Water shaped into a four-headed sea serpent.
Protect. It disappears into mist.
Fire again, this time with the face of a man: King Lohar.
Anger twists my gut. My hands shake. “Do it! Destroy him!” Amira shouts.
But when I raise my hands, my shield fractures. I scream as steam sizzles my skin, but I continue to stab at the air with my dagger until Amira finally sends a blow my way, knocking me to the ground.
“We’ll stop here tonight,” she says.
Panting, I slowly rise to my feet.
“So you do have something in you. Let’s see if it remains consistent.” She points at my face. “And clean that up.”
I touch my nose and lips; blood coats my fingers. The surprise that overcame Amira’s face when I raised my shield for the first time has been replaced once more by the all-too-familiar contempt.
“Be prepared tomorrow. There will be no room for error.”
The next morning, after being yelled at by Cook again for not adding enough salt to the lotus sabzi, I see a familiar figure instructing a pair of sparring novices in the courtyard.
“Kali!”
Kali looks up at my shout and grins. She says something else to the girls before ambling my way. As she comes closer, I notice the thick bandage wrapped around her bare waist, under the blouse of her training sari. The smell surrounding her is astringent and bitter.
“Are you all right? What happened? Where’s Juhi? Amira didn’t say—”
“The sky goddess has been kind,” Kali says. Despite her pallor, Kali’s gray eyes are bright and keen when they scan my appearance. “You’ve done magic, haven’t you?”
“Wha—? How did you know that?”
“Amira told me.”
“Oh.”
“Your training’s not going too well, I take it?”
“I hate her.” The words float like poison in the air, and for a second, I worry if I’ve overstepped an invisible line.
Kali laughs and then winces, clutching her bandage. “Don’t worry. I would hate Amira, too, if she were training me. She’s absolutely terrible at it.”
“Why her, then? Why not Juhi? Or you? What happened to you? And don’t tell me it was nothing!”
Kali sighs. “Why don’t we talk later tonight? After your lesson?”
“Swear on the Sisterhood, you will?”
“Gul, I can’t—”
“Please! If I am to tolerate six more weeks of Amira, I need to know!”
“Kali!” a voice shouts across the courtyard. “Are you coming?”
She hesitates, but only for a brief moment. “I swear. Tonight. In the courtyard.”
Life while shackled to the house turns into a monotony of chores. Eventually there comes a time when I have nothing to do—not even Cook to exchange insults with. I wander to the training room and pause before a sack of rice lying in the corner. The seaglass daggers I use during training have been locked in the armory again, but Amira’s sangemarmar-tipped spear is still here. She must have forgotten about it. With a quick glance at the door, I pick it up and take aim.
Attack, I think. I try the same trick I used when producing a shield the day before and recall the memory I had about my mother. Nothing happens. I try over and over again, aiming for the same feeling of calm that fell over me, but instead, I grow frustrated as more time passes and the sack remains as is. As a last resort, I try the only spell I’ve truly mastered—the shield spell—but all it does is throw me back with such force that I hit the wall of the room, my bones rattling.
Useless. Amira’s most recent taunt burns under my skin. No better than a non-magus.
The words remind me of Cavas from the moon festival—a boy with aging brown eyes on a still-young face. A heat that has nothing to do with the stuffy room rises to my cheeks. I do not normally think of Cavas when I’m awake. It’s only during the night when he sneaks into my thoughts. Once, during a nightmare I was having about my parents, he slipped his hand into mine, holding it tight. There are other dreams, too. Dreams where I relive our kiss at the festival. Where he does a lot more than simply curl a hand around my waist. But in my nightmare, we didn’t kiss. He just stayed with me, holding my hand until everything—including the sneering Sky Warrior—faded into blessed black.
“Gul!” Cook’s gravelly voice echoes in the corridor. “Arri O Gul! Where is that cursed girl?”
Sighing, I lower the spear, carefully placing it exactly where I found it.
“Don’t worry, Cook,” I say under my breath. “This cursed girl isn’t going anywhere.”
Tonight, I fail three times in a row before my shield shatters the phantom King Lohar.
“That will do for now,” Amira says. “At least you’ve stopped with the nosebleeds. Let’s see if you can generate any attacking spells. Use your daggers to protect yourself. I’ll give you a moment to think and strategize.”
How? I want to ask but don’t. I have no intention of getting shocked through my shackles again. Goddess knows it has been the longest time I’ve worn them. Instead, with gritted teeth, I try to think of the ways the other Sisters—including Amira—fight during practice battles.
“All right. Get ready.”
Despite her curt words, Amira is being a lot nicer to me than usual, giving me advance warnings and time to think and prepare. It makes me uneasy, and I wonder if this lesson is going to go even worse than usual.
Fire erupts from Amira’s hands. I instantly raise a shield, expecting the flames to shoot back at her. They push even harder at my magical barrier, so much so that my hands begin to shake.
“There will come a time when you will encounter someone with more power than your shield is capable of handling.” Amira’s voice, though loud, reveals no strain. “You must, in that case, attack the way I instructed in the first place.”
“I would if I knew what to do!” I shout.
It’s a bad idea. The energy expended in talking makes my shield collapse, forcing Amira to put
