Chapter 1
“Estora! What’s taking you so long with the fire? You do the same thing every day, and you’re supposed to be an expert by now. Stop dawdling and hurry up. We haven’t got all day.”
Her stepmother’s demanding voice grated on Estora’s nerves, making her want to stick out her tongue—like always. The urge to retort and defy Francesca was a part of her daily routine.
Estora made a face at the kitchen hearth she sat by, her back to her stepmother so she couldn’t see her annoyance or struggle with making the fire.
Well, she was an expert at making fire, but not with flint and steel. She didn’t even know how to use them, no matter how many years it had been since she had taken over the kitchen duties.
Why use flint and steel or any other source when her own way was better and quicker?
But her stepmother didn’t know that. No one did. And she couldn’t do it while she wasn’t alone.
“Mother, I cannot do this anymore! Look at my hands! And look at this. It’s so sticky—look, look, look, ugh! It’s so irritating. Why do I even have to do this?” Lucinda, her older stepsister, cried in outrage. She was kneading dough for bread—or trying to. “You said you’d raise me as a proper lady, and a proper lady does not bake cakes! And look at my gown!”
Estora didn’t need to turn around to imagine Lucinda’s appearance. The girl knew nothing about kneading and could probably bathe herself in flour.
She barely held back a snort.
This was ridiculous. If her stepsister were trying to help her, she would’ve found her presence touching. But no, Lucinda was there, making bread, because her mother insisted she learn something about cooking—all because of the young duke Francesca had eyed for her daughter.
The duke had recently become known for his humility, often mingling with his servants and even cooking for himself at times. He lived in a grand estate near the town, and he sought a wife who shared his modest nature—or so the town’s gossip went.
Ever since hearing this, Francesca had insisted Lucinda learn cooking and gardening—the duke loved gardening—as necessary.
All of this was rubbish to Estora.
They had never met the duke, yet Francesca had already declared him the one for her eldest daughter, insisting Lucinda must be like him in order to pursue him at the upcoming ball at his estate. Lucinda was up for pursuing—in fact, she had been blabbering about the duke she had never seen—but she hated getting her hands dirty.
“Are you a senseless child? Must I tell you a thousand times for your brain to absorb it? Now be a good girl and do as you’re told without another word.”
Estora’s stepmother was harsh even with her own daughters, and deep inside, Estora thought Lucinda deserved it. The girl had put her through a lot of mental torture since her father’s departure.
Francesca turned her attention to Estora. “And you. Do I need to repeat myself a thousand times to hurry up? You do this every day, and you haven’t learned yet? If you’re slowing down out of envy towards your sister’s bright future, I will not permit you to come to the market with us today.”
Estora’s jaw dropped slightly. Envy? Bright future?
Francesca was an utter fool.
Estora felt only pity for whoever would end up with the duke—even her insufferable stepsister. Somehow, the people had forgotten that the duke had been in the royal dungeons for committing a crime that was still unknown. It had only been a few months since he returned home, suddenly all too humble towards commoners. It was all a ruse to polish his ruined reputation. Couldn’t people just see that?
“It usually takes a while to make the fire. I’m trying my best,” Estora said, forcing calm into her voice. But she suddenly felt nervous. What if Francesca and Lucinda didn’t leave the kitchen, and she couldn’t use her fire? Would Francesca suspect something when she didn’t succeed with the flint and steel?
“And I really don’t mind if I don’t get to see the prince, Stepmother,” she added. “I shall happily stay behind and tend to the hens.”
Francesca muttered something about a foolish girl and cinders as she turned away.
Estora struck the flint against the steel, but instead of sparks, only a few feeble glimmers appeared. She sighed, frustrated.
How do people do this every day?
“Mother! Mother!” Twelve-year-old Linette’s voice echoed into the kitchen, followed by her stomping, hurried footsteps. “The prince is coming! He’ll be passing by any minute! We must hurry, or we’ll miss him! Everyone’s leaving already!”
Estora was certain the whole household heard her, except there was no one else but the four of them. There had been a time when servants bustled around the house and gardeners laughed as they worked, but Francesca had sent them all away, unable to pay them while also caring for Estora’s father’s treatments.
Her stepmother and stepsisters fled the room in the next two minutes, gushing about making good appearances and catching the prince’s eye. Estora barely restrained herself from asking, ‘Where is the duke now?’
Thanking the Creator for their absence, Estora put away the flint and steel and rose to her feet with a relieved sigh.
She stretched her hand slightly towards the hearth and summoned her powers. Warmth enveloped within her, her fingertips burning. Flames leaped out of her hands, landing on the sticks and tinder, igniting them instantly. The fire spread quickly.
Her fire never hurt her. Normal fire could, but not hers; it was a part of her being—part of herself she dreaded exploring more. She only used her powers to start the hearth fire.
Fire was a dangerous element, and she was scared of what it could do if uncontrolled.
Estora backed away from the hearth, realizing only then that she shouldn’t have lit it. They were heading for the market, and the wood would be wasted. Even though the fire was hers, she didn’t know how to stop it or if she could.
Not even water could put it out—she had tried that several times. When everything turned to ashes, the fire would stop on its own.
Estora turned away, her eyes landing on her dear diary on the kitchen slab. She smiled softly.
Not only were her powers secret, but so was her diary. And she had sworn to herself that no one would ever find out about either.
***
By the time Estora entered the market, it was flooded with people, buzzing with so much excitement that she found herself rolling her eyes now and then.
Only five months ago, these people were less fond of the prince. But after he formed an alliance with their neighboring country, long considered an enemy, their affection for him grew back immediately.
Who knows the ways of these people? She thought as she pushed her way through the crowd, scanning the area to find her one and only friend. She had no interest in seeing the prince; she was here to see her friend.
Estora loved being outdoors, but at the same time, she disliked it. Fear took hold of her whenever she was surrounded by people, making her feel exposed. She was always on her guard, careful not to meet anyone’s eyes, even though her father, when he was alive, had assured her that no one remembered the sign to distinguish a normal human from someone born with magic; their eyes.
Every mage had eyes the color of flames and people used to recognize them by this, but that was a thousand years ago. There was not a single mage left in the world except for her; the mage lineage had ended when every one of them perished in the Blood War, save for her ancestor who had managed to escape.
Since the war and its impact—half of the country destroyed and many lives lost—on the normal people, they declared their hatred towards mages, though none remained. Not even a child from the magic bloodline.
For generations, people told stories about the Blood War to their children and passed down their hatred. The mages’ unusual eyes were once part of the story, but not since the last century. Everyone had mysteriously forgotten that particular detail.
According to her father, his great-grandfather, who had the power to sense enchantments, claimed that the people had been enchanted to forget about it, though he couldn’t identify who was responsible.
The question remained unanswered. Only Estora’s ancestor had survived the war of the mages, so who could have done it?
There was really no reason for her to fear. She could hold her head high and meet others’ gazes, but somehow, she still dreaded it.
Estora found her friend Lily on a raised platform where the stalls were lined, with her hands on her hips and eyes narrowed at someone.
With every corner of the market occupied and the crush of bodies pressing in around her, it was not easy to move forward. But she pushed her way through anyway, earning herself many glares.
“I wonder who has done what to deserve that hawkish look of yours,” Estora mused as she joined her friend’s side, a smile teasing her lips.
Startled, Lily turned around, a hand pressed against her chest. “Estora, hello to you too. What a way to greet your friend whom you haven’t seen in two weeks.” She feigned a hurtful expression, though her eyes lit up in amusement.
Estora grinned, her first genuine smile in weeks. “And what an eager way to wait for your friend, glaring at someone. May I know who troubles you?”
Lily shot her a serious look but failed to suppress her smile. “I am not troubled, dear friend. I’m merely trying to help the guards find the thief, not that they asked for it, of course. Oh! Haven’t you heard?” Lily asked, seeing Estora’s confused face. “The thief in the palace kitchen! The guards failed to catch her, and she managed to escape. It’s a girl, by the way. And I was wondering whether that’s her.”
Estora followed Lily’s gaze to the girl she had been observing. The young girl stood next to a group of noblewomen who couldn’t stop giggling and fluttering their fans. But only a few seconds later, she was shoved away from their side.
Estora had only seen the noblewomen a handful of times before, but she disliked them greatly for how they looked down on commoners and how loudly they gushed about their gowns and jewels.
“What makes you think it’s her? If it were her, honestly, she wouldn’t be here.”
“I know, but for the last few weeks, she’s been talking and daydreaming about the food served at the castle.”
“I’m pretty sure everyone dreams about the food at the castle, Lil. Besides, from what you’ve told me about her family, she’s really poor, so of course, she’d talk about it.”
Lily sighed. “You are right. If she were the thief, she wouldn’t be here to see the crown prince.”
Estora turned to her, eyebrows rising. “You mean the crownless prince?”
“Make way, make way! Make way for His Royal Highness!” a voice cried out suddenly, overpowering the noise of the crowd.
Four guards came into sight, parting the way for the prince, and pushing people to each side. But with countless people gathered, all they could form was a narrow path between the sidelines. Excited whispers rippled through the multitude, and soon the whole place was filled with cheers when the prince seemed to step into sight.
Estora craned her neck for a glimpse, but she couldn’t see him yet. The shouts, claps, and cheers pierced her ears and she clasped her hands over them, though, that barely helped. Lily copied her, and both girls exchanged insufferable glances before bursting into laughter. Only they seemed to find the noise unbearable.
After a few intolerable minutes, the prince came into view, riding a majestic white horse, his figure striking contrast against the backdrop of the marketplace. He sat regally, offering a wide, easy smile to everyone. The crowd of women swooned at it.
Estora dropped her hands and snorted, rolling her eyes at the people.
Prince Axel had been born and raised as the crown prince. However, he was selfish and unkind to his people—at least that’s what people said—and the king had removed him from his title and given it to his younger brother instead.
Since then, Prince Axel hadn’t been seen outside the castle. Rumor had it that he locked himself in his room. However, five months later, he somehow made peace with their neighboring country, Arozonth, and impressed everyone in his own country, earning back their favor.
Now, he had returned from Arozonth after signing an alliance. He had declared that upon his return, he would visit every village in the capital and beyond.
Prince Axel was young and very handsome—Estora had to admit begrudgingly, but the notion of swooning over him was out of the question. That very thought irritated her as much as the giggling and flirtatiously smiling girls surrounding her did.
The prince rode at a leisurely pace, taking his time to look at each and every person he passed by, which indeed surprised Estora. The last time the royal family had visited, they barely looked at anyone. Perhaps they had been in a hurry. However, this prince swept his gaze slowly over the crowd as if he wanted to remember every face of his admiring people.
What was he up to? It was not like the people could give him back the title of crown prince.
Petals were thrown at him, and the noblewomen across the road swooned dramatically, their hands flying to their chests, and one of them even fainted—or feigned to—when the prince smiled at her.
Prince Axel was now directly within Estora’s sight. His eyes scanned the crowd Estora stood nearby and met hers.
He froze.
His smile froze.
He halted his slowly trotting horse.
Estora’s breath caught in her throat. After a frozen second, she tore her eyes away from his. Fear clenched her heart, and she tensed wildly for a moment before regaining her composure, masking her anxiety. She suddenly found the cobblestone road very interesting—indeed more interesting than the prince, and she was sure she stared at it for a long moment, trying to control the sudden storm brewing inside her.
After the prince had moved on, Estora lifted her gaze again, but almost as soon as she looked at his retreating figure, the prince turned his head. His now-piercing, intense eyes met hers, and Estora looked away again with a start.
For a while, she couldn’t breathe properly.
No, he couldn’t have recognized her. There was no way anyone could know. Yet, when he looked at her, his entire demeanor had changed, as if he saw her secret, as if he knew those eyes and was shocked by them.
His gaze left her feeling exposed.
Could he have recognized her? But her father had assured her that no one, not even the royal family, remembered the eyes of mages. The memory had been wiped from everyone’s mind.
Then why had the prince gone still when he saw her?
Estora recalled her father’s assurances over and over again, but unlike before, they didn’t help. Whether she wanted to believe it or not, she knew he had seen her.
And it was no longer safe to be outside, she realized with growing fear. What if the prince sent his guards to arrest her now?
She quickly made an excuse to Lily and hurried home.
Only when Estora reached her house and shut the door behind her did she realize she wasn’t safe there either. She was not safe anywhere. The prince could send his guards and drag her from any corner of the country.
The realization hit her hard and her world took on a dark turn.