A dead silence follows. Juhi eyes the fragments of cloth as if they are newly discovered treasure and not the shreds of some of the most expensive silk on the continent.
“She’s an anomaly, isn’t she?” Calculation has entered Amira’s voice.
“Seems so,” Juhi murmurs. “All that repressed magic … it has to come out somehow.”
“I’m an ana—what? What does that mean?” I ask.
“You performed death magic without a weapon,” Juhi explains. “And, apart from that nosebleed, you seem to be fine.”
“So?” My heart is thumping so loudly I’m sure they can hear it. “I bet a lot of magi can do that.”
“They can’t, princess,” Amira says. “Just as not every girl born with a birthmark is capable of magic, let alone death magic. Even the strongest at death magic need some sort of weapon to focus their powers. There are, however, rare instances when a magus represses their powers for so long that when it does come out of them, it’s almost always explosive.”
“Repressed?” I frown. “Why would my magic be repressed?”
“Sometimes trauma or fear can cause repression—for instance, if you badly injured someone with your magic,” Amira replies, referring to what happened during the practice fight last year. “In your case, though, the repression has been happening for much longer—since you were very young, right?”
“Since I was a baby,” I admit.
“Were you ever punished for using magic as a child?” Amira asks.
“Never. My parents encouraged me to use magic all the time. So did my teachers at school. Some even tried to scare the magic out of me. It didn’t always work.” I tell them about the few times my magic did emerge—when Ma tried to burn off my birthmark, when I felt like Agni was in danger back in Dukal, the practice fight with the novice here in Javeribad.
“Each of those times, I felt like I was in danger,” I say. “Like if something didn’t happen, I would die—or that terrible things would happen. Right before my magic erupted, my birthmark would burn. Maybe that’s what needs to happen. But why?”
I don’t tell Juhi and Amira about how I’d begged the sky goddess for help in the stable in Dukal. How her eyes had glowed green right before my mind slid into Agni’s. The goddess coming to my aid—now that had to be the anamoly. Or a figment of my imagination.
Amira looks as bewildered as I feel. “I don’t know, princess. I’ve never heard of anything like this happening before.” She looks at Juhi. “What about you, Didi?”
“I haven’t,” Juhi says. “But that doesn’t mean anything. Human knowledge of magic is not absolute. Only the gods know everything, and they often work in mysterious ways.”
Amira rolls her eyes. “Your gods do not exist, Juhi Didi. Only magic does.”
Juhi smiles, glancing at the amulet on Amira’s arm. “I will not argue theology with a Zaalian.”
“Because you know I’m right! The gods never come to our aid when we need them.”
That’s true, I think. Though I would cut off my tongue before admitting that out loud.
“I imagine our princess would end up with worse than a bloody nose if she tried blowing up anything bigger than that purse,” Amira continues. “Not to mention endanger everyone else around her.”
“Not if she uses a weapon and not with proper training.” Juhi stands and walks over to the map, studying it for a long moment. “There are risks, of course. A well-placed hit or an accident could mean instant death. We’d have to be prepared for that.”
Instant death. The words chill my insides, twist into something that oddly feels like guilt.
Juhi murmurs a few words, moving her hand over the purse. The tattered edges glow, float up, and join back into shape.
“Death magic, if done properly, wouldn’t have let me do that. I wouldn’t have been able to mend the purse. So this is what I’m going to do.” She locks gazes with me. “I’m going to start training you in magical combat. If you perform a proper attacking spell at the end of two months, I will see what I can do to help you get into Ambar Fort. If you don’t, you will have to find your own way in.”
“You can’t be serious,” Amira protests. “She won’t last a moment in that place by herself!”
But Juhi isn’t paying attention to Amira.
“You really mean it?” I can’t believe my ears. “You’ll help me get in?”
Juhi holds up a hand, her lotus tattoo glowing. “I swear by the god of the sea and by the goddess of the sky. Unless you don’t want me to. Don’t tell me you’re nervous all of a sudden.”
“Of course not,” I say, even though I am nervous. Yet, underneath that, I feel something else awakening. Excitement. Hope. After two years of asking questions and sneaking around, two whole years of trying to figure out a way on my own, I will have someone else—perhaps the best person I know—help me.
“This is a mistake,” Amira mutters.
“I can start training you tomorrow,” Juhi tells me. “You’re a magus, Gul, and it’s about time you learned to use the power lying dormant in you. Don’t you agree?”
I try to look calm and confident, but from the twinkle in Juhi’s eyes and the surly look on Amira’s face, I can see I’ve failed. I’m much too excited.
“I agree,” I say.
9GUL
Mornings for novices are dedicated to stretching and exercises for Yudhnatam. Initially, because of my small size and general agility, Juhi thought I would be good at the martial art’s intricate spins and kicks and the high jumps needed to perform said kicks. That she was wrong is an understatement. I grimace, not looking forward to facing the gray-haired Yudhnatam mistress’s shouts this morning. Having seen
