Cast in Firelight (Wickery, Band 1) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Dana graduated from the University of Texas at Austin and is an active member of the DFW Writers' Workshop. She lives in Miami, Florida, with her husband. She is the author of Cast in Firelight and Bound by Firelight. To learn more about Dana and her books visit danaswiftbooks.com or follow @swift_dana on Twitter and Instagram.

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Chapter One 

An Unromantic Love Letter

Adraa 

It is morning when I hear the news I have been dreading for nine years. I’m eating upma, my mouth and heart functioning properly when my father trips them both with a single question. 

“Did you know Jatin is coming back home today?” He glances up from the mounds of reports that fan out in circular stacks like a topographical map of the northern rice fields. Refusing to choke, my mouth revolts, and I eject the porridge instead of breathing it in. 

My sister, Prisha, drops her spoon into her bowl and it clangs. “Ew.” 

Mother’s face tilts in disgust. “Adraa.” 

I place a hand over my mouth to create a barrier so nothing else can escape as I cough. It feels like various organs have arisen in a coup. My heart, the leader, lurches, trying to make a break for it or at least to rip off the surrounding ropes of my arteries. 

My father’s eyes seize mine as they hum with insinuation. “I’m guessing that’s a no.” 

Nine words, one for each year I had not seen him; that’s all it takes to wash away my peace. After all this time, Jatin is coming home. 

The sun has decided it’s going to play peekaboo with the clouds, so in cyclical intervals the dining room glistens with warmth and then dampens into gray hues. Of course, it would be during a piercing blaze that the consistency of my life breaks apart. My mind tries to pick up each individual word my father uttered, but drops them like a clumsy toddler. 

Jatin. 

Coming. 

Back. 

Today. 

“Today? As in like a few hours from now?” I cough. 

“Yes, that is what today means.” Father sets aside a large report without looking at me. 

“Maharaja Naupure didn’t tell you last time you visited?” Mother asks, clearly satisfied I won’t ruin the finely embroidered tablecloth. 

“No,” I say. “I mean, he might have . . .” Since that first night years ago, Maharaja Naupure and I have developed a friendly relationship, beyond the role of future father- and daughter-in-law. It is upheld by my monthly deliveries of firelight, which we both use as an excuse to discuss everything--politics, economics, a special project I’m working on--anything besides his son. Sometimes he slips up and I then pretend my brain has slipped up. But I couldn’t have truly skimmed over this news, right? I’d be impressed with myself if anxiety wasn’t drowning out all other emotions. Ignoring the idea of Jatin and being his wife is a second job. 

“Oh, Adraa,” Mother sighs. 

“What? I haven’t been summoned or anything and I’m not scheduled to send my firelight today, so . . . so I’m not going.” I wrap my voice in confidence so maybe they won’t push me. An unpleasant shiver runs down my spine. Going to the palace, being part of a welcome home parade I’m sure all of Naupure will attend, seeing the boy who would one day be my husband. My heart gags, one more tremor to note it isn’t done freaking out. After nine years of me being here, in Belwar, and Jatin a hundred miles away training at a fancy prep school in Agsa, the engagement was finally . . . real. Now only Mount Gandhak would separate us. 

“That’s fine,” Father says. 

Mother frowns. “Don’t you think she should at least make an appearance? After all, he’s coming through Belwar to show his support. Half the city will be there.” 

Father looks up from his reports at last and shrugs. “If Maharaja Naupure did not summon her, I’ll leave this one up to Adraa.” 

Mother grabs a slice of naan and rips it in half, her crooked nose flaring. When Father makes sense and advocates for freedom of choice, Mother really can’t argue. Victory soars through me. 

“I think Adraa should go!” Prisha exclaims, head buried in her spell book. But I can spot the smirk nestled in her tone. The little . . . 

“We’ll leave this one up to Adraa,” Father reiterates, and a thick silence slides around us indicating the matter has been concluded. I look at my breakfast, able to breathe again. I wouldn’t have to face him today. And tonight I’ll craft better excuses. Though I’ve been running through all the good ones lately. 

Father shuffles some more paperwork. “Did you also know he stopped an avalanche on his way home?” 

This fact, unfortunately, I do know. “Yeah, a small avalanche. Whoop-de-do.” I spin my spoon into the upma, pushing the vegetables around, appetite officially lost. Prisha grins at her spell book. There is nothing amusing about the logistics of witchcraft, especially in fifteenth year. She just loves this, loves when I can be proved wrong, when I can be outdone in magic. And Jatin is always there to prove that. 

“Stopping an avalanche of any size is impressive, Adraa. It saved half a village,” Mother interjects. 

“I’m glad people are safe.” I relent. It’s just . . . did it have to be Mr. Arrogant, Jatin Naupure who did it? 

“That boy is very proficient at snow spells--exceptionally so, in fact. I heard during his royal ceremony Dloc threw a blizzard at him and he took it down in seconds.” 

White magic is his forte, Dad. Is he supposed to be bad at them? That’s like being impressed that, as a red forte, I can start fires. I almost remind my parents of the stable inferno I stopped last year, or even, dear Gods, what I do when I sneak out at night, but I hold my tongue. Because that needs to remain secret. And who was I to talk, really? I have never saved so many people. And I have yet to battle through my own royal ceremony and prove myself capable in all nine types of magic. 

The next moment, Willona bursts into the dining room holding a bowl of mangoes and sets it on the table. Our oldest and dearest servant runs her hands over her apron and I just know she is contemplating something. Why does she look so . . .  

Oh no! Wide-eyed, I pivot fully in her direction and wave my hands, but it’s too late, the words are already spewing out of her. “What did his letter say, Lady Belwar? I know everyone in the kitchen has been dying to hear.” 

I cover my face. That is--I mean was--supposed to be our secret. Do I need to start bribing the palace staff? But even that might not work. I cannot trust anyone when it comes to Jatin. Our engagement is common knowledge, too public in the palace to try to rein in the rumors. 

Mother sits up straighter. She is such a sucker for romance. Except, she has no clue what lies between Jatin and me is not romance. It’s fierce competition. And it can only end in disaster. 

“He sent you something again?” 

“Um, no,” I lie. 

“Adraa?” 

Prisha smiles from across the table, daring me to lie again. How can someone who looks so young and innocent in all other features have such a mischievous mouth? 

The note burns hot in my pocket. I had just gotten it this morning and had not felt like opening it. I know about the avalanche. He is going to rub it in my face. 

I sigh. “What? Should I read it aloud?” 

“That would be lovely.” 

Willona brims with excitement and then claps. “I’ll get the kitchen staff.” 

“No, Willona, don’t!” The door swishes...