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Only boys were allowed to attend magic school, but at eight years old, they were given another choice as well. They could join the academy and begin the ten-year training that would end with a sword, a coudarian crystal, and the name of the regiment they’d go to war with. The end result was non-negotiable. Even if Jac became an advisor to the king himself, if his regiment was called up, he’d have to go—no exceptions. No excuses.
The only men who could not be conscripted were those who did not attend the academy. Naturally, they did not have ten years of fighting experience and would be a liability on the field. But most young men were signed up. That is what happens when the crown pays the families five hundred kiruna for each name on their roster, and then one hundred every year that they complete training.
Surprisingly, the choice to sign our sons up for training was not left solely to their fathers. Both parents had to agreed, and though Jac’s father argued loudly and constantly that Jaclan must do his duty, my mother continued to refuse.
That didn’t stop recruiters from haunting Gutter Galley—home to many a struggling single mother.
One of the recruiters broke the pack, and marched on our door with a recruitment sign—the payment for doing so was written larger than anything else on the parchment.
“Gisela,” I said. “Hurry.”
My sister ran into the next room and got what I needed. I threw open the door just as he touched the wood.
“You were warned.” I tossed the basket of Savia’s soiled wrappings in his face.
He bellowed like he was being murdered. “Filthy little kakka!”
I slammed the door before he could lunge at me. He settled for pounding on it instead.
“Don’t think yourself better than us! I was born on these streets too. There’s no future for the likes of you other than whoring for my regiment. You’ll wish you were nicer to me then.”
Walking off, I left the fool to his squawking. He’d do no more to that door other than yell on the other side of it. Magic would allow him to blow it off the hinges and deliver on his many threats, but that was a tiny crystal on his lapel. He didn’t have much magic to waste, and it wasn’t worth wasting it on me.
His noise, and the twins’ giggling at his crude language, muffled as I closed myself in Mama’s room. The lump on the threadbare mattress didn’t stir.
I was gentle withdrawing the sheets, and taking Mama’s hand. She curled around me instinctively—though she did not wake. My chest squeezed gazing at her.
A gaunt cheek rested on the pillow, appearing as though even its gentle touch could break her. Bony fingers wrapped around mine, each tipped with brittle cracked nails. A crown of hair once so shining and full of life, draped limped and oily across the sheets.
Drained.
That is what my mother was. She was drained of life, health, vitality—and there wasn’t a single thing I could do to stop it.
“Mama?” I gently shook her. “It’s time for supper. I bought you shaela bread. Why don’t you try a little?”
A watery eye cracked open. “Fay... wen...” Mama’s voice was thin and brittle like the crust on shaela bread. Wind blowing in from the open window tried to steal her soft words away before they reached my ears. “How are you... my precious girl?”
Tears stung my eyes.
This last bout of sickness was worse than ever. For the past two months, Mama’s stomach rebelled at the notion of food. She had not been able to keep anything down and had taken to eating one meager meal a day—if that. And even that single bare meal wound up in the bucket beside her bed most days.
For twelve years, she’s battled bouts of the sickness that’s gotten worse and worse, longer and longer each time, but every day all she wanted to know was if I was okay. She would be such a great mother.
If she could get out of bed.
“I’m well, Mama. It’s you I’m worried about. I stopped by the apothecary this morning. He said we could work out a deal on your medicine if I look after the shop in the evenings.”
She shook her head. Doing so caused her great effort. “Costas Lightfellow will work you more than the medicines are worth at full price. He has used the young women of the Galley for free labor since the shop opened. The man has no concept of fair business, nor of keeping his hands to himself.”
I slumped, dropping my forehead on the mattress. “What choice do I have? You’re getting worse and this is the only way I can afford your medicine.”
“We both know that medicine does little for me, my darling, and less and less every time.” She smiled in spite of everything.“We cannot continue to waste the coin. It does not help me. Nothing can. Nothing will.”
“While it does little for you, it still does something. We will waste the coin until that changes. I will not see you suffer any more than you must.”
“My girl.” Mama stroked my hair as Meli came in with her supper. “So strong. So stubborn. Never lose that, faywen. Your obedience is taken, but your fire is surrendered.”
Mama has told me this since I was old enough to remember. I was certain she said it when I was a babe as well, but I did not know what it meant. If my choices were gone and obedience was taken from me on the knife’s edge of everything I held dear, what did fire matter? I already surrendered. I already lost.
