No!I lunge forward, but all that’s left of Moolek is the thick fog of green smoke whooshing out my window.How…What kind of spell was that?
The door swings open, smashes against the wall, and my parents stand at the threshold. They’re okay. Before anyone can say a word, my mom dives forward and wraps me in a hug. My dad is not far behind. My legs finally give in and the three of us fall to the ground. I sag against them and take in their warmth and reassurance. They tell me of Prisha’s safety, of Riya’s well-being, of Jatin’s healing.
It’s Mother who pulls away first, staring at my neck. “I thought these were burns,” she breathes, reaching and then hesitating to touch me. I turn until I catch myself in a mirror. Finally, I see what created Moolek’s surprise. Not burns, though the sting is the same, but…my Touch. Above my shoulder the designs continue, now in bright red, swirling in an erratic tangle that skims and brushes over my jawline like tendrils of fire. I choke on a snaggle of laughter because it looks beautiful, and different, and horrible. But it also looks like Moolek’s greatest fear, like I am still a woman of consequence, like I’ve been marked for a destiny.
War brews with a rumor. Erif said as much, but I didn’t think the next wave of attack would start like this, with word and whisper. After I took back my firelight, Moolek stopped the volcano. He’s dubbed a hero.
And me?
As the stories say, I’m a corrupt, evil, power-hungry woman who was vanquished after killing one hundred twenty-nine of my own people. This is meant to break me. Watching green-uniformed men repair my city and bring in supplies. Being spit on the first time I enter the clinic to help the wounded. Listening as my people say Jatin Naupure, who at first was bewitched by my treachery, discovered the truth in time to help his uncle stop my evil designs. It’s all quite brilliant, actually. This is why Moolek saved me. When a marriage to divide southern Wickery didn’t work, Moolek blew it up instead and gave the world what it wanted—a villain. Mount Gandhak was a contingency all along, though. I’m sure of it. A bomb set with my magic to either control me if I allied with him or destroy me if I didn’t.
But because I know that, because I know every word spoken against me is a lie, I don’t collapse. At least…not completely.
One hundred twenty-ninepounds against my skull.My firelightfollows soon after like a nagging tangle of unbroken thought. The game was fixed from the start, but I still didn’t play it right. I couldn’t stop Moolek from killing my people. And even though one shouldn’t blame the sword for stabbing, I’m slowly caving in on myself because, with my country thinking I killed them, it feels like I have.
I’ve been avoiding Jatin. I told him not to visit. I can’t force my heart to stop caring, but I also can’t prevent my brain from naming all the reasons we shouldn’t be anything more than partners. So I don’t face it. When the entire kitchen staff, Willona at the helm, brings me one of Jatin’s letters, I thank them and fold it away to their chagrin. Zara and Prisha have thrown themselves into clinic duty. Everyone works as I heal, trying to shield me from more spit in the face, hurled insults, or worse, an assassination attempt. Like old times, long before murder entered our lives, I find the only person willing to talk through the rumors instead of skirting around them is Riya. And I can always find Riya.
She wrings out a clean towel and wipes her father’s forehead. “You know, I think people were always suspicious that firelight cost next to nothing. It’s easier for them to believe you planted firelight in their homes and betrayed them than old-fashioned goodness.”
I release a hefty sigh. “I want people’s first assumption to be Belwar’s goodness, not its gangs, drugs, and corruption. Now they think those things of me.”
“Well, right now you are only one of those things. You aren’t a Vencrin drug addict using Bloodlurst to amass power. At least”—she raises her eyebrows and smiles—“not yet.”
I give her a look. “Funny.” She’s only half right, though. Some so-called witnesses are coming forward to say they saw firelight being shipped by the Vencrin, which links me to the drug ring. Where were those witnesses when I was scouring the streets as the Red Woman? And moreover, why is darkness so much easier to swallow than light?
“Pravleah,”I conjure over my mother’s spell.
“Thank you, Adraa,” Riya whispers.
“You don’t need to say anything. He’s the only patient who isn’t repulsed by me.”
Riya stares at her father. The towel drips. “Hewasright, you know. That new Touch of yours. The ceremony. People’s love. None of that makes you a rani. But to me, what you sacrificed…” She looks up. Before I can, Riya rises and falls on me, hugging me close. “I’m sorry,” she says with a squeeze.
I hold her fiercely, clinging to her and noticing she wears a red choli, as if no matter what is said I still became her rani that day. “I’m the one that should be sorry. I shouldn’t have kept any of it from you.”
She pulls back. “You should know it was all just…” She glances at her father.
Guilt. Blame. Responsibility. Any of these words can fill in what she will say next, but it’s the accumulation of all three. Something unnamable that has been crackling at my skin for days. And since I know what she means, I interrupt her. “I know. You don’t have to say it.”
Riya lets out a laugh. “Thank Gods.” She hugs me again. “But do hear this. If it’s us against the world, Adraa, I’ll be there beside you, as your friend.”
I feel myself smiling for the first time in days. “I already knew that too.”
It’s my mom who heals me. My leg broke, but my arm shattered. So instead of Zara or any other mender, it’s my mom who comes every day with new bandages. We revert into a healer-patient relationship until the day I’m staring out the window at the ash and she breaks the thick silence with, “I’ve never told you much about my life on Pire.”
I turn so quickly that the bandages she’s using to rewrap my arm are yanked from her hands, and sharp stabs of pain run up my shoulder.
“Careful,” she warns.
“You never wanted to talk about it. Never.”
“Yes, well. The culture there is…” She pauses. “It’s rough for girls, the gap between men and women more apparent. My father cried at my birth, that’s one of the first things I learned as a child. I was told he wept in despair at having his first child born female. The only way a woman could become anything of real value was being a healer, so I became the best healer in the entire country and then I left as soon as possible. Your father thinks he chose me, but I pushed for our arrangement, made myself be seen. He was so funny and handsome, but I also saw Belwar as my only chance to both escape and prove myself.”
I look at my mother straight-on. The bend in her nose has never looked more prominent. By twelve, I had stopped trying to learn how she broke it and why it was never set. Had she refused to answer or had I stopped asking?
“Society tells us that as women we need a man to be something. We don’t. And I’m so sorry, Adraa. I forced you into marriage and leadership. I had such doubts when we trudged toward Azure Palace that night and yet I didn’t try to convince your father it was too early for you. We hadn’t even seen what you could become.” She tucks my plain right hand between hers. “Then I allowed you only one path, your father’s and my path. And I almost killed you in doing so.”
Never before have I truly considered telling my parents, especially my mother, that I’m the Red Woman. It has been a secret I never wanted them to know. Their wrath, their lack of understanding, and their guaranteed forbiddance kept me on guard. I could foresee it all unraveling before me at the slightest mention. Yet, right now, it falls to the tip of my tongue.
