“They almost shot Diya for helping you sneak away.”
“She did nothing wrong,” Elena replied, sitting across from Ferma.
The table was small, yet the distance between them seemed to stretch for miles. Elena folded her hands before her as Jasmine appeared from behind the counter. Her hair, thick and grey, was combed into a long braid that trailed down her back as she bowed.
“Your Highness,” she said.
“I need to speak to you, Jasmine,” Elena said and looked at Ferma, “in private.”
The Yumi regarded her for a moment and then stood. “You know, your stunt today could have cost many lives,” she said. “Diya’s, Yassen’s, mine—imagine the chaos if something had happened to you.”
“Ferma, please.” Elena stood and took her hands in hers. “I’m sorry. But I’m safe. There are guards and officers everywhere in this city.” She squeezed. “Nothing will happen to me.”
But Ferma only shook her head, the ends of her hair writhing like angry snakes. Without a word, she brushed past Yassen and walked out. He glanced at Elena, regret crossing his face.
“Don’t take too long,” he said and followed Ferma.
“Would you like some tea?” Jasmine asked when they were alone.
“No, thank you. Please sit.” Elena studied the network of wrinkles that sprouted across the old woman’s face. A faint film obscured her brown eyes, making them pale, grey. Had she been younger, Jasmine would have had eyes like her own.
Eyes like her mother’s.
Jasmine sat down. Ferma’s abandoned tea steamed between them. Elena leaned forward, reaching across the table and wrapping her hands around the old woman’s.
“You were my mother’s friend. Weren’t you?”
“Ah, so you know,” Jasmine said with a soft smile. “How did you find out?”
“I discovered a letter and an old scroll of my mother’s,” she said. Jasmine’s hands stiffened, but Elena held them tighter. “She left an odd note for you. About finding something. She said that she would show you.”
Jasmine lowered her eyes. “We were dear, old friends,” she whispered.
Elena withdrew the scroll and the letter from her cloak and set them down on the table. “Do you recognize them?”
The old woman stared but made no move.
“Yes,” she said finally. She looked up, past Elena, to the small window of light pooling in from the door. “She was researching the old diary entries of Priestess Nomu and came across a dance to conjure fire.”
“Why did she tell you?”
Jasmine gave a small smile. “Your mother and I grew up in the same neighborhood. We studied together up until after university. We were both mythologists, you know. And Aahnah was so bright. She wandered through the world with a profound sense of curiosity and a yearning for knowledge that humbled everyone. And she was kind. Sweet. When you talked to her, you felt the world slip away. You felt that you mattered simply because she was listening to you.”
Elena found herself nodding along, hanging on to every word. Any scrap of memory of her mother.
“Everyone noticed her, including your father,” Jasmine continued. “I’m sure you know this, but they met at university. He consumed every part of her—from her mind to her heart and the very time she had. As she grew closer to him, she grew further from me. We had a row. She said I was jealous, and I called her a fool.” Jasmine shook her head. “I never received an invitation to the wedding. And once your mother was behind the palace walls, I couldn’t reach her. It wasn’t until suns later she came here into this shop and sat down in front of me, just like you.”
“When was this?” Elena asked.
“You must have been three suns. She had changed then, Aahnah. She seemed worn. But when we began to reminisce about the old days, she became the girl I remembered. Do you know that her favorite sport was windsnatch? She would steal out of the palace, and I’d brew a fresh pot of tea and bake cloud cookies before we watched the game here. She loved the Fire Birds.”
Elena blinked. She could not picture her mother, the woman who sang to her flowers, as someone who intently watched players knock opponents from their floating bladers.
There’s still so much I don’t know about you, she thought with a pang.
“What about the scroll? This letter?” She tapped them. “When did she show this to you?”
Jasmine did not answer right away. Instead, she got up slowly, the scrape of her chair filling the empty café. Without a word, she disappeared into the back of the shop. Elena waited. A minute passed, then two, then five, then seven. Elena drummed her fingers against the scroll, trying to remain patient. Finally, the old woman reemerged carrying a metal tin.
