Then I began seeing magic everywhere—almost everyone in the court practiced small pieces of it on a daily basis.
In the human world I had barely tried to practice my magic, so that I wouldn’t be used to find all the relics the Citadel couldn’t. Even when I was hunting the fae relics to steal them from the Citadel, my mother’s words haunted me every time I did.
Don’t let them use you.
Could I access my magic easily here? Would anyone say anything about it? Still I hesitated, because my power seemed so different from the peris’. It even looked different for a start—emitting a gold light and having a physical manifestation, unlike the peris in the Court of River.
When I did use it here, I did so in secret, but it still felt freeing as I walked through the halls of the palace, letting it pool in my fingertips, going through each library, archive and office one by one.
Mishah and I worked long hours in the kitchen—she helping the cook prepare the feast and I doing every single grunt job they could give me.
My mouth watered at the heady smells of saffron, cumin, and chilis—the food here was similar to what we would make in Astola—if we everhadfood, thanks to severe rations we were given—but the flavors were magnified. It could have also been that I hadn’t eaten properly for years, so the abundance of the food even in the servants’ quarters was novel to me. Every night there was fresh fruit, firm cheese simmered in spicy broth, and fragrant rice that was layered with spices and baked meat—it was more food than I could comprehend.
They certainly didn’t have a problem with growing crops or feeding animals here, which only reinforced that it was the Empire that had caused the famine.
Mishah talked as she worked and didn’t seem to mind my silence or the fact that I wasn’t really giving away anything concrete about my own background.
She also didn’t seem bothered by the fact that I was human. Other peris did, however, and I felt their eyes following me as I made my way through the palace every day. A Salt soldier had even cornered me on my way back to my room, attempting some sort of magic that was meant to control me. I felt a pulse of cool power inside my blood when he’d done it, and, strangely, coming from my mother’s bangles that graced my wrists freely here.
But Mishah dragged me away from getting enthralled, as she described it, and I barely had time to examine the feeling.
Mishah and I had developed a good friendship in the last few days, and I was hopeful that I could get a better lay of the palace from her. I’d so far found two libraries and three offices and hunted through them but found nothing.
I thought of the one I’d looked through last night, letting my magic explode through my fingertips in the empty room.
But there was nothing that could lead me to the crown, and I was starting to feel hopeless. I’d thought of Nani and Safiyya captured by the Citadel, and then of my mother, who had undertaken this same journey and hadn’t survived to return.
For once I gave in to the sobs that had been threatening to take over since I got here and cried my tears dry in the library.
Every minute that I stayed here without helping Astola was another minute my grandmother and cousin was possibly being tortured or even killed. I had no idea if they were still alive, and I replayed the last moments I’d seen them on the riverbank every day. I’d left them in danger, only to skulk around a palace, eat delicious food and wash out pots.
I felt like a fool.
Mishah was often late, earning a scolding from the cook, but no one seemed to really pay attention to our comings and goings after we’d done our work.
This was good—it meant that I could slip away unnoticed and search for what I needed.
One day I arrived after Mishah was already there—except she wasn’t alone.
A fae man I’d never seen before was there with her.
Mishah shot me a panicked look but kept silent as she stirred the baby pumpkin stewing over the fire.
He was older, probably as old as my father would have been if he’d survived, and he had an ugly sneer painted on his face. I knew from his dress alone that he was important, as no other palace workers wore jackets embroidered with silk brocade. His right shoulder was also embroidered with the image that Salt soldiers had stamped on their armor—a three-pointed crystal in threads of silver that converged in the middle.
“Morning!” I said brightly to cover the fact I was just staring at him. The head cook was not there.
Mishah turned in my direction. “Yas! Will you help me over here?”
“Human.” A greasy voice slid from the male at the other end of the room, and I met penetrating his gaze. “Leave us. You are not needed here.”
I stared at him for a moment, then glanced back at Mishah, reading the silence between them. She shot me a pleading look, and I swallowed and looked back at him.
“My apologies, sir, but I don’t want to risk the ire of the head cook. I have a lot to do for the feast.”
I measured the air in the room, taking in the charged atmosphere between him and Ramishah.
The man stood up, and I wasn’t expecting him to be so short, especially compared to the other fae. The silver-haired shirtless male I’d seen was still taller than all the other peris I’d seen. This one was smaller than even the shorter soldiers. His eyes seemed to grow more bulbous as he took me in.
