“The human mind is complex,” Kali says, a thoughtful look on her face. “Every magus wields power differently. It’s why Amira’s instructions may seem useless to you. Amira feels most powerful when she rids herself of emotion and turns her mind to a blank slate. You, on the other hand, seem to get power from tapping into your emotions and into memories that make you feel safe.”
I sigh. “I wish I knew what memory I need to do an attacking spell.”
“You’ll figure it out.” Kali speaks with such confidence that even I believe her for a moment. “I have faith in you.”
“Thanks.”
For now, Kali’s faith is all I have.
Later that night, as I’m falling asleep on my cot, a candle lights up the doorway to our shared dormitory.
“Where were you?” a voice whispers.
“Out in the fields with the farmer’s boy,” another voice says, giggling. In the dim light, I make out two figures: Urvashi and Prerna, a pair of novices I hardly ever speak to even though we share sleeping quarters.
“Amira nearly caught me sneaking in,” Prerna whispers. “Can you imagine my punishment? I’d end up smelling of manure like our dear Gul. No boy would ever want to touch me again!”
“Amira is such a witch.” Urvashi’s voice, though soft, is far more carrying than Prerna’s in the silence. “I wonder why Juhi keeps her around. Especially after what happened in Havanpur.”
My ears, already alert upon hearing my name, sharpen even further.
“What happened in Havanpur?” Prerna echoes the question in my head.
A smile appears on Urvashi, equal parts beautiful and cruel, before she whispers the secret out loud.
DEATH MAGIC
23rd day of the Month of Drought
Year 22 of King Lohar’s reign
11GUL
“Ready?” Amira asks.
We’re seven weeks into training, and my shield spell is now strong enough to repel most of the magic Amira sends my way. But I still haven’t been able to retaliate with an attack of my own. Now, with only seven days left before my test, both of our tempers are on edge, Amira’s tongue lashing out more and more like a serrated knife.
“Yes,” I barely have time to say before Amira sends the first attack my way. Shield raised, I begin to concentrate. You have magic in you, Gul. You can do this.
Instead of focusing on anger or fear or any other emotion, I dig deep, looking for a memory that made me feel safe as a child. I remember Papa reading me a bedtime story and focus on that. A feeling similar to the calm I felt while producing the shield rises: like sun-baked earth, like a roti fluffing on the fire. Attack, I think, over and over, until the word becomes a mantra evoked by a priest at a temple. The tip of my seaglass dagger glows red, releases hot sparks into the air. I frown. The spell wasn’t strong enough. But why?
It’s the memory, a voice in my head says. It needs to be stronger.
“More!” Amira shouts. “You need more! Concentrate!”
I try. I search for other memories; surely, I have more. But it’s hard to think of happy things with Amira sending spell after spell my way, her shouts hammering the inside of my skull. My birthmark begins to burn. Sting. A trail of wet slides down my nostril and onto my lips. Blood. My head feels like a pair of tongs have been clamped around it, but I push.
Past the fear.
Past the anger.
Past the pain.
From where only sparks had emerged, now there is fire, a straight streak of green flame, which bursts from my daggers and hits Amira’s shield … before rebounding, forcing me to jump out of the way.
“Come on! Focus, princess!”
“I am focusing! Didn’t you see what I—”
She shoots a stream of arrows at me next that, instead of shielding, I roll away from.
“Pathetic,” Amira spits out. “Do you think you’re being amusing? That you’ll find magic like a swarna lying on the floor?”
Rage, building slowly ever since the lesson started tonight, perhaps ever since Amira and I first met, bursts out of me: “At least I didn’t whore myself out in Havanpur for a few coins!”
A blast, sharper than ice, hotter than flame, throws me back against the wall of the training room, disorienting me so badly I can barely stand. Amira’s face is ashen, sweat matting strands of long hair to her brow. She wipes them away before rising to her feet.
“What did you say?”
My mouth tastes of blood. I don’t dare spit it out. “I know about Havanpur. I know what you did there.”
Amira stares at me for a long moment. Her eyes grow glassy. She drops her own weapon to the floor with a clatter. “Our training ends here.”
For a long time, I sit there on the dirt floor, staring at the space she once occupied. I don’t know why, instead of feeling satisfied, I feel sick. Like I’ve done something irreparably wrong.
I can’t bear to go back to my dormitory. Instead, I sit on the stairs leading into the courtyard, my shoulders sagging, my head still hurting from the force of Amira’s retaliation. Moments later, a figure approaches, settles down next to me. I smell the amla Juhi oils her hair with. If not for what just happened, I would be overjoyed to see her.
“Amira told me she won’t be training you anymore,” Juhi says quietly. “And she won’t say why. Will you?”
I’m tempted to say nothing. But one look at Juhi’s sympathetic face and everything comes pouring out—the training session tonight, Amira’s taunts, and what I said in return. There’s a long silence. I wait for Juhi to slap me or render a worse punishment than what I already have. She doesn’t.
“When I first saw Amira, she was in
