Page 1 of Carousel

PART ONE

Water

CHAPTER 1

The Card of the Visitor

My great-great grandmother has been squinting at the card in her withered hand for a full ten minutes now.

“Just show me,” I say, sighing. “It can’t be that bad.”

Old Mother insists on reading our fortunes every Provision Day. Her foresight is a talent she has from being distantly related to the Rhavnan Royal Family. It’s much more magic than my brother and I have, which – let’s be clear – is none.

Finally, she flips the card. It shows a man in robes that billow around his feet. A scarf obscures the lower half of his face, but his eyes are visible, and they’re sharp, watchful. Like they might bring with them bad tidings.

It’s not a card I’ve seen before, although new cards have been known to appear in the deck from time to time, the same way some disappear when they feel they’re no longer needed.

Beneath the image is a curling line of Old Rhavnan script.

“The Visitor. Maybe a holyman?” I guess. “Or another crew rustler?”

The tassels sway on her headscarf as she draws another card from her velvet pack.

The Card of Home.

She places both cards in my hands and I just gape at them.

“Rhavna? Someone’s coming from Rhavna?”

It’s not possible.

I’m only half-Rhavnan, on my father’s side, but it’s where I grew up. When Hevalla declared war on Rhavna five years ago, my mother, who was the Ambassador to Hevalla to the Queen, sent my brother and I here for reasons that are still hazy to me. From what I’ve understood, she believed being half-Hevallan put us in danger, and that Hevalla, her country, would be safer for us than the Palace, which is where we lived. My mother even arranged for Old Mother to accompany us as our legal guardian.

So having a Rhavnan visitor won’t happen. Can’t happen. Not while the Sky War rages on above us – a war started entirely by Hevalla. I’ll never forgive this miserable country for that, or have any loyalties towards it. Even if I have to live in it.

There’s a slam as our front door swings open, and I jump so abruptly my soul just about leaves my body. Eric’s gangly frame hangs slanted in the doorway, and his tanned brow is creased.

“Ara,” he says in a breath. “Can you come outside, please? Vikemy’s here.”

Old Mother grabs the cards off me and stuffs them back into the pack. I run to follow Eric out of the house.

Our State Craftsman is standing at our rickety wooden gate inspecting our donkey, Babba. Behind him are two of his watchers. I do my best to ignore them, and their rifles, as I address him directly.

“We are preparing for Provision, Vikemy. Shall we visit you at Temple later?”

“This won’t take long,” he replies. His voice, as always, is lispy and curling. He speaks the way I imagine a snake might, if they could. He even looks reptilian, especially right now, standing in the dry, cracked mud of our front yard. He is tall and long. The nostrils in his turned-up nose are narrow, like slits. The dandruff flakes on his bald head are perfect scales.

“Then, how may we help you?” I ask, smoothing the skirt of my dress.

He tracks the movement, his small eyes roving openly over my body. I fold my arms over my chest instantly.

“We have received intelligence that military action is being planned in airspace near us,” he starts. “You will let me know if you see anything off, won’t you? Debris on the beach. Enemy soldiers on foot.”

My frown – which had never really left my face after seeing that strange card – deepens. Is Vikemy going from house to house with this information? We’ve never had a warning like this before.

“We’ll keep our eyes peeled.”

His gaze lands on Babba again.