I had always thought asha were sorted according to the elemental magic they wielded—there would be Fire asha and Water asha, who would specialize in Fire and Water magic, respectively. Books called Taki of the Silk a Fire asha because she had set fire to the beard of a man who had insulted her in King Marrus’s royal court at Highgaard, for example.

“But that wasn’t the case at all. Most asha are well-versed in different kinds of elemental magic, so to call one a Wind asha would be misleading, for they can use Earth and Water and Fire and Wood magic just as well.”

The girl was hard at work, emptying the contents of the cauldrons now that she had taken samples of each in her phials. The tauvri drew close, prodded at one of the discarded pots with a clawed paw, and shuddered.

“There were asha who could dance and sing but whose command of the runes were minimal enough that they would be useless in a real fight. Lady Shadi fell into this category. I don’t think anyone would have expected her to go out and do battle. They often earn the most money for their asha-ka, and they are the most likely to have patrons outside of the Willows who would further finance their careers in the arts. It’s not unusual for them to wind up being wives of powerful rulers and noblemen. This ensured that those in power would always look favorably on asha.

“There were asha who were known for their expertise in battle rather than onstage. Althy was this type. She could wield the runes with ease, and I have seen her win a match against three Deathseekers at once.

“What few people know of are the asha who are highly skilled in politics, in management. They often wind up managing their own asha-ka, and they have the most influence. Mistress Parmina is one and—though she would never admit it—so is Polaire. And then there are those who can sense magic, though not enough to command them. They often become ateliers and apothecaries and hairdressers instead, easily discernible by their purple hearts.

“Dark asha are the grunts of the system. We do the most important work—raising and banishing daeva—but we rarely receive acclaim for it. We are more likely to be known for our mistakes than our successes. Lady Mykaela had summoned and put down daeva for the greater part of a decade, and yet she will always be known as the bone witch who had bespelled a king, one who had her heart taken as punishment.”

She upended the last of the large pots. We watched it mix with the waves, the seawater diluting its colors until we could no longer distinguish it from the rest of the surf.

“And then there’s me,” she added.