Adlai waited outside a line of houses. The sun grew warmer in the sky and she fiddled with the ruffles on her top. She was wearing the drab clothes her uncle had given her: a white top and gray skirt, but she didn’t need to be in any pretty bright colors for the conversation she planned to have now.
She was shaded under a palm tree and could see well down the path. He would surely walk this way home. Adlai had a brief moment of worry that she’d made a mistake, that he would go to the food hall first, or somewhere else entirely.
Then she spotted him. Even thinking himself unobserved, Kanwar walked straight-backed and quickly, as if every moment spent not at his destination was one wasted.
Perhaps he really wanted to get home, or perhaps walking felt too much like drifting, and he didn’t want to be caught up in his thoughts, whatever those might be.
Adlai realized she knew very little about Kanwar. He was an orphan, like her, which meant he’d dealt with death before, even if he might not have actually died before. She didn’t know how he’d come to the island.
But she’d sent him to the shadow world. An experience she wouldn’t wish on anyone.
Were both his parents there? Had he been tempted to stay? Did the god of Death whisper to him now?
She stepped onto the path and he spun around, his body coiled like he expected—and was ready for—an attack.
Stupid. She should have known he’d be on edge. If she wasn’t such a coward she would have waited outside of class to talk to him, not sneak up on him when he thought he was alone.
But when his eyes settled on her face, he relaxed. Dismissed her.
“Erikys won’t be here,” he said, turning away. “And you missed another class.”
Her mouth was as dry as sand, but she cleared it and tried to say something. “Kanwar, when I . . . in class that day, I wasn’t trying to . . . I didn’t know what I . . .”
He waved her off. “Forget it,” he said.
“No, really.” She came forward; he had to hear her. “I’m sorry. I would never intentionally use my shadow like that.”
Kanwar was handsome in a dark navy shirt with red beads running in straight lines down the front that matched the red headscarf he had tied over his forehead. His hair wasn’t as closely cropped as it had been and stood, puffed, over the band. He swept his hand over it and sighed. “I know. You don’t have to tell me you had no idea what you were doing. Your lack of control was very evident.”
Her hands balled into fists. He wasn’t hearing her. Or he was, but he wasn’t letting her take ownership. She had nearly killed him and still he didn’t see her as a threat.
“You know you don’t always have to be putting people down,” she said, “just because they aren’t as amazing as you are at everything.”
“That is not—” He stopped. He folded his arms across his chest. “I worked hard to gain the control I have.”
Adlai mirrored him and crossed her arms. “I’ve barely arrived. This is all new to me. Surely you can understand that.”
The sharp lines of his face froze more resolutely in place as he stared down at her. “No, I don’t think I can,” he said at last. “When I arrived, I had no powerful uncle waiting here for me. I didn’t come with a friend. I had no one.”
“So I should have come scared and alone, and then you would have been nice to me?”
He shook his head. “This is pointless. Next time you kill someone, just send them a letter to apologize afterwards.”
He was walking away from her. Again.
“Have you died before?” she called out. He stopped. She thought he wouldn’t turn back, but he did.
“I died with my parents in a random attack on the streets,” he said, his voice low. Adlai drew nearer and watched as his expression shifted, no longer tense or guarded. He let out a breath. “The last time I saw my mother, she was forcing me down to the ground with more strength than I ever knew she had.” He swallowed. “It didn’t save me, but she died trying.”
“Kanwar . . . that’s . . . I’m so sorry.”
He ignored her and continued: “My father had shadow powers, so he was waiting for me on the other side.” His eyes cut into hers. “He begged me to go back, to try and save my mother, to save myself, and I had to leave him there in the shadow world because he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t find his shadow and pull himself back to life. His body was burning when I finally came back to the living. There was no saving my mother. I was alone.
“I didn’t want to come here.” His shoulders hunched. “I didn’t want to have powers if it meant I would be alone. And I hated my father for his weakness.”
Adlai was stunned. She wanted to reach out to him, but Kanwar didn’t seem like the type of person you could just touch. He’d opened up and it wasn’t for her pity.
“So you see,” he said, “you don’t have to worry that you upset me or hurt me. You can come back to class. I’ve been through far worse than anything you could do to me.”
A light breeze tousled the palm trees above them. The sky was infinitely blue and calm. Everywhere Adlai looked she found beauty, as if the island had never known a storm.
“How did you find this place?” she asked.
“I didn’t. Caster Luth found me. He knew I’d been in the shadow world, and he’d talked with my father.”
Adlai frowned. Did her uncle routinely go to the shadow world? Or was Yaxine giving him information somehow?
“Nadir keeps telling me I should try being nice,” he said suddenly. “She does it so easily.”
“No, I think I understand,” she said. “You hate weakness, and I’ve been acting weak from the start, needing rescuing in the desert, unable to keep up with the classes, afraid of my shadow.”
“But you’re not weak, Adlai.”
“No, and you’re capable of being nice.” She looked him square in the eye. “You haven’t told Erikys about my shadow, have you?”
“We share a roof, but we’re not friends.”
“Exactly,” she said. “You could have easily told him out of spite. To make him afraid of me.”
He shrugged. “He shows little interest in his own ability; I don’t see what business it is of his to know of yours.”
"Well, I appreciate it all the same.”
Kanwar titled his head. “So you don’t think I’m a—what’s that phrase you Librans have? A sand eater?”
For a moment Adlai didn’t understand what he was asking. Then she broke into a smile: he was joking with her. The relief of it spread through her like a hug. “Sandlicker,” she said. “You were being a sandlicker.”
“Exactly.” Kanwar also smiled. It lit up his face, relaxing all the stiffness. “Yes. I was licking sand. An annoying habit.”
“I could have tried harder in class,” she said. “I will.”
Kanwar nodded. She let him turn and head for home at last, but as she watched him leave, she wondered if, like her, he feared he’d always be alone.
* * *
Leaving the residential area, Adlai headed for the food stores. Since her uncle was rarely around for meals, she didn’t always bother with restocking the food at home, opting instead to eat in the community food hall.
But word had spread of what she’d done to Kanwar. Stares followed her as she walked down the path. A pair of casters with three earrings each nodded to her as she passed them by. She was her mother’s daughter. A killer. And while her uncle had told her that her mother had died protecting others, there wasn’t warmth in the way they watched her, but fear.
She tried not to meet any more eyes. When at last she came to the food store, Caster Evena, the middle-aged woman who organized the stock, broke off gossiping to greet Adlai immediately.
“Caster Adlai! Keeping well, I hope? Shall I add a sweet loaf today? It’s freshly baked.”
The woman had a weekly basket already prepared for her, jam-packed with extras. Being Caster Luth’s niece, she was used to receiving a basket better than the other ones she’d seen people taking, but this one was overflowing. When Evena addressed her as “Caster” again, Adlai felt her ears burn.
It shouldn’t matter to her, the Caster nonsense. Adlai knew it was a term of respect and there was nothing bad meant by it. Only she’d earned the woman’s respect, and everyone else’s on the island who hid their whispers behind a mask of respect, from nearly killing a fellow student.
She let the weight of the basket sag in her arms as she left the store.
They couldn’t see it, or maybe they didn’t want to, but she didn’t have control of her shadow. She was a danger to everyone she passed. The more she thought back to that class, to the moment when Kanwar had been on his knees and her shadow swarmed him, the more she remembered how instinctive it had been. Like her shadow was made for pulling out the life force of another. All the trinkets she’d stolen were merely practice for what her shadow’s true purpose was.
Stealing life.
Her head was cast downward so she didn’t notice Erikys walking the path back from the storykeep until his hand dipped into her basket and stole one of the candied figs.
“Have my skills improved, or are you just very distracted?” he asked.
She glanced around them. A woman with a small child strapped to her back was carrying a pile of freshly washed clothes, but luckily it was only the child who stared at them as they passed by. Adlai felt exposed. Erikys had already mentioned his desire to leave the island. If he knew Adlai’s shadow could kill, how much faster would he run?
He’ll fear me, like the others do.
She pulled at him to walk faster, ignoring his offer to carry the basket for her.
“What’s gotten into you, Ads?” he said, panting to keep up with her. They’d almost reached the homes. Her uncle’s house loomed large on a hill separate from the other houses.
“Just hungry,” she said, but her stomach dropped as she saw Caster Shani making her way toward them.
“I’ll be in class tomorrow—” she started to say, but Shani held up her hand.
“No, it’s Erikys I’m after, Adlai.” She turned to him. Unease spread across his face. “Don’t worry, classes are still optional. But I will require you to come see me sometime this week. I need to know the extent of your shadow powers. I won’t teach you anything you don’t want to know, but I have to be confident that you’re in control of it.”
“You have to?” Erikys asked. “What, are you worried my shadow will explode if you don’t see it steal something?”
Adlai flinched. Caster Shani was seeking Erikys out because of Adlai’s own failings. Her poor performances in classes, then missing them altogether after the Kanwar incident. She squeezed her eyes shut and begged the unnamed goddess of whispers that Caster Shani wasn’t just about to reveal to Erikys that Adlai had accidentally killed with her shadow.
“It’ll be best if you come early in the morning,” Shani said, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Before classes. Any day that suits.”
She didn’t ask for confirmation. They were on an island, after all, and Erikys couldn’t avoid her forever. They watched her leave, and Adlai breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t said anything about Adlai’s shadow.
“Do you think she really means for me to go?” he asked.
“It’s just a demonstration,” she said lightly.
Erikys bent and fiddled with the chain around his ankle.
“Sure.”
Several moments passed in silence. The sun began to soften and the island glowed a warm orange.
“I hate islands,” he said suddenly. “There’s nothing but time and ocean out here.”
“What would you want instead?”
“Home.”
Adlai was caught off guard by how much that word hurt.
“You mean Libra,” she said. “It won’t be safe for us there. The guards—”
Erikys waved a hand. “Hundreds of people come in and out of Libra every day. The desert market alone has crowds of strangers. And we got away. Libra’s the last place any guards would expect us to be.”
“You really want to go back?”
“Adlai, my family’s there.” He shook his head. “They’re used to me being away some, but it’s been long enough. If my parents aren’t worried, then my brother most definitely will be. After his illness, I swore I wouldn’t ever stay away too long without checking up on him.”
Her heart lurched. Of course he needed to see his family. She’d been distracted with classes and her uncle, but Erikys had been alone so much of his time here. His choice, perhaps, but she could see how easy it would be for his mind to have fixated on these things; of what he wanted, of where he wanted to be, and what his family were doing without him.
And now he was decided.
Adlai had brought him to this point. It was her responsibility to bring him home.