Page 74 of Wings of Ebony
Wait. She’s so young. How is she Bound?
I take the flower by the stem with a smile, shifting in my seat. How does she have onyx? At what, five years old? The Chancellor doesn’t bind until seventeen.
Uneasiness churns inside.
The larger woman, her mother I think, mutters something and swats the girl’s hand.
“Oh no, it’s fine. She’s not bugging me,” I say, but my words dissolve in a buzz of excitement over the food the woman has. A tray piled with sautéed qui, crusted ksi ksi, which are like sweet collard greens, chunky kwello root, which are kind of like sweet potatoes but red instead of orange and savory instead of sweet. In the centerof the bed of vegetables is a chunk of glazed meat. With a flick of her wrist, the hovering tray moves to the table in one smooth motion. I salivate. Maybe I could take a small taste. She smooths her hands on her apron and pulls the little girl away. She waves, running off.
Wait.
Her wrists, that little girl’s wrists…
There’s nothing on them.
I break my neck for a glance at the mother, but she’s already too far to see. Aasim clears his throat and it takes all the focus I can muster not to watch where they rush off to. The guy who ushered us to our table is across the room fussing over a stone bowl that won’t stay lit, the flames from his fingertips barely there. I tilt my head for a better view of his onyx. Maybe theirs are different?
His wrists… there’s no onyx on his wrists either.
My thoughts are a haze of confusion. “I-I d-don’t understand,” I say, louder than I intend to. All heads turn my way. The scrape of utensils and chairs halts and dead silence hangs in the air.
Bati smiles. “Your father hasn’t told you much, I see.”
“I didn’t know if she’d listen,” he says.
That stings. But I guess… I guess it’s true.
“And besides,” he says, “she needed to see… for herself.”
“All these people here”—I don’t remember standing, but I am—“I… I don’t see onyx on anyone here.”
Bati and Aasim’s eyes stay on me. But everyone else glances at one another, like my words don’t make sense. Like it’s not weird for people to be walking around Ghizon, even if it is in a mountain, floating platters, making flames, growing flowers—withoutonyx infused with the Chancellor’s magic.
“Does she have it?” Bati asks.
“Do I have what?”
“She does,” says Aasim. “In her pocket, I believe.”
“If I may…” Bati clasps his hands, but only I look his way. He rises from the table, holding up his hands. My pocket jerks every which way.
What is he—? I tug my hoodie still, but it squirms more violently. His hands tremble and his face is all determination like this pains him or is hard for him… or something. The cuff rips open my zipped pocket and snaps to his hand like a magnet.
No onyx on his wrists either.
WHAT IS GOING ON?!
My stomach plummets, like I’m standing on the edge of some cliff I’m supposed to jump off, teetering on the edge of a truth I can’t make sense of.
Bati rotates my cuff in his hands. “Ooo, hot.” He switches the finger he’s holding it with. “Jelani, you don’t need onyx to get your magic back.”
When did I tell him my magic was broken?
“You never lost it. Nor have you ever reallyusedit—not truly.” He walks toward me and all I can hear are his footsteps and my heartbeat. “Those few spells they teach are useful, sure.” He chuckles. “But you, my dear, are of the oldest blood of ancient Ghizon.Yourmagic is within.”
The heat on my neck rises.
Say something. Stop staring like an idiot.
