Chapter Text
"Children born of war will always wander," Amhran's mother had told her once. "My generation were the fighters, the ones to earn scars and haunted looks. You will be the ones to inherit these, not quite understanding where they come from, searching through your past and future to find an answer to the emptiness in your parents' eyes. You are caught between war and peace, every muscle in your body tensed always to fight, with nowhere for that fight to go. We saw horrors, yes, but it is your generation I pity the most. You have been born looking over your shoulders for an enemy that will never appear."
And Amhran knew it was true, because her mother was never wrong.
Fara Magali had been born with withered moons where her eyes should have been. She was one of the most powerful zowa in Novyi Zem, reaching out to sense the building blocks of the small science with her intuition rather than her sight, often blurring the line between the orders in a way few had ever done before. When she spoke, it was with the certainty of the making at the heart of the world. Even before Amhran was conceived, Fara had predicted that she would give birth to a small, wily, strong-willed daughter. She liked to tell Amhran how she knew from the time she was a child, in the days before the war, that someday she would come to marry a man with golden eyes and loving hands. Amhran bore those eyes from her father as surely as Fara had predicted, and she often wondered, gazing at herself in the mirror, what her father would have looked like if he had grown old. Her mother looked much the same as she always had: high cheekbones, glossy brown skin, that intricate mass of twists adorning her head like a crown. Fara was zowa, blessed. She didn't age the way most people did, and yet she seemed from the start to have been ancient, magic itself trapped in a human body. Amhran had always felt like a speck of dust in comparison. She was what the Ravkans called otkazat'sya, abandoned, those born without the power to speak to the earth, and though she knew her mother loved her, she could never understand why. Amhran had nothing to offer her. She had no skills, no power; she could not make her proud. She served as a constant reminder of the great love Fara had lost, the deserting Shu soldier who had captured her heart so completely. And yet, when she wasn't away using her powers for the greater good, Fara spent every waking moment with her daughter. She taught her to fight, to shoot, to ride. She showed her which plants could be made into poisons and medicines, which chemicals could be mixed to create explosions. In truth, Amhran remembered very little of her teachings. She only remembered the soothing cadence of her mother's voice, firm and yet soft, polished by war, as was everything about her. Fara taught her daughter all she knew because she never wanted to see herself in her— a naive, inexperienced girl, caught up in tragedy with no way to fight or protect herself, nothing to do but run. Amhran knew it was the biggest regret of her mother's life that she hadn't learned to hone her powers sooner, hadn't been able to save her parents or her sisters. In the end, only she had been left. That was when Fara had vowed to herself that the small science would become her weapon— and if not that, then her own fists. She would never be powerless again, and she would certainly never allow her daughter to be.
Sometimes, in the dark, after the miracles of the day had been performed and the stories of the past told, Amhran would lie awake imagining war. In comparison to the great conflict between Novyi Zem, Ravka, Fjerda, Kerch, and Shu Han, the past twenty years had been an era of peace. So what could have happened to make her mother stiffen every time a cabinet closed too loudly, memories dancing in her pearly eyes? Nothing terrified and fascinated her more than the prospect of war. Amhran was greedy for stories of the Saints who had served as something like friends to her in her lonelier days— Saints who always seemed to rise from chaos, from darkness and bloodshed, to shine their light. She wondered if it was even possible for such wonder to exist without horror to contrast it. Sometimes she even envied Fara, for interspersed with her tales of grief were times that seemed to glow with joy, brief respites from reality made all the more precious by how desperately they were needed. By the time she was three years old, Amhran was convinced that she would never know love like that of Nikolai Lantsov and Queen Zoya the Stormwitch, would never have a friendship as deep as the bonds that had tied Sankta Alina and Genya Safin. Everything had its price— sight for power, dark for light, a mother's time for a mother's love— and this was no exception. Amhran had yet to pay her dues.
Then two things happened. First, Amhran's father disappeared without a trace, plunging her mother into a deep depression from which she emerged gilded in steel. After that, Fara's lessons grew from playful guidance to strict, fierce training, so that Amhran hardly had time to be a child, much less grieve the loss of her father. Even now, she remembered him only in snatches— a handsome, smiling face, a pair of strong arms tossing her into the air— and remembered her mother's softness as a dream. In less than a year, it seemed incredible they had ever lived that way, happy and whole, believing they were safe. By the time a family moved onto the long-empty plot next to theirs, Amhran had all but forgotten what a family was supposed to be.
But the Rietvelds reminded her. She was five years old when they came bearing little but a wagon and the clothes on their backs, a curly-haired boy Amhran's age scurrying around their feet. The mother was slight and beautiful, hair hanging down her back in a long black braid, moving with a silent grace that made her look like a shadow. The father was tall, dark hair streaked with grey, a look etched into the lines of his face that made Amhran very careful not to cross him. Those lines cleared when his son came into view. That first day, Amhran watched as the visage of this seemingly impenetrable man split open in a beautiful smile, reaching down to lift the boy onto his shoulders, then slipping his hand into his wife's. They seemed so happy all together. Amhran's heart crushed into a tiny, painful ball, then inflated again with a gasp of envy. When was the last time her mother had smiled at her like that? Laid a hand on her arm gently as this mother was doing now? At that moment, Fara was away, treating an outbreak of fever in a neighboring town. She was always away— if not in body, then in spirit. Amhran felt a painful urge to run to the slender mother hugging her son, to clasp her hand and beg her to be hugged, too. Instead, she slipped closer, behind a tall oak, and watched as the family surveyed the house.
"Is this what you had in mind?" the father was asking, his voice like grated gravel. The mother had hoisted the little boy onto her hip, and she nodded, brimming eyes never leaving the house.
"It's perfect," Amhran heard her say.
"As good as the ship?"
"That's a pretty tough bar to raise." The woman turned to her son, smiling, though tears still glinted in her eyes. "What do you think, Jordie? You like all this room?"
The little boy nodded, curly hair bobbing. He had the same dark skin as his mother, his father's bitter-coffee eyes. What of Amhran had come from her father? She found she couldn't remember.
"Take him on inside," the woman told her husband. "I'll unhitch the horses."
The man nodded, lifting the boy from her arms. He seemed to have fallen half-asleep. Amhran didn't miss the look that passed between them— a soft, impossibly heavy look, the culmination of years of shared joy and grief. For the rest of her life, she would remember that moment, referring back to it as a blueprint of what love was supposed to be. She was still turning it over in her mind, the pain and the joy, the power of it all, when she realized the woman was not heading anywhere near the horses.
The oak was the lone tree in a barren field. There was nowhere for Amhran to run as she approached, and the woman seemed to know this, taking her time, a look of complete ease on her face. "You can come out," she said when she reached the tree, but there was no accusation in her voice. It was as if she and Amhran had been playing a game of hide-and-seek, and the woman had only found her.
Slowly, she stepped out into the open. The woman was even more beautiful up close, her eyes glinting golden in the sun as she knelt before Amhran. "You did a good job of hiding," she said. "I might not have noticed you if I wasn't a master of it myself."
"How did you notice me?" Amhran managed. The woman nodded her head.
"Look behind you."
Sure enough, there it was, stretching out from behind the safety of the tree: her shadow. Amhran cursed herself for having overlooked it, but the woman only smiled.
"How old are you, little one?"
"Five and a half."
"And a half. Well, my boy doesn't have the prestige of a half, but he's at least got the five. You should meet him sometime."
"Jordie," Amhran said. The woman nodded.
"I'm Inej," she said, holding out her hand. When she shook it, it was warm and rough, calloused from years of hard work and weather. "My husband's name is Kaz. And you are?"
"Amhran."
"Nice to meet you, Amhran." She glanced back at the house. "Listen, we're still unpacking here, but I think you should visit us sometime. Say, day after next?"
And she had. Her mother at work purifying the tainted well of a neighbor, Amhran had snuck off across the field and knocked on the beautiful family's door with a bouquet of daisies clutched in her hand. Her mother had never cared much for flowers, but she'd always longed for someone to give them to. The man— Kaz— had answered, leaning on a heavy cane tipped with the head of a crow. For a moment, his hand had tightened around it as his eyes swept the area outside, entire body tensing the same way Fara's did when something set her on edge. Then he looked down, saw Amhran standing on the step, and relaxed slightly.
"Inej said you'd be coming," he said, turning to limp into the house but leaving the door open behind him. Amhran supposed that was an invitation. She followed him into the empty front room, floorboards honey-colored in the sun, then beyond it to a kitchen with a little round table covered in an embroidered cloth. Kaz gestured for her to sit down as if inviting an old acquaintance over for brandy, then turned to fill a tin kettle with water. "Inej should be back shortly. She and Jordie are out... scouting."
"Scouting?" asked Amhran distractedly. Her little fingers traced the embroidery on the tablecloth, lush green leaves and golden suns, ships tossing on a restless sea, snow-laden branches and cobblestone streets. It seemed the whole world had been sewn onto this scrap of creamy cloth. Kaz finished with kettle and turned around, fingers tapping the head of his cane impatiently.
"For places to dig. Jordie has decided there's treasure around here somewhere."
"There is?" Amhran asked, eyes wide. Kaz only shrugged.
"How should I know? I didn't bury any."
"Are you sure?" She looked around at the piles of open boxes, at the items strewn about the floor. In one corner, she spotted a ship in a bottle, strangely similar to the one on the tablecloth. In another, poking out of a wooden box, she saw the steering wheel of a ship. "It looks like you were a captain."
If Amhran hadn't had so much practice gleaning the barest hints of smiles, she might not have noticed the one that played across Kaz's lips at that moment. "Not me," he said. "My wife."
"Well, don't captains find gold all the time?"
The hard man's eyes were strangely soft. "There are things more important than gold."
Like flowers, Amhran thought sagely. She thrust the withered bouquet at Kaz, and he cocked his head to one side, as if she'd held out the carcass of some not quite revolting but not particularly interesting insect. After a moment, he took them from her, pinching the daisies carefully at the stem so their hands didn't brush, and deposited them in a teacup not at all suited to that purpose. When he looked back at her, it was with narrowed eyes, as if daring her to criticize his flower arrangement methods. Amhran felt she should give some sort of encouragement, let him know he'd done alright.
"Good job," she said.
Kaz's eyebrows shot up.
That was when the back door swung open, and two dirty, grinning figures traipsed into the house. Again, Amhran felt that pain, that twinge of envy. Inej's arm was raised in triumph, clutching a glass bottle covered in dirt. "Looks like your boy was right about treasure. You owe me five kruge, Dirtyhands."
Kaz smiled. "I'll add it to the tally." Then he seemed to remember himself, closing up once more as he gestured to Amhran. "It seems we have a visitor."
"Well, hello, little one." Inej didn't seem at all surprised to see her. She clasped her son's hand in her own, pulling him forward to meet the new guest. "Jordie, this is Amhran. She's your age. I think you could be good friends, don't you?"
I'm not his age, Amhran thought bitterly. I'm five and a half. But Jordie just flashed the sweet, dimpled smile that was all his own, a product of neither mother nor father, but his own interminably sunny disposition. "Do you want to be friends?" he said. "I do if you do."
No, Amhran didn't want to be friends. She'd grown up all her life out here, all alone on this endless prairie, enduring the kind of loneliness this boy could never fathom. There was nothing to him— all easy smile and untorn skin, none of the hardship her mother had taught her strengthened the body and spirit. Amhran's friends were her Saints; her constant companion was her shadow, although it sometimes betrayed her. She didn't need anyone else. It was dangerous to need anyone else.
But she wanted so badly for Inej to think well of her. "Come on," she said, forcing a smile as she headed toward the door. "Let's go find more treasure." Jordie had followed her like a puppy, diving with reckless joy into the fields as Amhran's feet pounded the ground with purpose.
Thirteen years later, he was following her still.
* * *
Amhran woke to the sound of rocks tossed at her window. It was a familiar rhythm, the steady tapping followed by a lull as Jordie stooped to gather more stones. It was a good thing her room was on the second story, she thought. Otherwise, he'd have climbed right in. As it was, Amhran endured several minutes of groaning and pulling her pillow over her ears before crossing to the window and flinging open the shutters, just in time for a pebble to hit her in the face.
"Ow!" She scowled, rubbing her cheek where a red welt was forming. "What the hell, Jordie?"
"Sorry," he said sheepishly, that accursed grin still fixed to his face. He'd grown up tall and lean like his father, but his eyes, his nose, the tilt of his mouth— that was all Inej. "Are you coming down, or not?"
"Why the hell would I come down? You just threw a rock at me."
"Technically, it wasn't at you. It was at your window. You just happened to be in the way."
Amhran started to close the shutters, but Jordie jumped up and down and waved his arms, which was a compelling enough argument just to get him to stop doing it. "What do you want," she muttered, eyes closed, forehead resting against the window frame. "I was sleeping."
"And now you're not. Funny how that works." Jordie reached into his pocket and pulled out a parcel wrapped in cloth. "Listen, if it's any consolation, I brought you some of that cake you like. It's a little crumbly, but still good."
Amhran felt a pang in her chest, watching Jordie hold up the peace offering. He could be so damnably sweet sometimes, so thick-headed the very next moment. Sometimes she wanted to punch him. Sometimes she wanted to throw her arms around him and beg him never to change. Today, as with most days, it was a little bit of both. "Fine. But you'd better not pick at it before I can get there."
"Promise," said Jordie, with a smile that told her by the time she got dressed, half the frosting would already be gone.
Amhran still had no idea where he'd gotten his personality. Both his parents were quiet, reserved; it was one of the things she liked best about them. Jordie, on the other hand, was a firefly in a jar— beeping, buzzing, constantly in motion, never seeming to be fazed no matter how many times he plinked against the glass. She supposed she should admire him for it. Most other people certainly did. Everywhere they went it was "Look at that Rietveld boy, so handsome, so polite." Amhran grimaced, pulling her nightshirt over her head and replacing it with a cotton tunic. It was true, of course. Jordie was quiet possibly the nicest boy in Novyi Zem. But he didn't have to be so damned nice about it.
"She lives!" Jordie cried, throwing his arms up in the air as Amhran closed the door behind her. She held her hands up, palms out— Yes, yes, no press, please— then reached for the parcel Jordie held out to her.
"How much damage?" she asked, unfolding the cheesecloth. Jordie grinned.
"None. I didn't take a crumb, I swear."
Amhran narrowed her eyes at him, then bent to assess the mutilation. Sure enough, Jordie hadn't stolen a single scrape of frosting. Now that was out of the ordinary. "Is it a special occasion or something?"
He laughed. "Don't tell me you forgot."
She frowned, running through the possibilities in her mind. Jordie's birthday? No, that wasn't for months. A Saint's day? She kept religious track of those. Had her mother done something especially miraculous? More than likely, but she doubted Jordie cared that much.
"I give up," she said at last. Jordie's face fell.
"Oh, Saints. You really don't remember." He brightened again, only a little dimmer than before. "No matter. Come on. I'll jog your memory."
"Where are we going?" she asked, mouth full. Amhran had cursed Jordie's long legs many times over the years, taking two quick steps for every loping stride. When they'd met, she'd been taller. Now his shoulder barely scraped the top of her head.
"Into town. I have something to show you."
She groaned. "Must we?"
"We must," said Jordie, unlocking the stable doors and leading two horses out by the reins. He must have saddled them up earlier, which made Amhran even more suspicious. He never put this much thought into anything.
Amina nudged her pocket, looking for sugar. She was the daughter of one of the horses that had brought the Rietvelds to Novyi Zem, a big-eyed beauty with a salt-and-pepper coat. Her brother, Samsa, was Jordie's favored steed. He was pure black, always gleaming in the sun, and like Jordie, never seemed to tire.
"No sugar today," she murmured, patting the horse's nose. "Just me." Amina snorted and retracted her nose, seeming to agree that that was enough.
"Come on," Jordie called, already mounted. Amhran shoved the last of the cake in her mouth and swung up into the saddle, nudging Amina's flank with her heels to kick her into a gallop.
"Last one to town is the Darkling's spawn!"
"Shit," she heard Jordie mutter, and he launched Samsa into a run as well.
There were few things Amhran loved better than racing Jordie, because there were few things she actually beat him at. Despite the fact she'd been training her whole life, when they sparred, climbed, raced on foot, Jordie's innate strength always won out. He had a grace he'd inherited from his mother, a wiliness that came from his father, that made it so he could move like a meerkat, bobbing silently from place to place. Over the years, Amhran had learned how to tell when he was coming— a shift in the wind, a door ajar— never footsteps; he seemed to have been born without them. But since hearing how his unshakable father had broken his leg falling from a horse, Jordie had harbored a wariness that never allowed him to fully meld with the animal, to give it full control to run as fast and as wild as it pleased. Amhran shouldn't have liked to press that advantage, but she couldn't deny that she did. For her, the loss of control was a respite. The times when she wasn't commanded to be in full possession of herself were rare.
"I win again," she grinned, reining Amina to a halt at the edge of the town. If her mother hadn't brought her traveling when she was young, Amhran would have thought it was a city— long streets, bustling avenues, the complete opposite of the empty tracts of land she'd grown up on. Jordie reached her a moment later, panting, but still wearing that damnable smile.
"I guess I'm the Darkling's spawn," he said. "Does that mean I get to do cool tricks with shadows?"
Amhran snorted, dismounting Amina, leading her to a little stand where you could pay ten kruge for someone to take care of your horse while you shopped. Jordie did the same.
"Where exactly are we going again?"
"Not to worry, madame. I will lead the way."
She followed him down the bustling street, bumping shoulders with people carrying bags of groceries, purses and watches and flowers and books. In their younger days, she and Jordie had done a little pickpocketing, just to see if they could. As usual, Jordie was a natural. Amhran had the police called on her and had to hide in a dumpster to escape. Now, they walked side by side down the street like respectable people, though Amhran's shoes were full of holes she couldn't remember wearing, and she refused to loop her hand through Jordie's arm. Every once in awhile, one of them would elbow or pinch the other, just to make sure they were still there. Showing affection had never been one of Amhran's strong suits, but showing Jordie affection was borderline unthinkable. The most she could do was pull his ear and laugh when he swatted her away.
At last, they came to a run-down little shop bearing nothing but a sign with two crossed chess pieces, a black and a white, both pawns. "Pawn shop," she muttered under her breath. "Clever." Jordie spread his arms wide, beaming.
"Here it is! Are you surprised?"
"Oh, yeah. I'm quaking in my boots."
"It'd probably be more exciting if we went in, wouldn't it?"
"Maybe a smidge. But who am I to judge?"
Jordie laughed and opened the door for her, a tinkling bell overhead harmonizing with the rusty hinges. The man behind the counter looked up and smiled, the thick, round glasses perched on his button nose magnifying his eyes to three times their normal size. He looked like a wispy, white-haired insect who happened to have found its way into an apron.
"Jordie," he said. "So good to see you."
"You too, Gat. Do you still have it?"
Amhran looked at him questioningly, but Jordie just leaned with his hands on the counter, fingers tapping out a tune as the old man bent to retrieve something. When he placed it on the glass, wrapped in white cloth, Jordie's eyes lit up. He stepped back and gestured to Amhran. "Do the honors."
"What is it?" she asked, eyes narrowing.
"A bomb. Just open it."
It wasn't shaped like a bomb. The package seemed to be long and thin, curved slightly like the claw of a bird. Carefully, she parted the wrappings, then gasped at the treasure encased within.
It was a sword— but not just any sword. With one glance, Amhran could tell it was one of the falcon's-talon scimitars carried by members of the Tavgharad, Shu Han's elite royal guard. The handle was a deep carnelian leather, the blade polished to a high shine. At its base, Amhran could see three tiny rubies glimmering in a row, and she stepped back as if breathing too hard on it would make the sword shatter. "Where did you get this?" she asked Gat, wide-eyed. He smiled and shrugged.
"Bought it off a man in the harbor without asking too many questions. Then Jordie here bought it off me."
"Jordie! You didn't!"
"I did," he said sheepishly.
"Oh, Saints. What did you have to sell?"
"I actually promised Gat my firstborn. And, if my loins bear no fruit, my left pinky toe."
She buried her face in her hands. "Jordie Rietveld, patron saint of poor financial decisions. Well, where are you going to keep it? Under your pillow? Booby-trapped above your door?"
"Of course not," he said, looking puzzled. "It's yours."
Amhran froze. He couldn't be serious. Jordie knew she'd been obsessed with Shu warriors and traditions from a young age, latching onto any scrap of information about her father and his home, and he'd always indulged her, but this was too much. Of course he was smiling that bright, unassuming smile at her, acting as if he'd just handed her a paper crane instead of a priceless treasure. Of course he wouldn't think anything of it. It had always been Amhran's job to stop him from making these rash decisions, but she wanted so badly to touch that rough leather, to feel the weight of the steel in her hands. "Jordie," she whispered, giving him a final chance to back out. "This is too much."
"Don't look so serious," he laughed. "It's your eighteenth birthday. I had to pull something special, didn't I?"
"Oh, shit." Her birthday. The day she became an official adult. That was the special occasion. Amhran felt a wave of hurt, realizing her mother hadn't bothered to remind her, hadn't even been home when she woke up. But Jordie had. She threw her arms around his neck, which felt strange but also pleasant after a lifetime of dealing in jabs and pinches. His arms were strong, his chest warm, and he smelled of coffee and sun-soaked cotton. When Amhran pulled away, she saw his dark eyes were shining with pride.
"Let's stash it at your house before we go see Mom and Dad. I'm pretty sure they have something for you, too, but they're not exactly aware of my... investment."
"They remembered?" Amhran squeaked. Jordie slung an arm around her shoulders, rubbing the top of her head with his fist.
"Of course, you podge. They've only been around for thirteen of your birthdays."
"Shove off," she grinned, ducking out from under his arm, thinking that this had to be the most deliriously happy moment she had ever known.
"Gat?" said Jordie.
Gat bent beneath the counter and retrieved something else— a sturdy, belted leather sheath of the same blood orange as the scimitar's handle. "You should probably keep it in this if you don't want to lose a finger," he told Amhran. When she hesitated, Jordie picked it up and looped it around her waist, tightening the buckle until it sat snugly on her hips.
"There," he said. "Just like a warrior."
Amhran blushed. "I look ridiculous, don't I?"
"You always look ridiculous. But now if anyone tells you so, you can cut out their tongue."
Gat picked up the sword and offered it to her, balanced on his open palms. After a quick glance at Jordie, Amhran took it. The weight was perfect, the texture of the leather handle providing just the right amount of grip, and she curved it slowly through the air, testing out the pressure at different angles. It was nothing like the heavy swords her mother had trained her with; this was a creature of infinite precision, light and wieldy, a killer rather than a defender. Amhran shivered as she slid it into its sheath. A Tavgharad had once carried this blade, protector of the country that had birthed her father. She could almost see the glittering palace walls, smell the orchard thick with plums, the blood of Shu Han running through her veins.
"Come on," grinned Jordie, nodding toward the door. "Let's see how many people bump into you now."
With a final thanks to Gat, they started home, and only Jordie dared to shove her off the sidewalk.
* * *
Amhran smelled Inej's cooking before they opened the door, a heady scent of oil and spices that made her mouth water as soon as she stepped inside. Though Kaz was a decent cook, his skills were more suited to the bland meals of Kerch, and Inej had long ago banished him to the realm of pastries. It was no secret that Amhran made him uneasy— anyone outside of his family did— but over the years, he seemed to have made peace with her constant presence. Sitting on the counter next to Inej, hands folded over his crow's head cane, Kaz gave her a single nod in greeting. Amhran returned it, watching as his eyes turned back to Inej, who was bending down by his side to pull something out of the oven. She loved to watch Kaz watch his wife. That first impression of them, the gaze they'd shared, had never left her mind, and at times like this it was comforting to see that the flame still hadn't dimmed. Those bitter eyes held the deepest tenderness as they trailed over Inej's hands, her braided hair, the curve of her back. When she straightened, Inej met his gaze and smiled for a moment that seemed to last forever. Then she caught sight of Jordie and Amhran standing in the doorway, and her smile changed to something else— a love always waiting at the surface, whose roots were shallower but just as strong.
"I was wondering when you'd come," she said. In a few quick steps, she crossed the room and kissed Amhran on both cheeks. "Happy birthday, little one."
"Thanks," Amhran mumbled, feeling her face turn red. No matter how old she got, Inej's gentle presence always made her feel like a child in need of a hug.
"Wait a minute," said Jordie. He sniffed the air. "Is that barush?"
"It is indeed. And guess who made it."
Jordie turned wide eyes on his father, who looked away in embarrassment. "Dad? Are you serious?"
"I've taught him well," said Inej, pulling off her oven mitts. "Though your father has expensive tastes. Tell them how much saffron you used, Kaz."
"No."
"A tablespoon. A tablespoon of saffron."
She was grinning, teasing him, and though Kaz's mouth was turned down in a scowl, his twinkling eyes told a different story. Amhran thought that if she could have dissected him, she'd have found Inej's name carved into every one of his bones, Jordie's emblazoned on his heart. Sometimes she hoped maybe there was a place for her, too, hidden in a pocket, tucked beneath a fingernail. But she wouldn't have bet on it. There was space in Kaz Rietveld's heart for his wife, his son, and little else.
"Here," said Inej, pouring a thick, steaming ladleful of barush into a bowl and handing it to Amhran along with a circle of flatbread. Amhran waited until they'd all been served to tear off the first piece of bread and fold it into a spoon, scooping up the stew and closing her eyes when the taste exploded on her tongue. She'd always loved saffron, however expensive it may be. Once again, she had the urge to tell Kaz "Good job," but settled for scraping the bowl until it sparkled.
"So," said Inej, swallowing her final mouthful and setting the bowl aside. "What have you done today to celebrate, Amhran?"
She cleared her throat, reddening. "Well, I... I woke up, and then I took a walk with Jordie."
"That's all?"
"I never really want to do anything else."
"She forgot her birthday," Jordie said. It was meant to be humorous, but Inej did not smile.
"How on earth did you do that?"
"I mean, I guess it just slipped my mind. I've been really busy lately. Managing and all."
Inej's jaw tightened. Amhran knew she didn't approve of her being her mother's manager, balancing the checkbooks, putting prices on her miracles. But when miracles were all you did all day, there was little else you could do to survive. "You can't eat ethics," her mother had told her once. "You can't wrap them around you when you get cold. There are certain distasteful things you must do to survive in a distasteful world. This is one of them."
"Anyway," she said, desperate to make the tense silence go away. "I've never been much of a fiend for birthdays."
"Well," Inej said finally, quietly. "We are. At least endure some celebration for our sake. Kaz has been looking forward to this for months."
"No, I haven't."
"Yes, you have." She shot him a look.
"Oh, right. I have."
Amhran smiled despite herself. It was so easy, so natural, to be in this house, watching ordinary people live their lives. The Rietvelds weren't soldiers or miracle workers; they were simply traders who'd saved up enough to settle in a quiet corner of Novyi Zem. Among them, she was something for once— a person, which should have always been enough, but never had been before. Jordie kicked her under the table and nodded toward the door, but Amhran shook her head. She wanted to stay.
Somehow— she couldn't remember when— it had become a custom after every meal for Amhran and Kaz to wash the dishes. They always did so in silence, holding out their hands wordlessly for the other to pass them soap or a sponge, drying with a soft towel until they gleamed and tucking them away on the shelves again. It was the closest they had ever come to a conversation, and secretly, she liked the ritual. But today, when Amhran rose to gather the bowls, Inej put a hand on her shoulder.
"The boys can handle the dishes. Come with me to the garden."
There was nothing she could do but obey, nothing she would have wanted to do. Times alone with Inej were rare, but Amhran always came out of them feeling somehow stronger, as if the thread of Inej's soft voice had spooled up inside her and plugged a hole. And she loved to see the garden that had risen up out of the barren earth, the product of thirteen years of toil. Inej liked to plant bright blossoms and herbs for tea; Kaz preferred to foster the thick bushes and trees that made the garden feel like a walled-in sanctuary. Their combined work had turned it into a beautiful, shady place, an oasis in the midst of Novyi Zem's dry summer fields. The air was thick with the mingling scents of flowers, leaves opening their green, earthy tang to the sun, mint and sage and lavender bursting forth in raucous crowds. Inej led Amhran to the base of a weeping willow to sit, patting the grassy ground beside her, and Amhran readily obliged.
The first time Inej had taken her here was the day that Amhran had started her blood. She had come to her, holding back tears, believing she was about to die with her mother miles away at sea. But Inej had explained everything, and when her mother came back and learned what had happened, apologizing over and over for not being there, Amhran found she didn't care. Inej had been a steadier guiding hand anyway. Though she loved her mother, she didn't trust her half as much.
"Little one," said Inej as Amhran sat beside her, inhaling her scent of flowers and spices, watching dappled bits of sun break through the leaves to touch her grey-streaked hair. "Tell me. Where is your mother today?"
"I don't know," Amhran admitted. "I never pay attention when she tells me she's leaving. I just wake up and she's gone."
"And she forgot. She let you forget."
"I don't know if she forgot. Maybe she just... knows I don't like to make a big deal of things."
Inej raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, I do. But I've never told her. It's not her fault."
"Do you believe that?"
Amhran didn't answer. Inej looked down at her fiddling hands, hands at once delicate and strong. "You're eighteen now," she said after a moment. "You can buy property. Go to school. Get a real job. Do you know what you're doing to do?"
Amhran stiffened. "This is a real job."
"But is it the one you want?" Inej's eyes were pleading, glowing gold in the sun. "Out of all the world, all the things you could do, you want to live here? And work with your mother?"
She shrugged. "Maybe not always, but for now, sure."
"Amhran," Inej whispered. "Little warrior. You have no idea how quickly 'for now' turns into 'always.'"
"So you're saying I should quit?"
"I'm saying you should think about your future. About becoming your own person."
"I am my own person."
Inej just smiled at her sadly. "Promise to stay that way?"
Amhran took her hand. "Forever."
* * *
By the time she returned home, it was nearly dark. It was only about a half-mile between the properties, but Jordie had insisted on walking her anyway, emphasizing the possibility of coyote attack, and eventually Amhran had given in. She knew he just liked to be around her— liked to be around anyone, really, who could fulfill his insatiable need for interaction. But at some point, even with him, she just got tired. Her mind and body had adapted in their earliest years to being alone, and still, there came a point when they craved the comfort of solitude, the ability to finally release her breath. There were lights on in the house, which meant her mother had returned, but if she shinnied up the drainpipe to her room, she wouldn't have to see her. Jordie started to approach the steps, but Amhran grabbed him and dragged him to the side of the house.
"What did I say?" she hissed in the dark. "Lights on means we use the drain."
"Oh, right. Sorry. I always forget. Does that mean I can come in?"
"No."
"Damn."
"I'll see you tomorrow, numbnuts. Right now I need my beauty sleep."
"No arguments here," said Jordie. Amhran punched him in the arm.
"Out of my sight. Go home and tell your parents thank you for the nice dinner."
Jordie saluted and stood, loping off into the night on those tall, graceful legs. "Happy birthday!" he called over his shoulder. Amhran couldn't help but smile.
Hand over hand, she climbed the drainpipe, pressing her feet against the bolts until her fingers touched the edge of the window she always kept half-open, shoved it to full width, and pulled herself in. She had built up a mattress of pillows beneath her window in order to make as little noise as possible, but tonight, the soft pile was bony and hard. Something jabbed into Amhran's back, and she yelped, rolling onto the floor just as the dim lamp in the corner flicked to life. It took her a moment to regain her breath. When she finally raised her head, the figure sitting cross-legged among the pillows sighed and gave her a disappointed stare.
"You could come through the door, you know," Fara said. "That's usually what they're used for."
"Mama," Amhran gasped, forcing herself to a sitting position. "Why— when did you—"
"Did you think I'd forgotten your eighteenth birthday?"
A flicker of anger lit up inside her. "Was I so wrong to think so? You were gone."
"I had business. Would you rather I have left those children to die of lead poisoning?"
The old game of would you rather. Amhran wrapped her arms around her knees, already feeling her will breaking down. "Surely another Healer could have—"
"Not without danger. Poisons are tricky work." Another phrase echoed many times in this house. "But I am sorry I missed it," she relented, her tone softening slightly. "This is an important day."
Amhran shrugged, not meeting her milky eyes. "It's arbitrary. It doesn't matter."
"Of course it does." Fara knelt before her daughter, taking her face in her hands. "Do you know why I named you what I did?"
Amhran. Little warrior. She shook her head, feeling less like a warrior than an exhausted child.
"It was because I knew you would be a great fighter one day." She took Amhran's hands in her own— soft, with meticulously filed nails. "And now, little soldier, the time has come for you to fight."
Amhran closed her eyes, too tired to try and comprehend her mother's cryptics. "What are you talking about?"
"Your father."
That made her snap to attention. Fara had known it would.
"I see you have a new toy," she said, gesturing to the scimitar laid out meticulously atop the bed. "It may prove useful in this endeavor."
"You don't see anything."
"I felt it, then. Don't you want to know why it will be useful?"
Amhran crossed her arms. "I assume you'll tell me when you're good and ready."
"Such spite in the child," Fara murmured, then seemed to decide the slight wasn't worth her time. She sat back, resting once more against the pillows. "Tell me what you remember of your father's disappearance."
"Nothing," Amhran said truthfully. He'd been there one day and gone the next, vanished, like a puff of air.
"Then I'll tell you." Fara clasped her hands, preparing for one of the long stories she so loved to reenact. "You know how we met, don't you?"
"I know the gist."
"It was in Emren, shortly after the war. He'd defected to Ravka when his commander ordered him to join the khergud program. One of his country's best, a captain quickly rising through the ranks, and a powerful Durast to boot. Still he left. It was a great blow for the Shu Han."
Amhran's heart pounded in her chest— whether from excitement or rage, she didn't know. "You never told me he was a captain. Or a Durast."
"I left out the details in favor of a cleaner story." Fara waved her words away like a swarm of bothersome flies. "He fought, he helped King Nikolai win, and afterward he came to Novyi Zem to escape the memories that flooded the East. I was an orphan by then, working in a factory in the city, hoping to someday earn enough to buy a new home. My own had been ruined by Fjerdan bombs, my family buried in the rubble. If I had known how to use my powers then, I might have saved them." She closed her eyes for the briefest moment; then continued on. "By luck or fate, your father came to the same city, turned up at the same factory looking for a job. I was watching when they turned him away, and he was so handsome and looked so sad that I hurried after him. He knew instantly that I was zowa. He said he could feel it in my blood. It was clear that I had never been taught— that I had been left to come into my powers naturally, the Zemeni way, instead of honing them like a soldier— and in exchange for a word of favor, he offered to teach me. I was a very hard worker, and so when I told my higher-ups that he was too, they believed me. He got the job, and every day after, we walked to the ocean to practice." Fara smiled, remembering. "I was initially Materialki, you know. Halil told me to focus on the metal resting on the seafloor, to try to pull it up and out. When I did, we rinsed it off and sold it. From there, I learned to manipulate the water itself, the tiny particles it shared with blood and wind and steel— I could feel them as I did at the factory, disassembling and reassembling, never having to stop to look. There came a time when I no longer needed Halil's guidance, but came to him every day anyway. That was when he knew I loved him. When we had tucked away enough money together, we moved to the country and bought a house. That was when you came."
"Halil," Amhran whispered, turning her father's name over in her mouth. She had never heard it spoken before, never dared to ask; it had always been "my husband" or "your father." Now, she could see a golden-eyed boy with a gleaming smile, walking with a girl he loved on the sand, watching her grow before his eyes as they both tried to brace themselves for the repetition of their worst nightmares. In her memories, he was always indomitable. It was the first time she'd ever really thought of him as human.
Fara nodded. "Halil Yul-Khafa. He took my name because he said it sounded better. He liked the flow of it. Magali."
Magali. Amhran had never so loved her last name.
"He didn't just go missing," she said quietly, giving voice to a thought that had plagued her for years. "Did he?"
Fara shook her head. "One month ago, Amhran, I had a dream. I had not dreamed of your father in many years, and this was no ordinary dream; it was sight of the kind I use to practice the small science, the whispers from the making at the heart of the world. These whispers told me what I had always suspected— that your father was alive. I felt him as surely as I feel you now, felt that he was tired, and had been for a very long time. And when I woke up, I was certain of three things." Fara paused, never one to shirk theatrics.
"First," she said, "I knew that your father had been taken by the Shu for his skills as a Durast, to bring a second khergud army to life. Second, that he was being held at Ahmrat Jen. And third—" Here, another pause— "that you would be the one to retrieve him."
Amhran blinked. "I'm sorry, did I hear that correctly?"
"There are cases in which the First Sight is more necessary than the Second." Fara bowed her head. "This is one of them."
"You're saying you can't go because you can't see? You just had a whole psychic vision! Can't the making at the heart of the world tell you when not to run into a wall?"
"Amhran," she said sharply, and her daughter backed down. "It's not just that," she said after a moment, more quietly this time, keeping a careful leash on her temper. "This has always been your fight. I raised you to protect yourself. Does that not include your heart, the people who reside in it?"
I barely remember him, she wanted to say. That hole in my heart closed over long ago. But she held her tongue, not wanting to speak words she wasn't sure were true.
"How?" she asked finally. "How would I even get into Ahmrat Jen?"
Fara gestured to the scimitar lying on the bed. "That's a start."
Amhran frowned. "You want me to stab my way in there?"
"Of course not!" she snapped. "Leyti Kir-Taban has recently passed. A new queen will be ascending, and she will have to assemble a new Tavgharad guard."
"No. No."
"Yes. You are better-trained than half the girls in that competition."
"The screening process begins in childhood, Mama! How am I supposed to get through the final round if I wasn't even in the first?"
"Find a girl in the program," said Fara seriously. "An unextraordinary one. Kill her. Take her name."
Amhran threw up her hands. "You are a lunatic!"
"And you are my only hope." She leaned forward, taking her daughter's hands, only clutching tighter when she tried to pull away. "I have waited for thirteen years for this, Amhran. So has your father. So have you. You cannot leave an innocent man— a wonderful man— to suffer and die. It's not in your nature."
"And if I suffer and die?"
"You won't," she said fiercely. "I know you won't."
Amhran pulled her hands away, pressing her knuckles to her eyes. "This is ridiculous. This is insane."
"But you'll do it," said Fara— and though she had phrased it as an order, the words formed a question. That was what made Amhran hesitate: that, for the first time in her life, her mother was asking something of her. Pleading, really. And she was right; the thought of leaving her father to suffer, however much he had faded from her mind, was enough to haunt Amhran for the rest of her life. By the time she raised her head, looking her mother square in those full-moon eyes, she had already decided on an answer. But she was going to press her advantage while she could.
"Let me ask you one thing," she said finally. "Do you love him?"
"Yes," Fara said, and her voice cracked in desperation, the chip in a once-perfect facade. A crease had formed between her dark brows, her skirt crumpled where she'd balled it up with a fist. Amhran liked seeing her mother like this. It terrified her, made her feel powerful beyond measure.
"Do you love me?"
"Of course," Fara whispered. "You're part of him."
It was an answer Amhran had always feared. Now, though, hearing that sour little confirmation, it felt as though a weight had been lifted. Her mother didn't love her. She loved the parts of her that were Halil, and that was all. If there had ever been a time when she had lived Amhran for everything she was, everything she could become, it had long since past and would never return. Amhran rose steadily to her feet. She would do this thing because she thought it was right; because she wanted to see her father again; because, despite everything, there remained in her that desire for adventure. But if she came home, it would not be to this place. She would never waste away trying to please her mother again.
"I'll do it," said Amhran, picking up the sword. She slid it from its long sheath as Fara released a gasp of relief, then slowly crossed the room with it, lowering the blade until the flat of it touched her mother's silky neck. Fara went still— and for the first time, when Amhran spoke, she knew that she was listening with every fiber in her miraculous body.
"I'll do it," she repeated. "Now get out of my room."