Kital skipped ahead of Isika as she walked arm-in-arm with Auntie Teru. She could hardly believe that Auntie had agreed to come to the ceremony. As far as Isika knew, it had been eight years since Teru had traveled farther than the pottery workshop where she still sometimes went to visit her friend Tomas, and even that was rare. Auntie grew all of their food in her own kitchen garden. When she needed something she couldn’t grow, first Uncle Dawit, and now Isika or Ben, bought it at the market. After their son, a ranger, died eight years before, in a fight on one of the borders, Auntie Teru had only felt safe at home.
Isika felt guilty for the effect of her last two big adventures on her foster mother. She knew Auntie didn’t sleep very well when Isika was away—Ibba told her she sometimes found Auntie in the kitchen in the middle of the night. But Auntie Teru never said a word to hold her back. She encouraged Isika and she was a supportive mother. But she couldn’t put herself in situations that were unfamiliar. The house was safe, beautiful, filled with food, filled with love. Other places were unpredictable. So Auntie kept her circle small and strong. And then there were days she didn’t come out of her room, and when she did she looked as though she had been crying, but she always started a big pot of spice tea and a batch of flat bread.
Walking down to the palace, arm in arm, Isika kept stealing glances at Auntie, because she looked so beautiful. After braiding Isika’s hair into countless tiny braids with gold threads running through them, she had disappeared into her room and emerged a while later in a gorgeous, embroidered robe. It was a different style from the beautiful robes Karah and Laylit normally wore, and it looked antique. It was covered with hand embroidery in shades of the sunset, in intricate shapes of flowers and animals.
Isika could have stared for hours, but after doing Ibba’s hair in four long braids that she coiled around her little sister’s head, she had to get dressed herself. She wore a tunic and loose pants like usual, but the indigo tunic was sleeveless, with cutouts on the shoulders. It shimmered as she walked, the gold beads sewed to its collar twinkling in the afternoon sunlight.
Auntie was taller than Isika, though everyone said Isika was still growing. Teru was the same height as her husband, statuesque, strong from her work in the garden, but soft and rounded as well. She was stunning in the embroidered robe, her bright ser, the color of a pink and orange flower, wrapped around her hair, up on her head, rich and shiny with scented oil.
Uncle Dawit walked on Auntie’s other side. He stood tall, as he always did, but he glanced at Auntie every few minutes, until she said, “Dawit, you are killing me. Stop staring, will you? I’m not that nervous. You, on the other hand, have enough energy humming through you to light the palace without using red rocks.”
Dawit smiled, rueful, but said, “You’re so breathtaking I can’t pull my eyes away,” and then tripped over Kital, who wore his best clothes and ran in circles around them while they walked.
“You’d better pull your eyes away and watch your feet,” Auntie said, but she squeezed Uncle’s arm and dropped a kiss on his cheek. Uncle was as wiry as she was plump, a retired ranger who still spent time guarding the palace, an uneventful job because Maween was never attacked. It was difficult for unfriendly magic to find its way through the heavy, bright magic of the Shaper that surrounded its lands. Only the trickles of poison that created walls got through, and they never came as far as the palace.
“Kital,” Isika said. “Calm down.”
“I can’t. I’m so excited!” he said. “You always get to come here but I never do.”
He wasn’t wrong, but there was no way a five-year-old could understand what a mixed blessing it was to be here. Isika loved the palace and its beauty. But she didn’t love being involved in palace things, in the heaviness of the thoughts and the elders and their eyes.
She sighed now, as they drew close to the palace steps, then blinked and smiled. An enormous black bird, half the size of a man, perched on a pillar beside the steps to the sprawling white stone palace. When the bird shifted its wings, deep red and purples glinted from every feather, glowing in the late afternoon light.
“Keethior,” Isika said. “How wonderful. Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
“You haven’t needed me. And anyway, I don’t answer a human’s questions about my whereabouts.”
Isika’s smile grew. The bird was one of the Othra, ancient, magical creatures that spoke and appeared at times when the Maweel needed them. Last year, Keethior had declared himself to Isika as her personal servant, and then spent every possible moment making sure she knew that didn’t mean he was at her beck and call.
It’s good to see you, friend, she told him in her mind speech.
And you, he answered. Although I hate these large human gatherings.
“Even the singing?” she asked aloud. He gave the Othra equivalent of a sniff.
“I like the singing,” he said. “Is young Benayeem singing today?”
“Yes,” she said. “Ibba too. They’re already here. I’ve barely seen them this week. They’ve been practicing for ages.”
“None of them practice as much as our teachers made us study,” Auntie said, as they walked up the stairs to the palace doors. “Back when the queen was here, we practiced all day, every day, for weeks on end before a ceremony. But I’m telling you just how old I am, aren’t I?”
“You’re eternally young, Auntie,” Isika said.
The guards bowed a little deeper than normal when they reached the top step. She smiled at them, then inhaled as the palace reached out to her. It had always responded to Isika in a way she could feel: an embrace, a settling of stones, a sigh. More recently she had felt the palace’s sense of welcome singing around her whenever she was in the large, beautiful building. Every crevice and alcove, the carved details in the white stone, the paintings on the walls, they hummed at her as she walked down the long halls under the gentle arches.
She knew it was because she was the heir, World Whisperer, the link between the Shaper and the Maweel, the one who could call the earth back into rightness, all of that. But today the feeling was much stronger. She felt as though she had stepped into something as unlike air as water, though there was no danger of drowning. If anything, she was lighter, taller, ready to face the ceremony she had been ever-so-slightly dreading, especially since she had heard Aria’s hurtful words the day before.
The air seemed to bend for her, warmth spread into her from the places her feet touched the palace floor as she walked. She looked around in wonder, and Keethior gave a chirping call and flew ahead of them, into the great room.
Isika stopped. She turned to look at Auntie. Even the warmth of the palace couldn’t take away the trepidation she felt at walking into that room. The day was a precipice, a moment of turning she wouldn’t be able to revoke. She was afraid.
“Come, young one. Do I have to be the one to pull you in?” Auntie smiled into her face, and Isika read so much love in the lines around her eyes that she took a breath and reached out to grab Kital’s hand. She thought about Ibba, singing today. Her lilting, soaring voice was one of the most beautiful things Isika had ever heard, and keeping that at the front of her mind, Isika walked into the great room as the palace guards bowed low on either side of the doors.
The first thing she saw was the Othra on their pillars. Keethior wasn’t at court regularly, so he didn’t have his own pillar, but Nirral, Efir, and Eemia, the three Othra she knew well from previous adventures, all stood on their pillars, facing the door. Keethior perched on a round table near the aisle that led to the platform at the front of the room, where the elders sat. Isika saw a servant eying the giant bird, possibly wondering whether he could dare to shoo away an Othra who was shedding small feathers on some of the better furniture.
Just try it, thought Isika, smiling to herself. Even she, the supposed master of this giant, unruly bird, wouldn’t dare try to make him do anything he didn’t feel like doing. The servant apparently came to the same conclusion, because Keethior continued to perch on the table, undisturbed by him or anyone else.
She knew she was distracting herself with these thoughts, so she walked a little taller, held onto Kital’s hand and Auntie’s arm a little tighter, and walked through the crowds of people, nodding at people she recognized or knew, to the raised area where the four regents sat, the highest elders in the land. Other people in the room also held the title of elder, but it was these four who made most of the decisions, or were responsible for the unfolding of the decisions that the group of them made.
They were regents, running the kingdom, because Isika’s grandmother had been kidnapped over thirty years ago and Isika, her heir, was still on probation, being measured by these very intimidating people before her. Andar and Laylit, both tall and striking, their skin as black as a night with no moon, their robes stiff and sparkling. They both offered friendly smiles when they looked at her, and that surprised her. Ivram stood and walked to Isika, kissing her on both cheeks gently, but Karah came and took both of Auntie’s hands in her own. With a shock, Isika realized that in the past it would have been common for Auntie to be here.
“Welcome, Elder,” Karah said. “It is so good for our hearts to see you here.”
Isika gave a little start of surprise. Elder? She turned to Dawit, who stood just behind her, but he didn’t look at her—all his attention was focused on Teru. Teru bent forward and kissed Karah on both cheeks and then her forehead.
“My heart has come home,” Auntie said, in the traditional greeting, but with a catch in her voice. “You know my love has been with you all these years. Now I have finally found a big enough reason to come to the palace again.”
Isika ducked her head. She felt unworthy to be that reason. She knew the sorrow that Auntie felt over losing her son; she had felt the same sorrow after losing her sister and her mother. She understood the safety of Auntie’s house. But they had all lost something in losing Auntie, she realized.
She looked around the room, already close to tears before the ceremony even started. There was such a stir over Auntie coming back that no one had even greeted her fully, despite the fact that this day was in her honor. She didn’t mind; she was thankful for the time to look around and get used to where she was.
The great room was gorgeous and imposing, with a row of white stone columns on either side of the room, leading to the raised platform on the far end. Beyond the columns were tables and rugs scattered throughout, with low seating areas formed by low tables surrounded by cushions woven in deep, rich colors. The walls were painted in miniature scenes from the history of Maween. Isika’s grandmother and her ancestors before her were featured in several of the frames. Isika still hadn’t fully studied them, as she wasn’t in the great room very often. But they were familiar to her now, and she felt the welcome of the palace settle around her like a cloak as she walked with Auntie toward one of the low seating areas.
Jabari approached from where he had been standing with Gavi and Ivy. He wore a brilliant white shirt, and blue pants embroidered with a pattern that looked like hundreds of small linked triangles. Isika had never seen him looking so formal, and she felt a little tremor of nerves. It’s only Jabari, she told herself. Still, she couldn’t help noticing how tall he was, how the lines of his jaw were strong and his face was intense. He looks like a king, she thought, and she felt a familiar longing that he would rule Maween after his parents, instead of her. Jabari looking formal made it feel as though this whole ceremony was very, very serious, but then he grinned as he came closer, his smile brilliant in his face, his eyes crinkling at the edges. She found herself returning the smile as he transformed back into her friend Yab from the pottery workshop and two intense journeys. He turned to give Auntie Teru a hug.
“Honestly, young one, if everyone is going to make such a fuss about this, I’m going home,” Auntie grumbled, but Isika heard the pleasure in her voice.
“You look beautiful, Auntie,” Jabari said. He looked at Isika. “Happy birthday again, Isika.”
It was nearly time to begin and the choir came to stand directly in front of the platform. Benayeem and Ibba there, standing with the others. Isika waved at them, and at her friend Deto. Ibba was nervous, Isika could tell, because she couldn’t stop moving when she was nervous. She hopped on one foot until the choir leader motioned for her to be still.
They sang, and goosebumps erupted all over Isika’s arms as the voices blended together and rang in the huge room.
For the endless sea
For the fragrant night
For the breath of new life
We thank you, Oh Uncreated One
Oh Shaper of forever
A circle that never ends
Running forever in time
For sun and shade, fire in the stars
Our hands at rest and at work
For love in the eyes of the Maweel
We thank you
Nenyi, Nenyi, Shaper of forever
Our hearts have come home.
Isika heard Ibba’s sweet voice soaring through the other voices and she thought the music would pick her up off her feet, but somehow they stayed on the floor. Tears threatened, but she smiled and looked at the pillars that disappeared into the distant ceiling.
Oh Nenyi, she thought.
The song finished, and she looked around, wondering what came next. They hadn’t practiced any of this. The beads in her braids clicked softly as she turned to look at Ivram. He nodded at her and gestured for her to come forward. She let go of Kital’s hand as she walked to stand beside the choir.
She stood before Andar and Laylit, and Laylit held something in her hand. Isika tried and failed to get a look at it, before Andar reached out to put both his hands on her shoulders. He was slightly shorter now than Jabari, she realized, looking into his face, not very far above hers. She was distracting herself again and she forced herself to concentrate.
“You are our beloved queen’s granddaughter, and we honor you at your sixteenth birthday, for now you are grown and ready to walk as a woman. We honor you for the future, when you will learn more of your grandmother’s ways, we honor you despite your coming to us as a stranger. Here is your first circlet, which you will wear when you join us in hearing those who have need of help in our lands.”
Isika took a step back. What? She thought this was just a simple recognition of her birthday. Was something changing? Why had no one told her? Laylit was moving toward her with her hands stretched out—Isika could see now that the thing she held was a silver circlet much like the ones that Andar and Laylit wore, but this one not much thicker than a thread—and placed the circlet gently on her head. It moved like a living thing on Isika’s forehead, adjusting itself until it sat perfectly on her brow. She reached up to touch it and felt a buzz of magic like the earth magic that sang through the trees.
She opened her mouth, because everyone seemed to expect her to say something, ready to give a speech of thanks when there was a commotion at the door. She felt a faint buzz of relief to be saved from speech giving, and turned with everyone else to see who was there.
A guard ran into the room, shouting. “Fire on the plains! Fire on the plains! Elders! It’s huge, you can see the light and smoke from the city.”
Instantly the room buzzed with groups of people talking and pushing. The noise grew. Isika left the front to look for Teru, reaching her and finding her foster mother staring at Uncle Dawit in horror. She looked like she wasn’t breathing.
“This… is, oh no, it cannot be. This is his work.” That was all Isika heard before Teru fainted.