploding. I think my brain has rebelled, because all I can hear is my voice yellingStupid!over and over again. My hands fly to my head to try to shut it up, but they can’t.Oh my Gods. Oh my bloody Gods!
First she’s Jaya, a beautiful commoner, then she’s Jaya Smoke, a cage-caster spy, and now! Now she’s Jaya Smoke and Adraa all wrapped up in one. I was, am, going to marry this girl. This is my fiancée. Shock peels away and my heart thumps in triumph. My heart is going to race out of my chest. Icancare about her. I can like her—blood, I’m even allowed to love her. I don’t need to squash the feelings or the thoughts that have bubbled to the surface ever since she saved that little boy in the street. What have I done in my life to make me this Gods-blessed lucky?
I gaze at her in wonder. Who would have thought the little eight-year-old girl who hit me in the face would become a cage caster? Actually, that part kind of makes sense. She hasn’t changed much in that way. But she has grown and, ah, developed.
Then I realize what I’ve done. I’ve freaked out, not for the reasons she thinks, but I haven’t said anything.Blood! Say something, Jatin!What my face must look like. It’s probably awful, because her face goes blank and her eyes harden. It’s as if I can touch the wall she’s crafting between us.
“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t need—” She pauses. “It’s a birthmark, not a disability.”
“I know.”Okay, words, words are happening. Good.But was that the right thing to say? I move closer and reach for her right arm. She jerks a little as I lightly raise it into view. My heart may give out just being able to touch her. I stare at her wound. It’s not as deep as it appeared. It will scar for sure because she didn’t work on it immediately, but the pink magic has already done a great job sewing the flesh together. And finally my brain kicks back into gear and I know how to spin shock and elation into reassurance. “Okay, good. It looked bad when I first sawit.”
“Oh, ah, yeah.” Her expression is a mix of relief and confusion. “Told you I could fix it.”
I release her. “I know about one-armed Touches. Legends say they’re created when the gods fight over the blessings of a witch or wizard. The fights can get so bad that contests are held, and the victor is the only one allowed to touch that child.”
Her eyes hold wonder and confusion with my religious knowledge. How many little jerks had made fun of her over the years for her to be this cautious? Oh Gods, including me when I was a heedless nine-year-old. She must hate me, the real me. I clamp my mouth closed. For now I won’t tell her I’m Jatin. I can’t. Not in this moment where I’ve royally messed up.
