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Emara woke up to the sun filtering in through the high, slatted window of the cramped room. So it wasn’t a dream after all. Blearily, she lifted her head from the balled-up cloak that had served as a pillow. In her sleep, she’d gravitated toward the corner with her back to the wall, and Manju now lay sprawled in the center on another mat, snuggled close to the other girl with the long braid, both of them snoring loudly in each other’s arms. A pair of scruffy cats coiled in a similar ball next to them, and a pang of grief shot through Emara at the thought of Shad.

But Emara had plenty of practice burying things she didn’t want to remember. Shoving the gory memory deep down with the others, Emara laced her fingers and stretched her arms high above her head, clearing her mind as she took stock of her body. Her muscles and cheek were still sore, but nothing that would slow her down.

She stilled for a moment, the yanaa churning within her once more. Though she’d stifled and hidden her gift for over a decade, its presence in her core brought her a measure of reassurance. No matter how out of control everything around her got, no matter how dangerous or sickening, at least she had this. Even if she could only ease one person’s suffering, she could make the world just a little bit brighter, no matter how dark.

A knock from above and raised voices brought her back to the moment. Stifling a yawn, she rose on her stocking feet, picking up her boots from where someone had placed them by the door and padded out into the empty cellar. She found the washroom and tidied herself as best she could before slipping on her boots and venturing up the crooked stairs.

Anisa hovered over three tables in a cramped space that smelled sweetly of periapple tea, rich cindamom, and rising bread. Gliding amongst her four patrons, with her magenta skirt swishing across the dusty floor, she poured an amber liquid from a large tin kettle while they chewed on buttered toast. The last stair creaked under Emara’s boot, drawing Anisa’s gaze.

“Oh good, I’m glad you’re up.” She pointed a stout finger to the bar. “Have a seat, and I’ll be there in a tick.” She turned to Bandana Boy, who now brandished a broom outside the open shop window in the shade of a canvas awning. “Sujip, stop pretending to sweep and come man the kettle, wouldja?” The boy snapped to attention and skidded over to Anisa’s side. He took the large kettle from her as she slapped the towel from her shoulder onto his. “You can start with pouring us two cups over here.” Reaching over the bar, Anisa pulled out a pair of red ceramic mugs and placed them on the table. Sujip filled both while Anisa got them a plate of flaky browned biscuits layered with a thick spread of golden periapple jam.

“Off with you, then. Seat the next customer at the awning table.” Anisa shooed Sujip away before plopping down into a chair and motioning Emara to the other.

Emara took a seat, her stomach rumbling as she eyed the biscuits and tea. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any coin to pay for this.”

Anisa waved a dismissive hand at her. “Manju already vouched for you, but if you really feel beholden over it, you can wash the dishes during the lunch crowd.”

“I can do that.” With a grateful smile, Emara grabbed one of the soft, fluffy biscuits. They were still warm, the jam’s tart sweetness oozing from the nutty bread into her mouth, and she nearly groaned with pleasure. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d tasted fresh bread. “This is delicious. I can’t thank you enough.”

“My pleasure,” Anisa said, but the words held a curious note as she tilted her head. “You know, I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before though. Are you sure you’re not from around here? Perhaps I’ve seen you in the crowd or something.”

Emara shook her head with a smile. “I don’t think so. I would definitely have remembered you.” She licked the jam from her fingers, mentally counting the people that had broken stale bread with her without asking anything in return. It didn’t take long. She glanced around the shop. “But where’s Jai? Does he help you run the café?”

“Not half as much as he should,” she scoffed with a roll of her eyes. “But I can’t complain too much. He certainly earns space for his strays downstairs. He’s putting on his ridiculous show a few streets over. Told me to send you his way when you woke up.”

“A show?” Emara asked around a mouthful of bread.

Anisa smiled. “You’ll have to go see it for yourself.” One side of her thick unibrow quirked up. “But do answer me one thing before you go, would you?”

Emara popped the last bit of biscuit into her mouth and swallowed it down with the pleasantly tart tea. “I’ll try.”

It was her answer for most requests. She’d learned long ago not to go around giving out promises she couldn’t keep. They had a way of chipping away at you.

“Manju may look like a kid, but she’s got a sharper eye than most, and she seems to be convinced you’ve got”—she lowered her voice—“yanaa running through you. And with you searching for Bellaphia, it sounds truer by the minute.” She paused, and Emara tried not to squirm under her assessing stare. “Are you one of Odriel’s Blessed?”

Emara took another sip of the tea and weighed Anisa in turn. The woman had a kind, open face—round and earnest. The kind that was easy to trust, but with a firmness behind it that obviously had no trouble keeping others in line. Though Emara’s gut told her she could trust this woman that apparently housed strays and fed strangers, she’d made naïve mistakes before.

And to make it worse, she didn’t even know the rules here—what was safe and what wasn’t. Still… if they already believed she had yanaa and hadn’t tried to report her to their queen, perhaps the Blessed were thought of better here. Especially since the Heirs seemed to rule right alongside the Queen herself.

“Can I ask you something in return?” Emara waited for Anisa’s nod before continuing. “In my land, those with yanaa are often hunted as a bounty for the Dead King or his mercenaries, where they face terrible fates.”

Anisa blanched, and Emara relaxed just a little at her surprise. Apparently, that wasn’t the norm here. All the better. A twinge of jealousy twisted in her gut. No Lost. No devastation. No cannibalistic Blessed head-hunters. What a lovely time to be alive.

“But I know little of your land,” Emara continued. “Are there many with yanaa here? Are these Blessed of yours much sought after?”

For a moment, Anisa held her gaze. “Your land sounds very dark.”

Emara swallowed. “It is.”

“In Okarria, Odriel’s Blessed are extremely rare. Even here in the city, where the magi and Heirs are often glimpsed working their miracles, some are skeptical that those with the random gifts—the Blessed—even exist.” She sipped from her own cup. “In truth, I’ve never met one of the Blessed, nor have I heard of one being discovered, so I cannot tell you what would happen to them.” A smile curled her full lips. “However, I can tell you that Jai and Manju have more self-serving purposes for asking.”

Emara frowned, the pieces starting to fall together. Before, no one had tried to take advantage of her gifts, because they hadn’t known of them, but it had been one of her mother’s oft-cited reasons for keeping her gift a secret. “Oh, so that’s why they helped me.”

“No, no.” Anisa waved her hands emphatically. “They’re a good sort, trust me. They would’ve helped you either way. By Odriel’s name, they already have six or seven other rescues running through here who can barely mop a floor, much less do anything miraculous.” Anisa tossed another glare at Sujip, and he popped to attention once more, hurriedly wiping down a table. Anisa downed the rest of her tea and rose from her chair. “Trust me, my cousin may be irritating as sun-scorched skin, but his heart is usually in the right place.” She took her empty cup and squeezed Emara’s shoulder, whispering in her ear. “And don’t worry, my dear, your secret, whatever it may be, is safe here with us.”

“Thank you.” Emara placed her hand over Anisa’s flour-dusted knuckles. “I think I’ll be needing to wash a lot of dishes to repay you.”

“Bah!” Anisa smiled, snatching another towel from behind the counter. “I think you will bring us great luck. Now, out with you! Jai will be on the corner of Ulfis square, down Misa and left on Orange.”

Emara gave her a blank look, and Anisa huffed out a sigh. “Right. Take a left, your second right, second left, and walk until you get to the square.”

With a grateful nod, Emara headed for the door. “Thank you, Anisa.”

“Girl, if you say thank you one more time, I swear I’ll throw you out myself.”

Emara only grinned as she stepped out from the awning into the morning sunlight. She rolled up her long tattered sleeves as a steady stream of people filtered through the street that was little more than an alley. Shops lined the clay walls on either side, hawking fruits, vegetables, knives, scarves, and trinkets to bring good luck.

The sheer variety of goods spoke of a wealth like which she’d never witnessed—a world in which there was a place for things of no survival value. A place for art and joy. A place where the people weren’t just surviving, they were thriving.

Emara stepped around the clamorous peddlers, wondering at the exuberance of the city folk. The people of her time would never shout so, and they rarely went out when they didn’t have to. In a world that had soured beyond recognition, their faces were ever shadowed with sorrow, fear, and suspicion. These people practically sang with life as they laughed, yelled, and jostled one another.

Children darted through the crowd in an exuberant game Emara couldn’t comprehend, and women leaned out of second story windows to call to each other above the street. A man played a breathy flute on the corner while passersby stooped to toss coins into his upturned hat.

Emara got the innate sense that this was what a city should be like. She shook her head. How had it fallen so far?

She followed Anisa’s instructions easily, inhaling the sweet aroma of spices and herbs as a man with a huge kettle strapped to his back wandered the street selling rose-orange tea. Emara turned down the last street to find all manner of plush carpets with complex, swirling patterns decorating the walls and a woman gesturing emphatically as she tried to snare a customer. How many days—weeks—had it taken the woman to create such otherworldly designs?

Entranced as she was, Emara might’ve missed Jai entirely if it hadn’t been for the huge knot of people gathered in the square, their backs to her as they clustered around something she couldn’t see.

“Gather round, gather round, if you’d like to be deceived, break the rules, or taste a little yanaa,” he shouted from somewhere in the throng, his voice ringing with a feigned, posh accent.

Yanaa? Emara nudged her way through the crowd toward his voice.

“A card here, a card gone, and sir, if you’ll check your pocket?”

A man held up a gold and black card with open-mouthed awe. “But how’d it get there?”

“How indeed, sir? It’s certainly a mystery. Who can explain the unexplainable? It’s the power of a magi’s yanaa, bending the laws of our world.”

Emara pushed through the final row to see Jai in his deep mulberry cape and gold-trimmed vest, his thick, dark hair brushed back from his forehead. His upended tall hat rested on the cobblestones before him, clinking as someone threw a coin into it.

With a grin and a flourish of Jai’s long fingers, a golden deck appeared in his palm. With another flick of the wrist, it jumped from one hand to the other. He pointed to an elderly woman in the crowd, jeweled rings glinting at his fingers and thick bangles tinkling on his wrists.

“Name any card, fair lady.”

“The seventh skull,” she called out, a smile creasing her wrinkled face.

Jai slapped his palm against the deck and held up a card without looking at it—the third mountain. “This one?”

The lady’s face fell just a little. “No…”

“Wait, wait.” Jai held up a hand and bent in a coughing fit. “My apologies, something’s stuck in my throat.” He thumped his chest, and a card seemed to fly from his mouth. His hands whipped out, stalling it in the air without touching it, muscles strained as if with great effort. The seventh skull floated before him.

Emara smirked as she clapped along with the crowd. He certainly had a way of making his audience smile, she had to give him that.

He tossed a sword to a boy in the throng, telling him to run him through. The crowd gasped as the boy did as he was told, one woman even screaming as Jai’s mouth dropped open, the sword stabbing straight through him. Emara started forward with a jolt but stopped when Jai winked at the astonished boy. With a dramatic effort, he pulled the sword from his middle, showing off the hole in his tunic with no wound underneath.

The crowd roared with thunderous applause, and Emara’s brows knitted. Could this really be yanaa? But Anisa had said she’d never met a Blessed. She clapped with the others, moving slightly as someone jostled into her. She looked over her shoulder to see the once-shirtless boy from Anisa’s cellar, now smartly dressed in a long green tunic, his deft hands flitting into a woman’s bag, and then the man’s pockets beside her.

Ah. Understanding flashed through her. The show was good, but this was where their real money came from. They’re thieves. She almost relaxed with the realization, the pieces clicking together with satisfaction. No yanaa, just light fingers, a common occurrence in her own time when there was never enough to go around.

She glanced again at Jai, fitting the new title to him as he tossed glittering gold coins in the air, making them appear and reappear in little bursts of flame. No yanaa, no magus, just a common trickster running a motley gang of pickpockets. She smiled, a strange, bitter part of her glad this world wasn’t perfect after all.

A grumble rippled from the back of the crowd, and Emara caught a long-haired boy flash a signal with his hand. Jai’s eyes flicked to him before he picked up his hat, the coins jingling as he twirled it in the air before ostentatiously showing it was empty once more. He popped it on his head with a roguish smile of even white teeth.

“That’s all for now, ladies and gents.” Even as he said it, coins and small plates appeared and disappeared between his hands in a flash of gold and ceramic. “As always, your attention and generosity are greatly appreciated.” He held out a silver plate, and then with a clap of his hands, it turned into a shower of rice to the pleased cry of the audience. “But always keep your eyes open for the lost magus… Shadmundar.”