I’ve been coming here for years. But memory pulls to a year ago, when Mr. Burman bought me Hubris the First. Before that I ran through skygliders recklessly, to an extent I refuse to admit to Kalyan. Mr. Burman had held the skyglider aloft and said, “We are going to name this one.” It had done the trick. That is, until Riya’s and my world caved in. So as bells chime at our entrance, the smell of freshly crafted wood and pangs of nostalgia hit me with full force.
“Say, if it isn’t my best customer,” Mr. Mittal announces. He calls me that—best customer—because he forgets my name, forgets everyone’s name. He’d probably forget his partner Muni’s name, if it weren’t painted on the sign beside his. Sometimes I’ve wondered if it’s an act or if that’s why Mr. Burman took me here. Today, though, I’m just going to be grateful and for once not question his forgetfulness or make a sarcastic remark. He zips toward us, hovering on the skyglider he uses to be able to see over the countertops and glide to the vaulted ceiling and flying tower.
“Hey, Mr. Mittal.” I bend and press my forearm to his. “I need another one. Actually, make that two.” I jerk a thumb to include Kalyan.
“Already?” His eyes widen. Of coursethishe remembers all too well.
I peer at his fingers, three of them wooden. How can a wizard criticize me about crashing a skyglider when three weeks ago he had onlytwomagic-infused wooden appendages? “Huh, what happened there?” I gesture.
“Ah yes.” He flexes his hand and then stuffs it into his pocket. “We can all be clumsy at times. That’s why you are my best customer.”
I fake-laugh. “I appreciate the nonjudgmental attitude.”
He slaps the counter in approval. “Right, so what’s your weapon of choice?”
“The best you’ve got.”
He mock frowns, jumps back on his skyglider, and whizzes three stories up the tower. “How vague. Have I taught you nothing?”
“Come on, Mittal!” I yell up the tunnel. “You’re going to make me go through the whole elementary checklist?”
“If it helps you not lose another one of my babies.” He pouts, swiveling between selections and inspecting different skygliders.
I sigh and roll my eyes. He’s a feisty little seven-fingered man. But by the gods how I love this place.
I finally notice Kalyan examining the front display case, one hand pressed to his torso.
I’m by his side in two seconds flat. “Are you okay? Did it reopen?”
“I’m fine. Just sore.” He glances at me. “And yes, I’m sure.”
I guess my urge to inspect remains apparent. Kalyan even releases his hand like that’s proof. For the record, that’s never proof. The memory of him pushing me away flashes. Him falling. The blood.
What it would be like tochoosemy own fiancé?I know that can’t happen. And I still can’t bring myself to tell him the truth either. The moment he finds out who I am is the moment I lose my best chance of discovering what’s happening with my firelight and destroying the Vencrin.
But I already gave up the plan, and the surefire way to discover those answers for him, didn’t I?
“What would you do if you weren’t a guard?” I whisper.
He slowly lowers his hand from the nearest skyglider. “No one has asked me that before.”
“Really?” A guard has the ability to choose his or her destiny. Riya has talked about guarding since she was ten, and some Touched put all their energy into one type of magic to ensure their forte. It’s a valued occupation, and because of its reputation and stability no one is forced into service. I’d think Kalyan has it easier than me, who’s clutching onto lies like they’re safety platforms.
“Yeah, no one. It was expected my whole life. Family business.” He faces me. “What would you do if you didn’t serve the Belwars?”
I’m silent for so long I’m sure he thinks I’ve ignored the question. And I almost do, but then the words spill out. “I didn’t cast until after my ninth birthday. And it took me another year to be able to generate magic in my right arm as well. So flying was a big deal. But even now I wouldn’t say I love flying. I love skygliders.” I brush the silken fabric tail of Mittal and Muni’s first creation, a very simple skyglider with no curved handholds or streamlined extension, but still so much craftsmanship. “In a simpler life I would be an inventor like Mittal, and maybe one day create something that can fly on its own for the Untouched, for those trapped on the ground.”
Kalyan seems to absorb my words, to weigh them. “Maybe one day, after all this, I could help you with that.”
My birthday is ten days away. So though my heart hurts to admit it, I doubt that will ever happen. Yet we stand in this shop as if the future is open and what-ifs can be purchased off the walls. Mittal and Muni’s does that, makes you feel like with the right skyglider you can fly off and do anything.
“Okay!” Mittal yells, swooping through the air. “Dual-streamlined extension, wind curvature, Naupure’s highest-quality silk, and braided porous sites for quick infusion.” He brandishes the skyglider. “Or as I like to say, the best I’ve got.”
It’s a thing of beauty. Stained red wicker. Sleek lines. Etched in the braided fibers are Touch designs that I’ve learned mirror those on Mittal’s own wrists. I hand Kalyan his skyglider. “Likeit?”
“I’ll let the expert decide,” he concedes.
Mittal coos at this proclamation and whacks his fist against the countertop, thinking Kalyan means him. “I like this one.”
