2

Our family’s house magician was helping me arrange my hair.

“Here we go,” she said, tucking a strand behind my ear. “And then we . . . enhance!”

The lock of hair bounced with curl.

“Isn’t that a waste of magic?” I asked curiously. “I mean, if you only have so much to draw from daily . . .”

“Who cares during the growing season?” she scoffed. “They barely even need me during harvest season.”

I sighed, feeling her pull my hair up into the tight, tucked-up style I usually wore for parties. Out of the many things I looked forward to when I got married, wearing my hair down in public would be top of the list.

“Is it nice, having magic?” I asked wistfully. “I mean, being able to use it publicly?”

She gave me a strange look. “It’s not like anybody ever uses it secretively.”

I gulped. “N-no, of course not. I was just . . . wondering . . .”

“Well, stop wondering,” she said tartly. “Magic’s forbidden for landowners, and you’re hardly going to take the oath and renounce status.”

“Well, I could, couldn’t I?” I said defiantly.

Lala burst out laughing. She laughed so hard, she dropped the two tucks of hair she was holding. She leaned over and gasped for breath.

“What?” I cried, offended. “I could! It’s not forbidden!”

“Nobody ever chooses magic over status if they could be wealthy,” Lala gasped, holding her stomach. “You’re hardly in danger of vassalhood, Raneh.”

“But I could —”

“Why would you want to?” she asked incredulously. “You have status, Raneh. A lot of status. To be a landowner is much better than having magic.”

“But why is it forbidden to have both? I can understand with mathematics, but —”

“Okay,” Lala said with amusement. “Why is it forbidden with mathematics?”

That one was easy. That one made sense.

“Because the knowledge of the status equations can’t be available to anyone with status. It would allow them to cheat.”

“So . . .”

“So it’s not the same!” I cried. “Magic has nothing to do with status!”

“Oh, really?” Lala asked contemptuously. “You think magic wouldn’t allow a landowner to cheat?”

I fell silent. She had a point.

“But if somebody got it accidentally —”

Lala snorted with laughter. “Magic doesn’t come to anyone without their asking for it.” She stabbed a pin through my hair. I flinched as the tip grazed my scalp, and the scent of whirlies jostled above me. “Really, Raneh, don’t be morbid.”

I stared ahead of me, at the wall, glumly. Morbid. Because using magic without renouncing status first was an automatic death sentence. Because nobody got it accidentally.

I wondered if I had time to visit my groverweed.

Of course Derrim, who was notoriously late to everything, chose this one evening to arrive early.

I flung open the door, preparing to run down to my garden, and there he was. His hand hung foolishly in the air, right where the knocker had been a second previously.

“Uh,” Derrim said, quickly recovering by smoothing his hand through his hair, as if that had been what he had intended in the first place. “Hi, Raneh. Ready to go already?”

I wanted to die. “Uh . . . sorry . . . I was just planning to drop by my garden while I waited . . .”

Derrim looked down at my high-heeled dance shoes, then back up at my crimson ballgown, with the shimmering gold highlights. “You’re going to wear that for gardening?” he asked incredulously.

“No!” I fumbled. “No, it’s not — uh —”

Great. Just great. How do I explain this?

“I — I wanted to pick a filias. Just for good luck,” I fumbled. “It’s kind of dumb and superstitious, but it’s such a major event, so I’m nervous, and . . .”

Derrim’s sneer softened. “Let’s go together,” he said, sweeping into a bow. “You lead the way.”

Feeling like a fool, I slipped out into the cool evening air and walked down the path along the edge of the house. We passed our largest and most magnificent garden, the one my mother tended, which was most prominent near the front of the house. Fruited, thorned vines tumbled out over the high fence, wafting perfume into the night air. Off to the side of the house was my father’s garden, which was nothing exciting but very tidy, tended mostly by our field magicians and Grandmother, who used it to grow culinary herbs.

I cringed as we passed Yaika’s garden, which only got tended when she felt like it, usually during planting season. She grew wild assortments of exotic flowers, and it would have been quite visually striking, if she had ever bothered to weed out the beds with real regularity. Unfortunately, while her taste was perfect, her interest lay far more in fashion than gardening, and it showed fairly obviously.

“What’s that one?” Derrim asked, pointing.

Okay, now I cringed.

“That’s my brother’s garden,” I said. “He’s, uh . . . he’s in between plantings right now.”

Derrim surveyed me skeptically. “In the middle of the growing season?”

“He had to pull out a whole lot of weeds,” I improvised. “He’s planning to start all over again at the end of harvest season, with transplanting and everything. That’s the second-best time to do it, you know, right before cold season begins.”

“Uh huh.” Derrim didn’t look like he believed a word of it. “Wasted land is really bad. You could get more than status-dinged if anybody saw it.”

I know. Believe me, I know. I wish Father and Mother weren’t so insistent that they aren’t going to do it for him. I took a deep breath, trying not to show my humiliation, and squared my shoulders. “Well, that’s really up to him,” I said briskly. “I’m sure he’ll come up with something quite nice when he’s ready.”

“Suuuure,” Derrim said. “Has Tuberbulge even gained status yet?”

I glared at him. Bulge tubers were actually highly nutritious, not paunchy like my brother, but I didn’t think he meant the term as a compliment.

I dignified this with no response, and pushed open the metal slats of my garden gate. My fence was only waist-high, meant as a support for vines around the edges more than a deterrent to keep out thieves, so the latch was simple. I turned back and looked at Derrim. “Coming?” I asked archly.

Derrim looked down at his shining shoes and his immaculate dancing slacks. He made a face. “No, thanks.”

I smiled smirkishly and slipped into my own private world.

Alone, I felt myself relaxing. Around him, I always felt the need to play a part, to be confident and cocky, and even around other people, I had expectations all over me. But in this one place, I had quiet and peace. In this one place, my secrets were known and safe.

“Hello, you,” I whispered to my groverweed, slipping onto my knees and picking out a leaf. I touched it gently, feeling the surge of magic that always came when groverweed connected with me. “Not now,” I said softly. “Not right now. Right now, I want you to take.”

The groverweed squeezed my magic eagerly, and yanked to drain me. I felt weak and lightheaded, as I always did when magic was pulled from me, and I stumbled up back my feet. Why did I tell Derrim I wanted to come? I thought fuzzily. Oh, right. Filias. The Ruler’s flower.

I fell back on my hands and knees and ran my hands through the groverweed patch until I found a token clump of filias. I could always tell the difference — I didn’t know why nobody else could — and I yanked it up out of the ground, roots and all. Then I frowned, realizing that would probably not look good, and peeled off a stalk with a small, budding flower. The rest I shoved back into the ground, not really bothering to plant it. Filias was pretty hardy; it had to be, if it was going to be mistaken for groverweed.

I rubbed my forehead, waiting for the fuzzy feeling to dissipate. Then I waited until I was sure I could walk steadily, heading back to the front gate.

“You took your sweet time,” Derrim observed.

I made a face at him. “It’s hard to see the buds when there are so many leaves. But, see? I got one.”

Derrim looked at it unenthusiastically. “It’s wilted, and it’s still just a bud. Nix that flower. You are not going to wear it with me.”

“Okay,” I said, sniffing. “I just wanted it for luck, anyway.”

“And you are going to get your house magician to do something about those shoes, aren’t you?” he added, pointing.

I looked down. My crimson heels were covered in dirt. Annoyed at him, I simply stomped the dirt off. “Good as new,” I said.

He snorted derisively, then spun to head back to the house. With his back turned, I flung the filias at the bushes unceremoniously.

“Stupid flower,” I muttered under my breath. Then I ran to catch up with him.