Page 3 of A Wayward Movement

He handed it over, and she started to swirl it between her fingers, letting her eyes glaze over as she concentrated on the steady stream of Dust issuing invisibly from it. She wove the fan in a curving trail, replicating the pattern she would make if she was braiding her hair with her hands. Which she could do, of course. For most people, it would make much more sense to do that. But today, Alina wanted to use magic for the task. There was something satisfyingly rhythmic about the way her hair responded to the magic she teased into it, weaving in sections, pulling tight here, looping over the top there. For many, it would be an exhausting task, but for her it made little dent on her energy.

Besides which, it was a soothing sensation, like someone running their fingers through her hair. It reminded her of her mother, stirring a soft ache. She hadn’t been touched in a comforting, familiar way like that since her parents died.

“Beautiful,” said Lilah admiringly, when the braid was finished. “That’s such a neat trick, Alina.”

“The trick might be neat, but I’m sure the braid isn’t,” Alina said ruefully. “I never can get the knack of intricate tasks.”

“Well, count your blessings, because I can’t get the knack of magic craft at all,” Lilah said frankly. “Try as I might, it’s just never clicked for me like it does for Benji. And you,” she added, her eyes back on Alina. “And my hair would never cooperate for a respectable braid like that.”

Alina had to laugh. “Lilah, I think you must be trying to boost my vanity as well. As if you could ever be jealous of my hair! It’s common knowledge that golden curls are preferable over dark, spiritless hair like mine.”

“It’s not common knowledge.” Lilah looked bewildered. “Preferable according to whom?”

“Oh, well.” Alina felt her face warming slightly. What was wrong with her this morning? “Everyone, I suppose.”

“Not at all,” Lilah said staunchly. “Just the other day I overheard some of the local teenagers talking about a girl their age, from one of the nearby farms. They said that the prince’s reputation has made golden hair fashionable, but they thought she was the prettiest girl in town, and her hair is jet-black.”

“The prince’s reputation?” Benji repeated with disapproval. “I don’t know what sordid things you’ve been listening to, Lilah, but you really shouldn’t encourage local teenagers to talk to you about that kind of thing.”

His sister gave him an impatient look. “They weren’t talking to me, and they weren’t saying anything sordid. They just meant that everyone knows the crown prince is flirtatious to a fault, and that he has a reputation for losing his heart to every golden head that comes through the court.”

“I somehow doubt the crown prince has ever lost his heart,” Alina said, her voice dry. Hopefully they didn’t hear the edge to her words.

“Yes, rumors do suggest it’s more the girls who lose their hearts, I suppose,” Lilah agreed.

Alina said nothing, wishing she’d stayed silent. Prolonging the topic was the last thing she wanted to do. It was uncomfortable that, even though she hadn’t said anything about the prince, Lilah had still been astute enough to figure out exactly whose preferences Alina had meant. She felt pathetically relieved that the twins knew nothing of her history with Crown Prince Xavier.

Thankfully for her mood, Benji changed the subject, uninterested in princes or hairstyles.

“You always say you don’t have intricate magic skills, but you’re better than anyone else in town,” the teenager told her. “I think you’re being too humble. You should be the one applying for a scholarship at the Craftsman’s Guild in the capital.”

“Me?” Alina laughed. “No, no, I’m too old to be studying with teenagers like you.”

“I’m not that much younger than you,” Benji muttered, the offense in his voice making Alina hold back a smile.

“Of course not,” she said soothingly. “I’ll see you both later, all right?”

Lilah nodded. “Tell Mrs. Pincer I’ll be down shortly, would you?”

“Sure.” Alina cast a longing glance toward the water boiling over their little fire. She was expected at the market, and thanks to her distraction, she had no time left for tea or anything else. “Are you both still planning to meet me at the market for lunch?”

“I will,” Lilah said. “Benji has another day’s work on that farm just outside town, so he’ll be gone until supper.”

“That’s great,” Alina said encouragingly. Benji smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes. But he knew better than to complain about a day’s work.

Alina made her way down the narrow wooden stairs, emerging into the small dressmaker’s shop their rooms were perched on.

“Good morning, Alina.” The elderly owner, Mrs. Pincer, glanced up from her needlework. “Going to market day? Are you working, or shopping?”

“Working, ma’am,” Alina said, humor in her voice.

What would she be shopping for? The town’s weekly market attracted visitors from all over the area, and most of the wares were well beyond her slim means. She could get produce more cheaply from local suppliers on other days of the week.

“Well, you be careful,” Mrs. Pincer said darkly. “I heard another group of workers stayed at the inn last night, on their way to the desert. Best not be showing off any of your craftsmanship in front of strangers.”

“I won’t, Mrs. Pincer,” Alina assured her.

“Everyone who’s gone missing is young and on their own, just like you, Alina.”