“Yeah?”
She turns to me, her face bright. “Do you have a map of Belwar and a copy of my report?”
I lead us to one of the palace tearooms. This one is on my mother’s side of the palace and thus rarely used. Years after she died, many of these rooms were kept clean but untouched, like an artifact polished and then encased for study. I used to sneak in here and learn what I could. Fiddle with the array of birdhouses hanging outside each window (most are empty now), scan the shelves for the most worn books, and touch the silkiness of her yellow robes. I was allowed anywhere in the palace as a child, except the nursery.
“I didn’t know whether this side of the house was used anymore,” Adraa whispers, as if a ghost lives here.
“That’s why it’s good for our meetings. Also this.” I gesture to the painting on the floor, my mother’s huge map of Wickery gleaming in the sunshine.
“Now I understand when Maharaja Naupure said she strategized like a bird.”
I start. I heard my father say that about my mother once. Once. “You know a lot about the Naupures, don’t you?”
“Maharaja Naupure and I talk when I bring the firelight, so yeah, I guess,” she agrees as she nudges aside a card table to reveal the entire map.
I don’t push the issue further.
“You don’t need to move the furniture.” I lay my hands on the floor, whisper some black magic into the painting, and shove outward. The white mist of my magic soaks into the floor and the map moves beneath us. With another swipe, it zooms in on Belwar as if we’re nose-diving on skygliders. I’ve always loved this room.
“It’s like flying with you all over again,” Adraa jokes.
I give her a teasing smile.
She plops down, sitting right on the illustration of her palace. “My report?”
I hand over the bundle of paperwork. With a few glances at her own map and simple purple spells, she throws her hands outward and small pinpoints fall upon the East Village. I examine the jumble of marks, trying to see what she does. “What did you figure out?”
“Limitations,” she answers with a grin.
I slowly sit next to her. “What do you mean?”
“Firelight. It doesn’t magically make its way to Pier Sixteen. With the drugs, any back shop or home could be used to make it or house it. I’ve tracked down one drug den.” She lights up a marker. “There must be more. I just can’t find them. That’s what’s so hard about all this. But only one person makes firelight.”
“Adraa Belwar,” I whisper, the sound of her name nice to finally say aloud.
She doesn’t even flinch. “Yes, and with Basu out of the picture and not handing over his entire shipment, the Vencrin will have to buy it slowly or steal it. Which means…” She smiles wide, drawing a large circle that surrounds every reported drug deal. Then, slowly, she sketches triangles, connecting dots until the map bleeds. “Limitations.”
I manifest my own magic, lighting up the key spots and outlining my own triangle—Pier Sixteen, the Underground, and Basu’s shop. “You’re right. Glowing balls of light with expiration dates are hard to move across the city unnoticed. They have to have a—”
“A warehouse or something.” She smiles at me, lit up like I’ve never seen before. It melts me.
I zoom in even closer and our image breezes past temples, streets of squished houses, and market squares. There aren’t many structures large enough to house such an operation. Time evaporates as we pick apart possibilities. Adraa has an answer for every building, proving she knows Belwar like the scroll of her Touch. Finally, I get to a tall rectangular structure near the East and North Village border. For the first time she pauses.
“That used to be a trading bazaar, but once a few bigger grand bazaars opened it was converted for the homeless and Untouched,” she says.
So the perfect place for Vencrin to seize.
“We found it,” she breathes. Relief releases her laugh. It’s such a wonderful sound.
So we plan, discussing possible ambushes and her past tactics. I lean forward to point out the building next to the former trading bazaar that will be the best lookout point, and my hand brushes hers, by accident. I stop talking, and for a second, we stay frozen like that, my fingers covering hers.
Adraa looks up and our eyes connect. “You really don’t care, do you?” she asks.
Gods, even simple contact with her and I become undone, unfocused on the facts and the mission before us. “What? No, I’m with you on this.” I gesture to the map, forcing myself to look at our red and white pinpoints.What was I saying, again?
“No, I mean my arm. It doesn’t bother you at all, does it?” She nods at our hands, causing my lips to curl upward with happiness.
I lean toward her. “You’re right. Doesn’t bother me at all.” My gaze flits between her eyes and her lips. Gods, I want to kiss her, to mimic our hands. I think maybe, just maybe, she wants the same thing. But she wouldn’t be kissing me, Jatin. She would think she’s kissing a guard, and that would be a lie. A cold tremor hits me straight in the chest. A lie she wants?
