1. Chapter One
Chapter one
T he prisoners are restless.
They always are before a new intake – desperate to see who will next come through the ever-revolving doors. Would they know them? Had they worked together? What events brought them here?
Their murmuring, along with irritable glances, echo between the stone walls as I monitor the group. The teams of concierges move effortlessly through the space – its high ceiling, along with the stone, make it feel like something from an elegant dream – quietly offering food and drink to the prisoners from laden gold trays. I nod at any who glance tentatively my way, looking for a reassurance they’re on the right task. We’ve been through this process countless times during my five years here and I know they will execute their duties well.
The prisoner closest to me, Miana, grips the stem of her long glass like she wants to snap it in two, her red painted lips fixed in a false smile. It doesn’t take long for one of the other concierges to notice and top up her drink.
I’d felt ill when I heard the whispers in my National Duty cohort about our destination. We’d all heard the rumours – prisoner and concierge alike – that those who come to the prison-island never return to the Nuntainia mainland the same. If at all.
But that’s as far as our similarities go. Putting our dress code aside, there is some undefinable thing that clearly sets the concierges apart from their charges.
Outwardly, dressed in all manner of finery, the prisoners try to maintain an appearance of civility – or maybe it’s professionalism they attempt to keep. Whatever it is, it’s clear they are always unsettled about the changes that inevitably come with a new batch of inmates joining their cohort. But they always settle again. The new prisoners find their own rhythm and space up here and the existing ones adjust to the changes in dynamic.
Back when I was assigned to my duty and arrived at the distribution hall on the mainland, I didn’t know the truth – just as the new prisoners who arrive on the island don’t know for sure until their feet touch the marble receiving plane – that there are two prisons on this island in the sky. The notorious Vana, and the one where I was allocated and have served for the last five years. While both prisons inhabit the same island, the work we do in mine is very far from the torturous halls of Vana. A truth that makes me feel both infinitely grateful, and, if I think about it too long, heavy with guilt. Because I’ve seen the people that do their duty at Vana, seen how their spirits are dampened, broken, just because they were sent to the other side and I wasn’t.
I’ve never laid eyes on the prisoners there. I stifle the shudder that starts to rock across my back. Nor do I want to. I’ve heard enough stories from the workers to last me several lifetimes. Nothing that happens in that place is something I want to experience.
Twisting the floral table arrangement before me, gently shifting the low hanging greenery on the silk tablecloth, I try to force my shoulders to relax as I brush out the imaginary creases in my dress. Because, while the prisoners and their attendants at Vana endure goodness knows what, I am currently overseeing a welcome banquet for our newest inmates, preparing to soothe their jitters with the best available food, drink, and entertainment. Something I need to look like I enjoy. And I do, mostly – even if it’s something that, at first, I struggled to comprehend.
Our concierge contracts mean we can’t voice the fact they are actually more like esteemed guests in a luxurious resort than prisoners to anyone that doesn’t reside on the island, even if we were allowed to talk about the details of our duty. But, up here, this is our normal. Guests or prisoners, they’re off the mainland, out of sight and out of mind; even if the public assumes that means they’re in Vana … at least the so-called prisoners they know about.
Swallowing the thought away, I do another visual sweep of the room, noting the appropriate cleanliness of the coloured, high-pile rugs. The usual undercurrent of tension is there but, so far, tonight is going without a hitch – a point I hope will make its way back to the Prime Minister’s office. But I don’t let my hopes get too high; the well-connected prisoners in the room before me are far more likely to use those connections to complain than compliment.
That’s supposed to be the upside for us concierges – commit several years to the country in a service of the Nuntainia Government’s choosing and, if done well, get a recommendation to move straight into a better role on return to the mainland. Which would be wonderful … if I knew what role I wanted a recommendation for, what sort of life I should try and build after my time here.
I let my fingers trail the pale silk cloth again as I search out Blossom in the milling crowd. She moves gracefully around the grandroom as I mentally walk through what else I need to do for tonight – which essentially boils down to making sure all the people who have not been sent here to work have the best experience possible.
Bloss’s tight brown curls bounce after her as she offers drinks. The short glasses crowd the gold tray, condensation dripping from the sides and ice clinking gently with her expert balance. She smiles politely as one of the male prisoners takes a glass from the tray and winks at her. He’s been hoping she’d get transferred to the playroom his entire stay, but the Warden never sends anyone there against their express wishes.
And Blossom is nothing if not clear in her wishes.
The soft, billowy fabric of our dress code floats through the room in various parts of my vision as my team go about their work. All different colours, but all intended to invoke a sense of calm for everyone here, including us. It’s hard to feel anxious or irritable when everything is so beautiful.
It’s also easy to feel contained.
‘Luka,’ the Warden says softly, breaking into my thoughts, ‘a word.’
Soundlessly, I turn to follow him from the low light of the room, nodding gently at Blossom on my way and leaving her in charge. I can’t help but suck in a full breath of fresh air when we reach the white and gold hallway, the moonlight that streams through the open roof glinting on the balustrades.
‘How are we looking for the rest of this evening?’ he asks, his voice gentle, respectful. The deep navy of his uniform is striking against his rich, dark skin.
‘We’re ready,’ I confirm. ‘The kitchens are preparing the last of the food – Koko’s new enchantments in the chocolate balls will not disappoint. And I’ve just listened to the final music rehearsal.’ He nods along as I talk, his thick brows furrowed as he ticks off his own mental list.
‘Seating is appropriate?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Very good. Bring me the final run sheet for the evening,’ he says.
I don’t have to fake the smile on my face. The plan is perfect, I checked it myself. But I’ll go over it at least one more time before I give it to him, just in case.
When the feast finally starts, I begin to unwind my nerves. A slow detangling of the edges that have frayed over the lead up to tonight. The terse words from prisoners, the assessing study of the Warden, and the trembling lips of the newest members of the concierge team – those who arrived separately to the prisoners, and now begin their duty. All of which add up to the weight that is my own service to the nation of Nuntainia.
I turn my attention to the quartet who are just about to count in. The new lead violinist looks in my direction as he lifts the yellowing timber to the side of his chin. When it meets his skin, the black pad sparks to life. Three sparks of white light race from beneath his jaw, around the edges of the woodwork and along the strings. He smiles gently to himself as he positions the bow just a touch above the instrument, gaze now glued to the conductor.
As one, they begin and the sound seeps into the room. I close my eyes briefly and get ready to let it wash over me. Opening them again, I find the tiny sparks that illuminated the instruments as they multiply and carry the music throughout the heavily decorated grandroom. The warm yellow of the bass tones dance just as nimbly as the white light of the treble. Each light shimmers between the warm and the white as their respective instruments duck and weave through the notes only they seem to know.
Soon, the room is full of glittering lights that soften and dim into the background, the chatter of voices and clinking of glasses becoming the dominant sound. Judging by the wink of the violinist, my observations don’t go unnoticed. My cheeks heat and I glance away.
He’s cute. If I had a next time here, maybe I’d wink back. Biting down on my private smile, I move to find Blossom.
‘Are you sad this is your last one?’ she asks, ocean blue eyes surveying the melting pot of prisoners.
‘Mostly that it’s my last with you,’ I say, looking across the room myself in case anyone needs us.
She scoffs, only half jokingly. ‘I wasn’t asking you for real,’ she says. ‘You don’t get to be sad – you get to go home. I still have two years left.’
I smile, mostly because it’s what I am expected to do here. But, the truth is, I don’t know what awaits me at home. A new start. But what will I be starting when I am so far behind? I certainly don’t have my academic career to go back to. Letting my mind come back to tonight, I focus on what I need – another uneventful evening as the final step to a glowing recommendation from the Warden.
Bloss’s piercing gaze swings my way and I purposefully keep my attention on the small group of prisoners starting to dance in front of us. Some are awkward, a couple are gently suggestive, and I know some will be downright sinful before the end of the night. The prison has its own societal norms as the prisoners embrace their time here.
‘You know the worst bit for me?’ she asks. A breeze kicks up, blowing through the stone archways that line the grandroom, the scent of jasmine floating on the wind. Our skirts shimmy around our legs and ankles.
‘You won’t get to see my smiling face every morning?’ I ask, said smile still in place, although they are almost always genuine where Blossom is involved.
‘Hardly, you scowl hard enough to break glass in the mornings.’
I stifle a laugh.
‘No,’ she continues. ‘I will not miss your morning wrath. I’m pissed I won’t get to see the mysterious Nix when he comes to collect you.’
I smile wider, my cheeks aching from the giddiness at the thought of seeing him again. But it’s also tinged with worry. He’s been my best friend since childhood, but the letters we’ve exchanged over the last five years have felt … different. They started out so normal, and I treasure them over our less frequent texts, but Nix’s increasing sadness, and sometimes anger, have grown palpable even through the ink on the pages over that time, and I’m almost desperate to see him again.
‘He’s not so mysterious,’ I say. ‘You just haven’t met him.’
‘Precisely. Your other best friend is literally coming to this island in the clouds and I will be barred from meeting him.’
Davorous, the prisoner that favours her, approaches Blossom and she groans just loud enough for me to hear. I note the genuine unease that sits underneath it.
He holds out his pale, well-manicured hand as an invitation to dance and she accepts it politely – as she must, at least in such a public domain. I watch them spin around the room, some of the other prisoners looking on with disdain on their faces. They might like to use us when we’re in the playroom – and sometimes out of it – but we are still the help.
The Warden meanders through the crowd, his keen observation missing nothing, making sure everything is in place. Then he finds me. I’m in place, too. The warm and spicy scent of the small bites of food passing before me makes my stomach grumble, but I don’t reach for one. A sparkling drink or two is okay, getting my face or hands dirty with food is not.
‘You’ve excelled yourself tonight,’ the Warden says as he approaches, taking Blossom’s position next to me as we watch.
The warm, deep timbre of his voice wraps around me. He’s been Warden the whole time I’ve been here, and for a long time before. There’s a certain tiredness that has brought to his features, but it clears when he looks at me. Mostly.
‘It will definitely be an adjustment – not having you here,’ he says. ‘I’ve come to depend rather heavily on you, Luka.’
I don’t look up at him as I swallow back the gentle emotion that rises at his words.
‘You executed your duty almost beyond compare,’ he says.
I don’t miss the ‘almost’. It’s that part my heart won’t let go of – that reminds me of my old self – even as my head tells me that’s unnecessary.
‘You will be able to get just about any role you’d like when you return home.’ He looks at me. ‘My recommendation comes highly valued.’
I nod. I know, the same as my father’s could have – should have. Until he decided not to give it. But it’s not just the Warden’s recommendation I’ve strived for all this time. It’s his genuine appreciation as well, and I think he knows that.
‘Thank you, sir,’ I say as he takes a tall glass of Koko’s signature cocktail from the concierge that passes by. A small sound of appreciation leaves his lips as he takes a sip – Koko definitely knows how to use her Clayti abilities to manipulate natural resources for our enjoyment.
‘Is there anywhere in particular you’d like me to write to?’ he asks.
I think of the school I used to work in – was supposed to run one day – until the ‘almost’ that seems to always accompany me meant the role was offered to someone else. Not even my father’s reputation as Nuntainia’s premier magic historian and social policy expert was enough to put that ‘almost’ aside, not without his recommendation.
‘No,’ I say after a beat. ‘A generic referral would be perfect, please.’
I sip my own drink, a vibrant purple that compliments my soft lavender gown. My worries about what to do when I get home fizz in my mouth along with my drink. I haven’t visited once during my five years of service at the prison – none of us do – and I can’t contemplate how the world has changed since then. I do know I have no idea where I fit there any more. Wherever it is, I know it’s not to be second or third place in an institution I built from the ground up.
The Warden is still looking at me when I turn back to him, a contemplative look on his face. As if there’s a secret he’s considering sharing.
‘I should like to work with you again,’ he says carefully, ‘if we have the opportunity.’
I pause. Working with the Warden is a joy I didn’t expect from my duty but … after five years, I don’t think—
‘Not here,’ he says quietly, his tone snagging in my mind and I frown at him. ‘Somewhere …’ he sighs. ‘You’ve got a good heart, Luka. In another life, I could use it elsewhere. If you were willing.’
The Warden takes another sip from his drink as Kasera, one of our longest serving prisoners, approaches us, her gaze fixed firmly on his tall form, flicking momentarily to his mouth. He holds his mostly full glass to me with a meaningful look I don’t understand, and I take it without question, quietly observing the tilt of Kasera’s chin as she waits for me to be gone. Like she’s impatiently waiting for someone to clear the dust out of the corners of a room before she enters it.
‘You should take the rest of the night off,’ he says as he walks towards Kasera, sweeping in to kiss both her cheeks. ‘We’ll talk more about what’s next when you fly the nest.’
He throws me one last, long look before returning his attention to the prisoner. Her two-piece mulberry suit shimmers in the flickering light, the matching sheen on her cheekbones sparkling like dawn.
Fly the nest , he said. It’s a phrase I feel too old for – I flew my nest a long time ago. At the same time, though, it feels so accurate. My life has been on pause these last five years, my only focus during my time here: Finish the duty. Get a recommendation. Leave. Although, we are currently living in the clouds. Perhaps ‘fly the nest’ is actually spot on. Or it would be, if there was a chance I’d have Karaylia abilities and grow wings but – even without the dampener – that’s highly unlikely.
I stare after him, wondering what was lying underneath his words. More than that, though, is the sharp pang of knowing how much I will miss working with him, too. Because coming back here isn’t an option for me. After five years on one of the most confidential duty allocations and no option of even a leave of absence in that time … I’m done.
So I carefully tuck away the possibility of working with him again. I’ve given myself a week once I get home to settle back into my townhouse, get my things back in order, and then work out what I will do next.
I take a moment to soak in the atmosphere of the room, the scent of the jasmine filling my nose, and hair tickling the back of my neck in the breeze. The lights of the music play around me, spinning on the top of my shoulders and running down to my fingers. I open my hand and they jump on my palm as I twist it in the air. I will miss some of this, too. Not the prisoners. But the concierges, the music. The island itself. This … being in the sky. But I’m ready to be free – whatever that looks like.
The recollection of the Warden’s words creates a lightness in my chest. I might not know what I should do when I get home, but he will. Even if managing the expectations and disappointments of my father will be up to me.
The concierge wing is quiet as I arrive. I pad down the carpet-lined hallway to my apartment and my lace up sandals are the first thing I remove as I enter the soft, gentle space I will only call home for a few days more. A space that’s filled with the life Blossom brings to it. I’d been coasting through my service until she arrived and brought an abundance of genuine joy to my time here.
My phone gives a muffled chime in the pocket of my gauzy dress and I dig it out, tossing it on the bed as I undress and wash. I’m hopeful it’s news from home – and not the Warden forgetting he needs me for something – and I want to savour the anticipation of it.
By the time I get out of the hot shower, smother myself in thick body cream, and pull on my gold night dress, there are three more notifications.
Akira: Three more sleeps, babe! Are you excited? Tell me you’re excited?!
Zale: Of course she’s excited. Isn’t Nix collecting her? About time he COLLECTED her…
Akira: If I wasn’t shacked up already, I’d let Nix collect me.
Zale: You and me both. Just don’t tell Teddy, she’s got her heart set on us joining some cause – if she thinks I’d be taken care of by Nix, she’d probably leave without me!
I grin even as I shake my head. To hear their banter face-to-face – none of which would be surprising to Nix, despite how much they like to try and stir our very platonic, almost sibling-like, relationship – will be the best possible balm to all the missing them I have done over the last five years. Being unable to really tell them anything that happens here because of my contract makes our conversations quite one-sided at times and … none of my possible updates feel like mine, anyway.
My smile dampens as I remember it will be Blossom I miss soon. And I’ll have two years to wait until I can introduce her to Akira, Zale, and Nix. Outside of Nix, and his quietly protective older brother, Akira and Zale are my best friends in the world. Sisters when I had none of my own, and I know without doubt they will accept Blossom into the fold.
Luka: My FRIEND Nix is collecting me, yes. And I am definitely excited for the girls’ night you have secretly planned for me.
Akira: Zale! Did you give us up already? Traitor!
Zale: I’d suggest we’re just predictable, A. Must be what motherhood does to us.
I place my phone in the drawer next to the bed, ignoring the slight tightening in my gut at the mention of their new lives, and take out Nix’s last letter instead, focusing on his scrappy handwriting. It’s dated some weeks ago, but that’s not unusual – his own obligation to Nuntainia, whatever it is, keeps him from writing often and access to his phone patchy at best. The details are scant, the magical contracts required of our confidential duties making it difficult to share what the government doesn’t want others to know. But it’s clear just how much he’s also looking forward to it being done. He has another year on me; his service requirements longer for his designation – partly because he can take leave – and I sigh at how obviously that makes me out of sync with him, too.
I cannot wait to see you, Luka, there is so much to tell you. Don’t be late to collection. I can’t bear another minute longer than absolutely necessary.
I’m ready for a taste of home.