AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The stormborn Wardana passes in front of me, and I tear my eyes from Dalca to watch him. He slinks through the room like a lazy cat, and the stormtouched stiffen as he passes. He smiles at them, wearing a wry grin like armor.
I commit their three faces to memory, wishing they’d speak. Yet all three of them are as silent as the grave. I wish they’d ask questions; I wish they’d ask who drew the ikon they search for. If they don’t need to ask... that means they already know.
Casvian heads upstairs. A few moments later, a crash sounds.
Amma shoots me a look while Jem tightens her grip, but I’m already on my feet. I shake Jem loose and jump up the stairs, taking the steps by twos.
Casvian stands on the landing by the window, precious soil and shalaj roots at his feet. He holds an empty planter box, then tosses it aside. He waves the brass gadget to and fro, scanning across the ledge where the planter stood. Scanning for ikons.
He kicks idly at the shalaj root, his dirty boots stomping on our food.
He hasno idea—no idea how I had to save for that soil, or how precious the seeds are. So precious that there were months when I had the money to pay and no one willing to sell them to me. The fear in my blood gives way to anger.
But I bite my lip. The only thing that saves me is that he’s not really looking at the planters. He wants to make a mess, provoke an outburst. If he’d looked carefully, he might’ve noticed the little ikons I drew in the dirt to keep the shalaj healthy. Or an ikon for enlargement, one of the few I know, repeated over and over, to help the shalaj grow a littlelarger than they might’ve on their own. It wasn’t even that effective—I always thought the guy who sold it to me must’ve gotten the proportions wrong—but it was the best I had.
I’ve kept my secret from Pa for years. Years of hunting down scraps of ikonomancy from gray market peddlers and folks who failed out of Wardana training. Even with all my efforts, what little I’ve learnt wouldn’t amount to as much as a sneeze from a first-year ikonomancer trainee. Pa had been so much more than that. Amma says they’d called him the best ikonomancer in a century. Pa doesn’t speak of it, except to forbid me from learning so much as an ikon to tie my shoe.
I’ve worked hard to keep my secret from the best ikonomancer in a century. I’m not about to let a sneering Wardana boy discover it in a matter of minutes.
Casvian moves to the next window, where hangs a box full of saplings. He knocks that box down, scattering the dirt and saplings that will now surely die. He steps on them with cruel delight, making sure to crush each one under his heel.
“Stop!”I snap my jaw shut, but it’s too late.
Doesn’t he understand? We only get two food rations here, mine and Amma’s—the stormtouched don’t qualify. Our bags of mancer-made food have to stretch very, very far.
Looking down at the destroyed saplings, their thin stems broken, their tiny leaves shredded, a black fury rages through my bones. It’s all I can do to listen to the little voice reminding me:An ant, remember you’re an ant.
Casvian turns to me with a patrician crook of his eyebrow. Deliberately, he reaches behind his back and upends a third box, his eyes never leaving mine.
I shove him. I don’t even remember crossing the room.This cruel, stupid boy—
My shove barely moves him. Under his Wardana leathers, he’s as hard as stone. Casvian’s thin lips curl into a dark smile. He steps close as I jerk back. “Assaulting a Wardana?” His honey-scented breath puffs against my face.
His hands encircle my wrists, grip surprisingly strong. I shove at his chest and twist, trying to break free, but he doesn’t let go.
I’d thought him slender compared to the other two, but I now realize that says more about the size of the other two. He’s not weak, not at all. I twist in his grasp, but there’s no use—he’s stronger than me.
I hope Pa can’t hear.
“None of that, Casvian,” a voice says from behind us. The prince walks forward, confident and steady as stone, his eyes cool and assessing. “You’ll incite a riot.”
Casvian doesn’t loosen his grip. He doesn’t look away from me. “I don’t forgive an insult, Dalca.”
“I haven’t insulted you,” I snap.
He sneers down at me. “She touched me.”That’s insult enough,his tone says.
My mouth goes dry at the disgust that pinches his face. He’d hurt me, really hurt me, with no more thought than he’d give killing a rat that found its way into his home. He doesn’t see me as human.
Dalca puts a hand on his shoulder. “That’s an order.”
Red rises in Casvian’s cheeks as his hands tighten on my wrists. I wince as my skin pinches against my bones.
They have a staring match above my head, and I’ve never before felt so little like a person and so much like a thing. It doesn’t matterwhat I want, what I do, what I say. I’m little more than a toy between two bickering kids.
Casvian lets go.
I jerk back, wrapping my arms around myself.
