2. Chapter Two
Chapter two
T he sun soaks into my pillow as the last tendrils of sleep leave me. I untangle my legs from the sheets with a groan as I readjust my night dress and replace the thin strap back on my shoulder. Dragging myself from the cloud-like bed, I can’t help but sigh as my feet meet the cold stone, the chill of the mist encasing my bare arms as I make my way to the balcony and take in the view of the sun as it paints the sea of clouds around me pink and gold.
This morning ritual is one I will miss immensely. The sensation of being part of the sky so seamlessly, where I can literally reach out and touch the heavens, will forever be etched into my memory. Zanteera Island might be feared by those on the mainland because of the reputation of Vana prison, but they’re not all aware of what’s actually up here. For me, now that I’ve seen it – lived it – this being part of the sky and not having any ties to Vana, I wonder again how hard it will be to adjust back to life in the city below.
A city full of people, and towering buildings with lights that never turn off, and the silent transport pods that aren’t actually silent but leave a quiet ringing in my ears every time they go past. All of that … pressing up against other people’s lives. Compared to the witnessing, supporting, and … watching from afar I do from up here. Sometimes I’m desperate to be back in the middle of it all, and others I dread the day I have to give up this quiet.
But that doesn’t overtake the nervous excitement that’s starting to gain traction. A gentle tingle under my skin at the options that are now opening up to me. The compensation for my duty has been reasonable and, with no family to send it back to, I have enough put away to give me time to work out what I want to do.
For a long time, I resented that thick, cream envelope that arrived under my door. The one that said, in no uncertain terms, I had been randomly selected for national service by the government of Nuntainia. Not long after, so were Nix and River. But never Zale or Akira. Given they’d started families before me, I was relieved for them to not be selected. But it didn’t stop the pinch behind my ribs that wondered what my life would have been like if I wasn’t selected, either.
‘Luka!’ Blossom calls from our shared living space, and I push aside the vastness that seems to be my future before it’s too overwhelming.
She’s always up before me and prepares our morning tipples. That’s her routine – her way of starting the day in a fresh, focused frame of mind.
My glasses are lined up on the white stone bench that marks our small kitchen space. They’re barely the size of my thumb, and in no particular order other than what Blossom reached for in the cupboard first. The first one – the contraceptive tonic – makes me hesitate a fraction. Not because I don’t want it, and it’s mandatory for all that serve here anyway, but for the tiniest moment it makes me wonder what could have been if I’d had a family at the same time as Akira and Zale.
If I am now edging towards too old to consider such possibilities – the time it would take to find the right person and …
The tonic tastes of berries and cinnamon as it goes down in one go, the gold-rimmed glass clinking heavily as I place it on the bench and pick up the next one. This is the rhythm. Up, throw back, down. Clink. Up, throw back, down. Clink. Three times as I take the contraceptive, an immune boosting agent, and magic dampener.
It’s the magic dampener that’s the most bitter and I ponder, after the best part of five years, why I take it last.
But I know: it’s a reminder that serving my country costs me, too. For whatever pride I have in fulfilling my duties so well – for excelling in this service I was selected for, and making the Warden proud like I was never able to my father – there is an everyday reminder of what I have given up. The government – the Prime Minister’s Chief of Staff, in particular – told us it was simply a pause. A pause in our own magic, in which time we would serve the country of Nuntainia and grow in different ways. But, for many of us, we were, or are, not only at a peak time for families, but for our magic to properly manifest.
For those who were lucky enough to have it before they came, the dampener does just that – softens it into remission until they go home and stop taking the tipple. At which point their magic will flare back into life. But for those of us, like Blossom and me, whose magic hadn’t yet come in before we were sent here, there is a high chance we are tricking our bodies into forgetting what they were made for.
And we will never know what that was. Something that would have – will – devastate my father.
Over time, Blossom has started to follow the same rhythm with her tipples, and she pulls a face as she swallows and looks at me. Her brown curls are squashed on one side where she’s slept, her freckles all the more prominent with her clean skin.
I prefer her like this.
I prefer me like this, too.
Our required dresses are pretty and our faces and hair are always done to perfection but, after a while, the novelty of that perfection wears thin.
And Blossom and I each crave for others to see us as we truly are. I think that’s part of the reason we became such close friends so quickly – we saw each other.
‘I still think it would be better if they let us see if our magic would come in before we leave,’ she says, eyeing me. ‘It would make the transition home easier. What if it would help us decide what we wanted to do? Would you do landscape design or become a mining magnate if you had Clayti abilities? Or take cooking lessons from Koko? Or use your Arkanan magic to heal—’
I pin her with a look. ‘I will not be a mining magnate and Nix is a strong enough Clayti for all of us.’ But I still can’t help but sigh. ‘It does feel like I don’t quite know myself,’ I say slowly, not that this is news to Blossom. ‘The Warden will give me a recommendation for almost anywhere, but you’re right. I don’t know how to choose that when my magic is unknown. I keep trying to tell myself my magic – or lack thereof – won’t define me … but I’m not sure that’s true.’
Blossom is silent for a beat. ‘No, magic doesn’t define us. Love does,’ she says, lifting a shoulder. ‘And loving someone, including ourselves, sometimes means … accepting the things we can’t yet see – however much we might wish it was different.’
A shadow crosses her face and I know she’s thinking of her husband, but she shakes it off before I can even take her hand.
‘None of that today,’ she says with a faint sniff. ‘Today, your future starts and, magic or no magic, I know it will be one filled with the most wonderful surprises for you. Now, shoo, you need to get ready for your last intake.’
‘Any moment now,’ I say to the line of concierges before me who wait for the new arrivals. For the first time, I won’t be allocated any prisoners and a tiny hollowness starts to burrow under my ribs.
‘Smile,’ I say. Their faces sparkle just as I know mine does. Even the platinum blonde braid I have pulled over my shoulder glitters in the sunlight.
The receiving plane is a broad expanse of grey marble with a white vein on the roof of the prison. Being up here used to make my stomach churn as the island around me seemed to disappear into nothing underneath the stone platform. It still does, somewhat, but the need to drop to my knees to steady myself has all but subsided, replaced by an almost giddying freedom. Up here, I don’t belong to the prison or to the home I left behind. I lean into the sky – perhaps I am leaving one prison just to find myself constrained in new ways and I will yearn for these small tastes of liberty.
Wind tears at my dress, the skirt and sleeves threatening to rip away, reminding me I do still belong here. Just for a little longer. The portal lets a soft scream into the sky as the seam of the world is torn slightly and the prisoners stumble out. As high profile and educated as they are – they are the only sort of prisoners we get here – it’s still unusual for many of them to have travelled by portal enough to be used to the sensation.
And most of them have never been delivered into the sky before.
The Warden steps forward as the portal sighs closed and the wind drops back to a gentle breeze. He assesses the twelve prisoners that stand before him. Each dressed in a sickly green pantsuit with their hands magically bound at their front, the vines that twist around them cutting into the skin.
Before even a single drop of blood can mark the marble, the Warden taps his fingers against his thigh and the vines disappear. The wounds swept away with them. The prisoners, nine men and three women – not an unusual ratio – stare at him. Most of them draw their spines up straighter. One of the men sags in relief.
They’ve heard about our prison, I’m sure, through the whispers that weave their way through the circles of the elite, but nothing more. As part of our service contracts we are barred from talking about the prison when we return, our tongues unable to form the words. But those in high places always seem to be able to find ways around the laws that govern the rest of us. The only thing they truly seem to be barred from up here is accessing their magic.
Yet, there was a sliver of doubt; it’s clear even in those who now look down their noses at the Warden. They didn’t know for sure if the rumours were true that more than one prison exists on the island.
The Warden motions them forward. The prisoners file across the expanse of stone, led by Emeris, in his cream pants and white, sleeveless vest that leaves little of his sculpted chest to the imagination, only to balk at the end. Emeris maintains the lead and the rest of the concierges, me included, slip in between the prisoners so they each have a personal assistant to help get down the stairs that cut into the side of the building. Clinging to the balustrade set into the grey stone brick walls that hold the marble aloft, the prisoners are a mix of tears, sweat, and snot as they navigate downwards. The action going against all of their instincts – as it did mine the first several times.
The open side drops away from the building and slides down directly into the sky, beckoning to any who might slip. We have lost more than one that way – a difficult situation to explain to the Chief of Staff. But, for whatever reason, the platform remains the destination of the arrival portal.
Perhaps it is their first and last punishment for whatever got them sent here.
Today, we make it to the bottom without incident and into the receiving hall, where each new prisoner is attended to by a team of concierges who spend the allocated hour helping them wash, dress, and generally feel once more themselves.
I wait patiently with the Warden, watching each of the closed doors off the receiving hall.
He lets go of a heavy breath and I glance over at him.
‘Long night?’ I ask quietly.
‘Paperwork,’ he says with a slight shake of his head. ‘In all my time here, there has never been so much unnecessary shuffling of papers.’
I press my lips together to hold back a soft laugh at his regular complaint. He’s so committed to his role, I’m not sure any amount of paperwork could tarnish it for him.
He glances across the receiving hall and its pale tiles to the arch window and the blue sky beyond. ‘Traelen will be here shortly to announce them.’
I nod. Traelen, the Prime Minister’s Chief of Staff, is a regular to the prison. The Warden is in charge up here, but it’s Traelen who calls the shots from below, who manages the prison on behalf of the Prime Minister.
‘I’ve almost completed your recommendation,’ he says quietly, and I glance up. There’s something in his features that sparks the tiniest flicker of doubt and I think back to our conversation in the grandroom. He remains focused on the closed doors but keeps talking. ‘I should like to suggest you take a position in Parliament.’
A slightly strangled noise leaves me and I cough to cover it up. The slight twitch of a smile from the Warden tells me I was unsuccessful.
‘I—’
‘It’s rare to get the required recommendation, I know,’ he says, dark eyes finally finding mine. ‘But you’d be a great asset there, Luka.’
I can feel myself frown. ‘So why the “should” then – you can recommend me for wherever you like.’
‘Not all duties end with a recommendation of choice, but I believe people should have choices in these matters. And Parliament, despite its potential personal benefits, can be … an adjustment. Politics isn’t for everyone – neither is working with politicians.’
I look back to the doors, none of which have opened yet, and wonder how naive the Warden thinks I am. But as I think over the scheming and plotting I have seen even here, where the inmates are so far removed from their usual arena, I can’t help but think he’s right.
‘But you want me to do it anyway?’
He’s silent for a long moment, the time heavy with something I don’t understand.
‘I do. You have many other options, though, and I’d like you to consider them all. But, if you choose to let me recommend you for Parliament, I would like to stay in touch during your time there – would you allow that?’
‘Of—’
I break off as Traelen’s tall, slim form takes shape in the entrance from the hall. The only sign he’s descended the outdoor stairs is a single lock of straight, deep-gold hair that’s fallen over his left eye.
Sweeping it from his face, he strides towards the Warden, his attention flicking only momentarily to me. We’ve met on multiple occasions, but he never shows any signs of recognition. I must be one of hundreds of concierges he’s seen over the years – from memory, he has been the Prime Minister’s longest serving Chief of Staff.
‘Traelen,’ the Warden says in greeting.
‘Claudius.’ Traelen stands next to the Warden, impatience billowing from him as the first of the prisoners emerges from one of the small rooms.
Would the Warden be recommending I work directly with the Chief of Staff in Parliament?
One of the new prisoners, now dressed in a deep purple ensemble with knee length shorts – his large, pale calves bulging out underneath – and a crisp white shirt cuffed tightly around his wrists and ballooning out and up to his shoulders, steps out. Why anyone would choose that particular outfit, I have no idea. He nods curtly to Traelen, whose gaze sweeps across the other doors, as if he’s impatient to get this done with and return to the real world.
As soon as the last prisoner has rejoined the group, Traelen clears his throat.
‘Alderson Finch,’ he says, and one of the women steps forward. ‘Minister for Play and Recreation, board member of several esteemed charities, and Principal Adviser to the Prime Minister on special projects.’
‘Emeris,’ the Warden responds. Emeris steps forward, offering her his elbow to take her for a tour and escort her to the room she will spend her stay in.
‘Zenaton Blake,’ Traelen says and the next prisoner steps forward. ‘Decorated war veteran with numerous missions completed.’
I take in Zenaton and I can see it there – the military service in his stance, so much like the Warden’s – and I wonder what horrors he has seen. And I say a silent thank you that our government managed to withdraw Nuntainia from the conflict between Tae and Coprath.
As Traelen introduces the prisoners, most of whom are from the very Parliament the Warden has mentioned, I mull over his thoughts on my recommendation. Without one, I will have nothing to show for my time here, but are these the sort of people I really want to spend my working life with? I don’t know what they are sent here for, but it’s clearly nothing so terrible that warrants them going to Vana prison instead. All I know about them is the outrageous, and sometimes obscene, personal requests they make while they’re here. And working in Parliament would give me a status and compensation that would truly allow me to help Akira and Zale and their families as they need. To help Nix, to be a safe landing place for Blossom when her duty is finished.
My heart swells a little with what I could contribute to their lives even as I work out what to do with mine. How I could watch their children grow into their magic. I haven’t been able to see their early childhoods, but I could see which of the four lines was their dominant. If they’d throw towards the earth-wielding Clayti, like Nix, or healing Arkanans like his brother, River – it’s unlikely they’d have Shaide or Karaylia affinities, but stranger things have happened, and they could have elements of more than one. The fact River is also Karaylia was surprising enough.
At the same time, I will finally be creating my own life. Making my own choices on what to do with my time and what impact I want to have on the world and the people around me. And working in Parliament would give me both more time and an opportunity to stay connected to Claudius.
Traelen and the Warden follow this call and answer pattern until all of the achievements are voiced, and the concierges allocated, before Traelen nods again at the Warden and leaves without further interaction.
‘Are you ready for your collection?’ the Warden says to me when we’re once again the only two people in the receiving hall.
‘Yes, and thank you for the recommendation to Parliament,’ I say. ‘I’m very grateful for the opportunity.’
He assesses me for a long moment, and I almost think he’s going to take the offer back.
‘Thank you, Luka. It will be with you when you get back to the mainland, once Traelen has signed off on it. Remember, the brighter the opportunity, the greater the potential risks. But you will always have access to help.’