The squirrel finally, finally stopped moving. It was amazing. It just froze on the grass standing on its back legs, and it would have been chomping on the nut in its hands if it had been allowed to move. But it wasn’t moving, because she had stopped it from moving! It was like a real statue, of her own creation! She had done it, and she began jumping up and down, excited. She was soon running all over her big garden, whooping in excitement.

“Princess?”

The princess whirled around and looked down the path leading back to her home and grinned. Her very special teacher was standing there with her lips curled up.

“Miss Dayana!” she exclaimed, running to the older woman.

The woman adjusted her red and white jeweled shawl over her woven blouse, letting the young girl hug her.

“Look what I did!” the princess said, pointing to the squirrel. “I did it! I did it!”

“I know you did, Princess.”

Princess Yana dragged her special teacher to the squirrel on the grass, where she had used the special spirit inside of her to freeze it in place. Miss Dayana would be proud, because Yana had worked hard and concentrated just like she was instructed to do.

Miss Dayana knelt down on the grass. “Very good, child.”

Yana grinned, clutching onto her puffy dress. “I want to show Amma.”

Miss Dayana suddenly looked angry. Her eyes went wide and the way she looked at Yana made her feel a little scared.

“You can never tell anyone about this. You know you can’t,” she said with a hard voice. “This power we have is very special, and if you tell your Amma, she will take it away from you. She will then take me away from you as well. Is that what you want?”

Yana shook her head rapidly. She would never want that.

Miss Dayana’s beautiful big eyes were nice again. Her red lips formed a smile. “Very good. Congratulations, Princess. You have successfully halted this squirrel’s time all on your own. That takes talent.”

Yana jumped up and down, clapping and giggling.

Miss Dayana stood tall again. She was a tall woman, even taller than Yana’s mother. She had very black hair with some gray hairs in them that made it look shiny in the sun. She wore really nice jewelry all the time, like big earrings and necklaces and rings. Sometimes she liked to wear headpieces as well, and those were Yana’s favorite. It made her teacher look like royalty, even though she was not.

Princess Yana loved jewels, but she was only allowed to wear them, and her crown, in portraits or in public outings with her family. Sometimes Miss Dayana would let her wear her jewels in secret.

Miss Dayana was so pretty. Sometimes she was scary, but she was mostly pretty. She had a deep, lovely voice that was soothing when she was happy, and frightful when she was mad. Her large eyes were golden—hazel was the right word. She had taught Yana that word too. Hazel was also the color of Yana’s hair, which Yana loved because everyone always told her how beautiful it was.

Miss Dayana was her private teacher. Her parents hired her when Yana turned five the year before, and she taught Yana many things since. But some things, like freezing squirrels in time, should always be kept a secret. Even Yana could understand that, even if it was so exciting she wanted to tell the world how special she was.

She really loved Miss Dayana. They made a great team, and they even had names that sounded almost the same!

Miss Dayana reached for Yana’s little hand. “Now, it’s time for your other lessons. You have horseback riding today as well, so we must hurry.”

Yana pouted. “I don’t want to learn those boring lessons. I want to do more lessons like these.”

“In time, child. You are a descendant of my one true Queen. You will one day learn everything.”

With a swoop of her hand, Miss Dayana let the squirrel run off.

For a week, Zara had been trying her hardest to morph into the cat Revan had found for her in a nearby alley. He had trimmed off a generous amount of its fur, had her study the animal, and taught her the chant. The pronunciation was complicated, but she had to recite it perfectly at the same time she absorbed the fur into her skin.

Her first try had been disastrous. She had grown whiskers on her face, which Revan had found very amusing. Razoring them down hadn’t been enough; they’d grown back within hours. Revan had concocted a wax and an ointment that had done the job, painful as it was.

The second try was worse. One of her hands had grown claws, but the other had morphed down into a disfigured-looking paw, and that had hurt. Another two days had gone by healing the changes that had gone wrong. Revan hadn’t had the decency to look sorry even once.

She didn’t care. She didn’t need his sympathy right now, or maybe ever. She would rather avoid him altogether if she wasn’t so dependent on him.

Now she was at her terrace, reluctantly readying for the third attempt. She had practiced her pronunciation, but it was a lot more advanced than the other spells she had done so far. Revan had warned her that this transformation could take months to perfect, or years if she chose to keep her magic inactive. So during the times she wasn’t whisker-faced or writhing in joint pains, she kept up her regular schedule of potion-making, studying, and honing her power.

Zara sighed, and put the vial with the tuft of alley cat hair down on the outdoor floor table. Her nerves were getting to her. She sat down on the cool grass in front of the tile flooring instead, inhaling the crisp air. The sun was peaking out of the clouds the further into the afternoon it went. The neighborhood below was busy. Children were playing in the streets; sellers roamed with full carts; families and couples went about their errands.

It was nice. If only she could sit here all day, without having to fret about her growing obsession with perfecting an impossible ancient chant.

As Zara watched the street musicians starting a new tune, she couldn’t help but think of her old home, and how she’d wandered the streets daringly by herself that one day, before everything went to shit. She couldn’t help but miss doing other things. Like dancing, for one.

Zara watched a couple walk up to the musicians and clap while stepping in beat with the rhythm of the dhol. For a second, she envied them. Revan would call her ridiculous for feeling so, but she did, in a way. It must be nice to enjoy a normal day and worry about normal things, and never have to run away or hide all the time, lest she want an early grave.

A lump formed in her throat. Revan had told her everything. Yohid had been nothing more than an ordinary boy that had lost his life for nothing. On top of that, Revan had made Zara feel dumb for having actually believed the boy to be anything special at all. She had foolishly confided her secret to him, and had given him her ring. Then he had betrayed her on the cliff, like any child likely would in that situation.

She truly had messed it all up.

And Rowan—well, not that any of it mattered anymore because by this time, he would have forgotten her. But his almost hateful demeanor had been the cause of Revan’s influence, commanding that he steer clear of his sister. He’d sealed it by convincing him that coming after her, saving her, or protecting her, would never be worth his own life, nor his family’s.

The mighty urge in Zara to smash the workroom to pieces after that revelation had been immediately halted by Revan’s raised hand, and his silent command—a particularly strong one that Zara could not fight—to hold back her foul temper, or face a painful consequence.

A tiny flower bud peeked out of the soil within the tall grass. Zara smiled wistfully at it, and with her fingers, she warmed the bud and the soft stem. This was easy for her now. A comforting heat engulfed her heart as the flower bud blossomed into a pink rose with a few gentle twirls of her fingers.

“Zara?”

Zara almost leaped off the grass at the sound of Saren’s voice calling out to her. She almost ended up squashing the rose entirely.

“S-Saren? Saren! Hello,” Zara rushed, getting up and brushing herself off. She headed to the side of the house, where Saren was standing by the open gate. “You’re here.”

“Revan let me come here,” Saren explained, a little shyly. “He said he was a bit busy at the moment, but that you would be here. He pointed me to the garden.” Her eyes were scanning over it now as she spoke.

“So…you were here to see him?” Zara was not surprised. She was more surprised that she hadn’t come sooner. She made a quick glance at the gemstone still around her neck and smiled sweetly at the woman.

“Maybe…though, maybe seeing you would not be so bad either.”

“…Right. How kind of you to think so.”

Saren looked at the patch of grass where Zara had been sitting. A lone pink rose stood proud and tall. “What were doing over there?”

“Nothing,” Zara answered quickly. “I was…admiring the folks down below.”

Saren let out a laugh. “That is something, then, no?”

Zara did not reply. She did not feel very comfortable with Saren here, but she knew it was necessary to try and bond with the woman. Zara looked her over. She was without any cloak and in more modest attire today—white trousers and a long mustard colored tunic. A shawl hung casually over her shoulder, and her thick ebony hair was braided to one side.

Zara self-consciously adjusted her own hair, as it was done up in a messy updo and likely looked stupid compared to Saren’s kept appearance. She only wore a plain gray dress with worn-out ruffled sleeves. Zara guessed she should be more relieved that Saren hadn’t stopped by a couple days prior, otherwise she would have seen the ugly wax scars on Zara’s upper lip and jawline, and that was just something Zara could not have explained. The fast-healing ointments were truly a miracle to keep around.

“May I step in?” Saren asked after a moment.

Zara wordlessly moved out of the way and let her stroll into the garden.

“The flowers,” Zara explained lamely, “they won’t grow much until later in the season.”

“You grow a lot of herbs,” Saren pointed out, referring to a corner of the garden reserved for them.

“Yes, we…cook with them. It’s so much easier than finding them at the market.”

Of course, only a part of that was true. They also needed the herbs for potions, and she hoped Saren’s curiosity wouldn’t drive her to go inspect the plants. Because then she would see that some of those herbs were not meant to be consumed with regular meals.

But Saren was heading toward the pink rose instead.

Zara silently observed her pick the flower off and roll the stem between her fingers, taking care to avoid the thorns. She brought the rose to her face, inhaling its sweet scent.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured. She was looking at the rose, but it seemed something else was on her mind.

“I’m sorry?”

Saren turned to her and smiled widely. Her eyes had that odd, almost glazed look to them again, though it wasn’t as obvious, so Zara wasn’t sure if she was just being paranoid. She didn’t feel any pressure in her head like before, so that was a good sign. Saren walked up to her and handed her the rose.

“Here,” she said.

Zara took the rose with confused hesitance. “Why?”

“A token, of the friendship I see in our future, and of gratitude for the warm welcoming and your food.”

“…The friendship you see?”

Saren bobbed her head. “Sure. Why not? I think we can be friends.”

If Saren was a normal person, Zara wouldn’t even question any of this. But this was just…so interesting. She wondered what went on in Saren’s head and how she was processing it. If she even knew what she was processing. But none of these questions would be met with answers, since Zara couldn’t outright ask.

“You’ve grown such a lovely rose here,” Saren muttered with lowered eyes. “It suits you.”

Zara’s eyes rounded. “Huh?”

Saren’s eyes snapped up, with sudden clarity. “You look so pretty holding it. An off-the-season rose from your own garden, no? The color is nice against—” She gestured to Zara’s gown. “—all the gray, I suppose.”

“…Oh.”

Saren’s lips quirked up. “You’re welcome.”

Zara then offered to bring out some tea, insisting that Saren wait here. She could use some time away to gather her thoughts.

“I think I have biscuits as well, if you’d like some,” Zara told her, pulling out a seat cushion.

“No, I had some at the tea stall on the way here.” But Saren took a seat on the cushion anyway, resting her arms on the floor table. “Sit with me, girl. I want to get to know you, and I know you would like the same from me.”

“How do you figure that?”

Before Saren could respond, Zara held up her hand to stop her.

“Instinct?” she said flatly.

Saren giggled. “You’re starting to understand me already!”

Some time passed as they chatted, and Zara wasn’t aware how long but the sky had dimmed. They could not see the sunset from where they were, but they could at least admire the coloring of the twilight. Zara lit the lamps around the terrace.

“You must be hungry now, Saren.”

“Is that an invitation to eat with you this evening, Zara?” Saren’s smirk was playful, and Zara found herself responding the same.

It was strange, very strange that Zara was feeling this way. Like she was beginning to grow some fondness, an affinity of sorts, towards this woman in a single afternoon. This was unexpected. Zara could not imagine such a thing happening just a few hours before.

Saren had actually been likable today. They’d started with small talk about their days; Saren had gotten a job as a weaver, though she had wanted a job where she could be more physical, like a butcher or a wood bringer. Zara had been a bit surprised by that, but then remembered where Saren was from and with her size, physical labor suited her. But much of those jobs were run by men who were naturally going to be more hesitant to hire even a woman as capable as Saren. They did not want to be liable for any injuries, nor cause unrest among the other workers. So Saren had to make do, a bit grudgingly at that.

Zara mentioned she was taken care of by Revan, which Saren had envied a bit. Though, she asked whether Zara ever got bored or wished to do other things, or meet other people. Zara couldn’t really reveal how busy her days really went and felt a little pathetic, as though Saren thought she had nothing more to do than cook and clean after Revan. But this eventually led to an easy discussion about each other’s hobbies, which Zara took pleasure in how enthusiastic and encouraging Saren’s attitude had been about it.

It just so happened that they shared a love of music and dance. Saren also enjoyed the theater and took an interest in acting in small stage plays back home, often ones that had light musical routines. She also enjoyed romance comedies and tragedies, both in books and plays. Zara couldn’t be more impressed by this. Her previous insecurities and moody suspicions about Saren, in that moment at least, had flown out of her head.

The cooler winds had begun to blow, though Saren seemed unbothered by it. She stood from the cushion and walked toward Zara who had been on her way inside to prepare a meal.

“Let me help you,” Saren insisted. “I miss cooking for others.”

Zara gave her a real smile. Saren had been just as tight-lipped about her own family as Zara was. Another area they shared in common. But Zara guessed whatever had happened, and whatever had led Saren here, was causing her to miss her family. That was something they didn’t share in common—a yearning for the people back home.

Zara had some leftover bread to heat over the fire. Saren washed the rice grains and set it in the pot with some butter and a squeeze of lemon. The women chatted as they cut fresh herbs and sliced meat; Saren wanted Zara and Revan to try a roasted egg and hen dish she loved making back home. Normally she used more fatty meats, but hen was all Zara had in the ice box at the moment.

As they prepared the meal, and the kitchen warmed with pleasant scents of cooking spices, Saren suggested whether Zara would be interested in taking professional dance lessons with her.

“I’ve always wanted to do something like this. It might be fun!” Saren said as she rubbed the spices onto the meat. “And it’s a nice way to get out there and perhaps meet some people? Make friends.”

Zara was on board until she said that. Of course, she couldn’t avoid meeting people if she wanted to do this. Dance, she was willing. People, she wasn’t.

“Oh…” Zara went to stir the boiling rice. “Sure. It sounds fun.”

She could feel Saren’s quizzical eyes on her back. But she did not comment on Zara’s meeker tone.

“I believe,” she went on, “I heard a lady talking about lessons on the street as I walked home from weaving the other day. One of the temples is hosting it.”

“It might be for holy dances then,” Zara said, turning back to face Saren.

Saren shrugged. “It would be a nice start. Until we find another place. It is a big city and I haven’t been able to get around as much as I wanted to yet.”

“We should head for the Kingdom then,” Revan voiced so suddenly it made Zara jolt.

Saren, however, looked entirely unaffected, like she’d sensed him coming. For all they knew, she had.

“You’ll find better activity opportunities there, ones that may fit what you are looking for.”

Zara narrowed her eyes at him. “Where did you come from? Were you listening in?”

“I’ve just arrived, and I happened to hear some of what you were discussing,” he told her simply.

“Where have you been?” Saren asked, heading to the hearth and putting the meat into the sizzling pan.

“Running errands. Very important errands.” His eyes fell on Zara. “I need to head into the capital district next week. If you two would like to come with me, that will be alright.”

Saren was delighted. “That sounds perfect! Is it for materials? Zara was telling me your clothing sales have gone up. It must be as popular as your jewelry.” She touched the green gemstone, a bit pink in the face. “I’d like to see more of what you sell.”

To Saren, Revan was just an ordinary merchant. He smiled at her. Zara did not miss his gaze flickering over the gemstone.

“How are you feeling, dear?”

The blush on Saren’s cheeks darkened. She shrugged. “Well. Very well. Why?”

Revan gave her a slight nod, and turned his attention back to Zara. “I must meet someone. I can always have the carriage stop by the port so you two can explore the city more on your own.”

Saren beamed but Zara was appalled.

“What? Drop us off? How long will we be alone? That doesn’t sound very safe.”

“I think you’re both more than capable together.” Revan nudged his head toward Saren. “Besides, if anything, she can protect you.” He gave her a pointed look, as to not argue with him further. After all, Zara was the one who was supposed to know how to defend herself, anyway.

Zara crossed her arms stubbornly. She’d gained her dagger back at least, and with Revan’s help, she’d felt more confident in defense than she had before. But that didn’t mean she was going to unleash it all in front of Saren if the time ever came for it. And in a city like that, it just might happen.

“I don’t know about this,” she mumbled. “That part of the city isn’t very safe and—and it’s dirty and smelly. There’s too many suspicious people—”

“Now why do you do that?” Saren asked.

“What?”

“You are always doubting everything. You even doubt yourself.”

Zara scrunched her face. “When do I doubt everything?”

“Just now. And whenever you talk about yourself. Like you doubt you have any talent, or if people will like you.”

Zara felt hot. She hadn’t even voiced any of those things, but thinking back on their conversation today, she guessed anyone would be able to tell of Zara’s insecurities, “instinct” or not.

“We should go. This could be good for you. And I think we should still consider the temple here anyway. It’s closer to home, and some spirituality may also do you some good as well.”

“She is right,” Revan said, removing his cloak and seating himself at the table.

Zara ignored him. She put her vegetables in the pot of water to wash. It seemed they were going into that shit-infested place, and that was that.

“You know, Zara,” Saren spoke in a softer voice, “the world isn’t as ugly as you think it to be. There is beauty here, even in Darhai.”

Revan ate his meal with the company of the women. His heart was uneasy, and he was sure Saren could feel it too. She kept sending concerned glances his way every now and then. It was annoying him, and he needed to rectify this issue soon. For now, he could only sip down his wine until his act of being fine became more convincing.

But this uneasiness was something he hadn’t felt for a very long time. Not much fazed him like this. Though it was natural, after all, his former Mistress was watching him as he ate. She was well aware of how he felt about it, and she didn’t care.

It was all too well. He figured she’d be around these parts, and she had finally chosen to break the seal that had prevented him from finding her.

She watched him through the reflection of the castle’s pond. With a slight touch of her finger, the water rippled, and the image vanished. She smiled with tight lips. She had missed doing this—making him uncomfortable. Her apprentice had grown well though, and was now training yet another.

Those women…their powers are intriguing. I wonder…

“Miss Dayana! What are you doing out here?”

The princess was calling for her. An exceptional specimen, that one was. Though she had been a planned tool from the start.

Dayana stood from the pond’s edge and smiled amicably at the little girl who had run from the castle to find her. She was so attached, this little one. It was endearing. This innocence of the girl would be cracked the older she grew, so Dayana would enjoy this time while it lasted.

“Coming, child. Let’s go back in. It’s getting late.”

Dayana walked back to the grand castle, hand in hand with the bubbly princess. He already knew where she was. So she would simply let him come to her, like old times.