Page 6 of Minor Works of Meda

“Anyways, what do you know,” I told him sourly as I tore open another bean pod. “One day I’m going to cast workings the likes of which you’ve never dreamed of.”

He paused to peer at me then, lifting one dark eyebrow. Kalcedon managed to pile a lot of weary superiority into the look.

“Undoubtedly,” he said at last. “Please tell me when you do, so I can watch you burn yourself cold and fall over your own feet.”

I was going to do it. If I could just convince Eudoria of my talents, she might recommend me to the Temple. They’d see what I was capable of. With a bevy of other witches to draw power from, I’d lead great orchestrated workings so spectacular Kalcedon would swallow his words.

“Oh, I’ll make sure you’re there,” I told him. “A front-row seat. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

“Enough.” Eudoria’s voice was soft, but it caught both of our attention instantly. “You act like children.”

She stood in the doorway, her dense silver hair half-pinned back, her eyes scrutinizing the kitchen counters. The old witch slowly rubbed her hands together. I could smell the nettle cream she used against her aching finger joints, freshly applied.

It wasn’t the first time Eudoria had mentioned our immaturity. But I didn’t know how else to be, around Kalcedon. The burn of his magic made my skin feel prickly and alive; made my heart pound and turned my head dizzy. I was constantly having to remind myself not to forget what he was. Before I took the position at Eudoria’s, my parents had made me swear I wouldn’t let my guard down.

“When will supper be ready?” Eudoria asked.

“Not for an hour. There’s bread and oil, and some salad, if you’re hungry now?” Kalcedon offered.

She waved him off and took a seat at the small table where we usually ate. Eudoria planted her elbows and rubbed her fingers against her forehead. I paused to silently tidy up the mess I’d made as Kalcedon ladled her a cup of water from the jar. He set it reverently in front of her.

I worked my way through all the beans as Kalcedon added his other home-grown vegetables to the dish, then oil and salt and herbs. Into the oven his pan went. Eudoria still hadn’t brought up my spell, or that she’d thrown me out of the workroom.

Kalcedon tugged the bean bowl out from under my hands and started to fly through it.

“Don’t just stand there like a fool. Start cleaning the snails.”

There was a knock on the door. Eudoria pushed herself up from the table slowly, with a groan.

“I can get it,” Kalcedon said, but the seer was already around the corner. I strained to hear the conversation. There was a male voice alongside Eudoria’s, but I couldn’t quite make out the words, even though Kalcedon was silent—perhaps doing the same thing as me.

Then footsteps, as Eudoria returned.

“Meda. Some boy is here to see you.”

Chapter 4

Nobody, as a rule, came to see me. They just didn’t.

Sometimes people came for Eudoria, if they had a missing child to find, or a dead relative they wanted to see again. When the kingdom of Colynes conquered the isle of Doregall, all of Nis-Illous turned to her for news, panicking over whether we’d be next. As if a bloodthirsty war-king would want a backwards island that wasn’t worth a pig snout. I could still remember painting patterns on my mother’s pottery and hearing the words the seer says it’s over, they captured a prince and the war-king called back his ships. Back then, I could never have guessed I’d be living in Eudoria’s tower.

People came for Kalcedon too. They always had a wary and regretful look about it when they did, as if they were nervous he might decide to turn them into soup. So they only really came for Kalcedon if things were especially bad: if it looked like they were about to lose their entire harvest, for instance, and they didn’t have the money to turn to fishing or raising goats or pottery or anything else that could keep them from knocking on the door of a storm-gray half-human man, the closest thing to a true faerie in some three hundred years.

In any case, nobody came to me for help. My scholarly achievements wouldn’t be of much use to potters and fishermen. And until I could convince Eudoria I had worth, nobody outside the tower would even know about them.

“Is it my brother?” I asked, rubbing my suddenly sweaty palms against my skirt. The kitchen’s warmth—real, not magical—was starting to flush my skin.

I couldn’t think of any other man who’d show up at Eudoria’s for me, but Dareios would have written a letter if he just wanted to say hello. If he’d come all this way, it meant bad news.

But the seer only shrugged and settled back down at the table, taking a sip of water. I wrung my hands and trotted to the entryway, bracing myself for the worst. Kalcedon gave me a concerned look as I went.

The door was wide open. I could see as soon as I stepped out of the kitchen that it wasn’t Dareios, or any other of my relatives.

It was one of the village men. He stood in the doorway with a pathetic little assortment of wildflowers clasped in his grimy hands. I didn’t know his name, but I recognized him. Missaniech town was only two miles below the tower, where the cliff tapered down to meet the sea. We went to the merchant ship whenever it came in, to haggle over books and seeds and household goods.

He had a round face, eyes that were too small and a guarded smile he was always ducking his head to hide. He looked about twenty-five. I’d noticed him in the past not because there was anything about him to notice, but because I’d caught him staring at me more than once.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice a little sharp. I was relieved that it wasn’t Dareios with horrible news. Still, I somehow doubted the man in front of me was about to ask for my help crafting a contortion shield or placing barrier holds.

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