A Spark of White Fire

  All my dreams, all my hopes, they’re all here. Holding a breath. Waiting.

  Not yet, Esmae. Just a little longer.

  King Darshan clears his throat. The princes turn away from each other and face him. “If we are all ready,” says the king, “I will explain the rules of the competition.”

  He approaches the golden bowl on the floor. At the far side of the hall, I can see a tech screen showing what everyone outside this room is seeing right now. Multiple videotechs record the competition from different angles; one of them follows the king.

  “The task is not an easy one, but that seems only fair for a prize such as this. You will each receive a single arrow. You will lift this bow and string it, then you will fire the arrow directly above you at the mechanical fish.” A small smile flickers over his face. A videotech zooms closer to the fish’s eye and everyone can see the eye is about the size of a cherry. “I would like it if the winner skewers the fish through the eye, but I’ll settle for whoever gets closest.”

  There’s some relieved laughter in the crowd and among the competitors, but the king isn’t finished.

  “The fish will not be still,” he warns. He claps his hands and the fish whirs to life, spinning faster and faster until it is almost a blur.

  The king waits a moment to let this new fact sink in before continuing. “You will not be allowed to look at the fish when you fire the arrow.” He points to the water in the golden bowl at his feet. “You may only look down, at its reflection in the water.”

  The room is silent, and then a ripple of hushed whispers and anxious voices moves across the competitors.

  I watch Alexi. I see his hand grip the strap of his own bow. I see the grace and assurance with which he moves, like he’s never doubted his place in the world for even an instant. I see his eyes grow wide as he realizes how easy this competition will be for him.

  He looks left. I follow his gaze to a big, strong, stocky boy. My breath catches as I recognize him: Alexi’s brother. He’s sixteen years old, his hair short, flopping over his forehead, his nose crooked from having been broken twice. His real name is Abra, but he’s known to everyone as Bear because of the sheer force with which he fights.

  A wordless glance passes between the brothers, and I see hope glimmer in their faces. Kali is so close that they can almost reach out and touch it. When they win Titania, they will surely, surely, win the war. And when they win the war, they can go home.

  “Princess Shay.” King Darshan’s voice pulls my attention back. “As the youngest competitor, you may go first.”

  The ruler of Skylark, just sixteen years old, looks like she would rather be in just about any other position, but she’s no coward, and she walks bravely to the heart of the room. She struggles to lift and string the bow, then readies the arrow, angles the bow up while craning her neck to look into the water, and fires.

  The arrow misses the fish by just a few inches. The crowd cheers. Princess Shay returns to her place with a cheerful shrug and grin.

  It’s a long competition and the guests divide their attention between the sport and the succulent refreshments laid out on a banquet table in the corner. Some of my favorite Wych specialties are on the table—skewers of roast lamb and plum pie and spiced wine—but my eyes never leave the competition.

  Second to compete is proud King Ralf of Winter, who is missing an arm and refused long ago to be fitted with a prosthesis. He uses his teeth to pluck the bowstring, and he, too, misses the fish. Then comes a sharp-eyed woman who serves as champion to old Queen Miyo of Tamini. Her arrow hits the fish with a satisfying thunk, but a close-up from the videotech shows it only caught the very edge of the tail.

  On and on it goes. Two of the competitors can’t string the bow, let alone fire the arrow, but King Darshan makes sure to applaud their efforts anyway. The most talented archers only just about hit the fish. No one comes close to the eye, never mind piercing it.

  As the competition nears its close, only the two princes of Kali have yet to take their turns. This order was obviously not an accident.

  Prince Max is asked to go first.

  I watch him. His face is set, pale, utterly stony. There’s no emotion to be read there. I look harder, though, and see it in the set of his shoulders and the tiny twitch in his jaw.

  Terror.

  Dread.

  He can see the end coming, and can do nothing to stop it.

  He strings the bow with ease and lifts it without any trouble. He nocks the arrow.

  “So you came,” a voice says quietly beside me.

  I startle, then glance to my left. An ordinary old woman stands next to me. I’m sure she wasn’t there two minutes ago. Her eyes give her away—Amba, disguised in another form.

  “You knew I’d come.”

  “Yes,” she says, and then moves away. She slips across the crowd until she’s close to the front, watching intently.

  That’s when I notice. Lots of them are here. Dotted around the crowd, hiding in plain sight, watching the competition with their giveaway eyes. Gods. Goddesses.

  Prince Max sees them, too. I see his gaze flicker right, see him take in their different faces and recognize them for what they are. He has met gods, then, if he knows what to look for. I wonder if some of them are on his side.

  He turns his gaze back to the water in the golden bowl, points the arrow up, and fires.

  His arrow hits the tail of the fish.

  I knew his odds of winning were slim, but there was always a chance he had unseen skill, and my heart lifts with relief to see that he doesn’t. He’s good, but you have to be more than good to win this competition.

  Finally, it’s Alexi’s turn. He walks forward confidently and lifts and strings the bow without effort. His movements are quick, deft, almost beautiful. His skills at warfare have always been glorious to watch.

  He looks into the water and aims the arrow. Considers his position. Readjusts. And fires.

  The arrow hits the fish with a thunk.

  Alexi frowns. A thunk means the arrow didn’t skewer the fish. I hold my breath.

  As the mechanism slows and the fish goes still, the videotech zooms in to show that the arrow hit the fish right beside the eye, missing by a hair.

  Alexi’s face lights up. The crowd bursts into cheers. Alexi gives them a quick, shy grin. He bows to King Darshan, who manages to restrain his obvious glee, and returns to his place with the other competitors. His brother whoops. General Saka’s eyes gleam with triumph.

  There’s noise and joy all around me. A servant unstrings the bow and puts it back down beside the bowl of water. She starts to collect the arrows. The fish returns to its default setting and begins to spin again. King Darshan rises to his feet to officially end the competition and announce the clear winner.

  This is it. This is my chance to do what I came here for.

  I faltered once today. I cannot falter again.

  The time has come to step out of the shadows.

  Watch, I silently tell them all. Watch, and I’ll show you what I really am.

  I cross the hall. Blood pounds in my ears, drowning out every other sound. No one notices me. No one tries to stop me. No one cares about the girl in the servant’s dress.

  A pawn.

  Unimportant.

  Irrelevant.

  The bow is difficult to lift, but I force it onto its point and string it. I pick up a spare arrow.

  Now they care. I can’t hear it, but I see it. The faces shift as they turn back, filling with confusion, surprise. There’s a ripple of laughter. I must look ridiculous.

  I nock the arrow.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see King Darshan staring at me in confusion. He raises a hand to summon a servant, but I see Rama place his own hand on his father’s arm. Rama looks as stunned as anyone else, but he stops his father, making him give me a chance.

  I see Alexi, caught in the middle of a celebration, his smile fading as he watches me. Our eyes meet for the first time in ou
r lives. My throat closes up and I look away before I break down.

  Years ago, Rickard flew to Wychstar on a short trip. On his third day here, a cold and bitter one, he went to the markets to look for a gift for his grandson. That was where I found him. I was nine years old. I asked if he would take me on as a student.

  He told me once that he saw a small, shy, lonely child and deeply regretted that he had to disappoint her. “I’m sorry,” he said gently, “I can’t teach you.”

  “Please. I need this. It’s the only way my family will ever take me back.”

  “I once made a vow—”

  “I know,” I said.

  He frowned. I looked back at him. Hard, unflinching, determined to show him what I really was. And slowly, like the sun lamps brightening at dawn, understanding crept into his face.

  “Your vow is the reason you can teach me,” I said.

  And so he did.

  Today, I look into the golden bowl and see the reflection of the spinning fish above me. Every movement is familiar, like an old friend. This was a favorite exercise of his, one we did together a hundred times. He demanded excellence and I delivered.

  I look past the ripples, past the tiny movements that are reflection only, cutting all the way to the whirl of the fish itself. Searching for its eye.

  I glance one last time into the crowd. At Amba. Her ancient eyes are full of untold catastrophes. Don’t do it, they say.

  “Then stop me,” I whisper.

  She doesn’t.

  I leave the lonely dark of the shadows. I am in the light. Bow in hand. A pawn in a Warlords game.

  Do you know what happens when a pawn gets all the way across the board?

  She becomes a queen.

  I point the arrow.

  I fire.

  And I skewer the fish right through the eye.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When I was six years old, Amba visited me for the very first time. I was on the steps outside the children’s sanctuary that day, nose in a book as always, scarcely even aware of the heat of the artificial sun beating down on me. Madam Li came out to find me, surprise and confusion all over her face. She was with a stern, beautiful woman.

  “Esmae, this is the goddess Amba,” she said, looking like she couldn’t quite believe those words had come out of her own mouth. “She has asked to speak with you.”

  Madam Li is not a tender woman. She has a good heart, but she’s also worn out and has no time for affection. In spite of this, I found myself grabbing hold of her skirts because I didn’t want to be left alone with the strange visitor.

  Madam Li extracted herself and went back inside, assuring me that I had nothing to be afraid of. I’m not sure she believed that, but she hadn’t the nerve to question a goddess.

  Amba eyed my book. It was a folktale, I remember that. A story about a queen who was cruelly betrayed and swore she would not wash her hair again until she could bathe it in her enemies’ blood. “A little grim for a child, don’t you think?” Amba had said.

  I clutched the book closer. “This was the only book on Madam Li’s desk this week.”

  “Do you like to read?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  This seemed a very foolish question. “Why not?”

  Her mouth twitched ever so slightly. Then she said, “Your father is dead.”

  “I don’t understand. I don’t have a father.”

  “You did. He died today. It was quite unexpected and his death will have repercussions. I want to prepare you for your inevitable reunion with the rest of your family.”

  “I have a family?” I said, amazed.

  “Yes.” And she told me the story of how I ended up on Wychstar. The story of a cursed mother and a tragic sacrifice and how she, a goddess, brought me here herself to keep me safe.

  After she finished her story, she held out her hand and opened it. On her palm lay a deep blue petal, as luminous and perfect as a star. It was so beautiful I could only stare.

  “The petal of a blueflower,” Amba told me. “Your mother gave this to you when she handed you to me. I took it so that no one else would, but it’s time you had it back.”

  She closed her hand and whispered a blessing under her breath, and when she opened it again, the petal was gone. In its place was a jewel, just as blue and luminous, shaped like the petal had been. The stern cast of her face softened into a small smile. She pinned the jewel in my hair.

  “Keep it close,” she said. “As long as you do, no one can hurt you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “As long as you possess the blueflower jewel, you will be invulnerable to harm. Any wound you receive will heal immediately. Consider it my gift to you, a small consolation for the sorrow you will know.”

  I didn’t quite believe her until the day I slipped and fell flat on my face. By the time I got back to my feet, the pain had stopped. I noticed blood on the floor, but no trace of where it had come from. There wasn’t a scratch on me.

  It was a wondrous gift, but Amba’s words made it as bitter as it was sweet. Small consolation for the sorrow you will know, she’d said, and she had spoken only the truth. It was consolation and it was small; her gift couldn’t keep me safe from the deeper wounds of sadness, fear, or loneliness. I kept the blueflower jewel close almost every moment of my life, but its power couldn’t make me feel invincible. I have never felt invincible.

  Never.

  Until now.

  When the fish slows to a stop and the videotech focuses on the arrow skewering its eye, I feel like I cannot be touched, I cannot be torn down. I feel like nothing and no one in the whole wide galaxy will ever hurt me again.

  In the uproar that follows, I seek out certain faces. Like statues, they seem frozen in the chaos: Rama, gobsmacked; Amba with her eyes made of calamity; the thief-prince, wide-eyed with wonder; King Darshan, utterly aghast, but trying valiantly to hide it.

  And Alexi. Everything else fades into nothing as I look into his face and he looks into mine. He’s white as a sheet.

  Then they all unfreeze, Amba and the other gods vanish into thin air, and the king opens his mouth to speak. “Let us have some order and decorum in the Hall,” he says, but his voice is almost lost in the mayhem. “I must ask for your patience while I look into this unexpected development.”

  “Who is she?” someone shouts.

  “She’s a servant!” someone else says. The word, itself, doesn’t bother me, but the sneering tone cuts deep.

  “How dare a servant presume to compete against the likes of royals?”

  “Silence!” roars the king, and the crowd goes quiet at last. “We will resolve this matter.” His eyes settle on me again, his gaze stern and impassive. “Esmae, follow Prince Rama.”

  I quietly do as I’m told. Rama keeps making what-the-actual-hell-is-going-on-Esmae? faces at me, but two of the royal bodyguards have come with us and that makes him uncharacteristically circumspect. I reach out a hand to touch his, but one of the bodyguards shakes his head and I drop it back to my side. It’s their job to be careful, but it still hurts. Despite having been Rama’s friend, alone with him countless times over the past eleven years, they now think I could be a threat.

  The lush, airy suite Rama takes me to is in the king’s public quarters, the place where he holds private meetings with staff and guests. There’s a long table and several chairs by the window.

  “Feel free to sit,” Rama says to all three of us, the first words he’s said out loud since the competition ended.

  The bodyguards decline, taking up positions in opposite corners. I sit reluctantly in a chair halfway down one side of the table. Rama sits next to me. He reaches under the table and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back as hard as I can.

  “How?” he asks quietly.

  Before I can answer, the door opens again. Rama and I rise as King Darshan enters accompanied by his daughter Radha. I assume he left Crown Prince Rodi to soothe the crowds while he deals with me. Ale
xi, Bear, General Saka, and Max Rey come in after him.

  “Why is he here?” Rama asks in his usual lazy drawl, pointing at Prince Max. There’s an undercurrent of scorn in his voice. No one likes the thief prince.

  “Prince Max is here because he insisted,” King Darshan says curtly.

  Of course he insisted. He knows his kingdom is at stake. I’m glad he’s here. I had hoped he would be.

  The king takes his place at the head of the table and gestures for the rest of us to be seated. Princess Radha is on my other side; she gives me a sweet, reassuring smile. We were both very shy children and never had a chance to become real friends, but we’ve known each other most of our lives and I’m glad to have a friendly face beside me.

  Alexi and Bear take seats opposite us. Bear doesn’t even try to conceal his shock and resentment, but Alexi won’t look at me at all. I give Bear a small smile, earning a scowl in return. I can’t really blame him.

  I dare a look at General Saka. She sits straight and dangerously still beside them. She meets my eyes, her own hard and cold as glass.

  Prince Max considers each side of the table before wisely realizing he isn’t welcome on either, and settles at the foot, opposite the king. I can feel him watching me, but he’s much less obvious about it than the others. I can’t tell what’s behind the quiet surface of his dark eyes.

  “There is no need to stand on ceremony in this room,” says King Darshan. “In the interest of keeping this quick, you may all speak freely.”

  “Thank you—” Alexi starts.

  “What this girl has done means nothing,” General Saka cuts in, swift as a blade. She gives Alexi an apologetic glance for interrupting him, but continues. “Prince Alexi won the competition and won Titania. She was not on the list of competitors, she is neither royal nor a champion, and the competition had ended by the time she stepped onto the stage. Her attempt at the fish must, therefore, be automatically disqualified.”

  “Her successful attempt at the fish,” says Prince Max with the faintest glimmer of a smile. I’m sure he’s petty enough to be delighted that the world witnessed Alexi Rey lose. It’s infuriating, but Max’s delight is also exactly what I want.