Stolen (Magi Rising Book 1) Read online

  Mud splattered Svîk, the dark muck leaving a trail from his legs all the way up his body, one dot on his cheek. “How can I make friends with someone I fundamentally disagree with?” When he furrowed his brow, I added, “They think they’re better than me, but I don’t see it.”

  He chuckled. “I’m not saying you have to agree with their stupidity, just try and get along. Instead, you’re shaking things up—a lot.”

  Pursing my lips, I took my frustration out on the next several plants. Shaking things up? Why was calling out hypocrisy shaking things up? And I’d been considering liking that ex-Serîk-ass. I’d rather have no friends than friends I couldn’t trust.

  “You’re mad,” he said, stating the obvious.

  Maybe he was attractive but an idiot. Too bad looks weren’t as important as brains.

  “Or have you just made up your mind you don’t like me, too?” he asked with a huff. “Because that would be stupid on your part.”

  Touché. And I couldn’t even wiggle out of his accusation or his statement—which meant he wasn’t an idiot. Rot.

  “I don’t know you, not really.” I darted a quick look at him. His core tightened, and he heaved, extracting a six-foot mango tree from the ground. My insides felt funny, like my stomach had something fluttering inside, and I blurted, “I’m not sure what to make of you.”

  He tossed the plant into the jungle, and the cacophony of breaking branches implied . . . What? Protestation? Frustration? Did he really care what I thought? And if so, why me?

  Straightening, he met my gaze, a tentative smile on his lips. “Really? You seem like the kind of person who makes up her mind quickly, and I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

  “You’re calling me impulsive and judgmental?”

  He laughed, a loud, carefree sound that made the magî around us stop their work and glance our way. I glared in response.

  “You might like me,” he said, his laughter trailing into a low chuckle. “We might even become best friends.”

  My thoughts immediately went to Ruin, and I shook my head. But Ruin was an animal—and he was gone. Over Svîk’s shoulder, I could see Esi coming up the perimeter road, face splotchy from tears. Was I being a hypocrite? Undoubtedly.

  “Fine,” I said, facing him. “I’ll give you a chance, but—” I held up my hand at his answering grin. “—you need to give Esi a chance. She saved my life. Maybe we should all just start fresh.”

  Svîk nodded, his faltering expression blossoming anew as he slid his gaze from Esi toward our unit. “Does that mean you’re going to give the rest of the group a fresh-start, too?”

  I snorted and waved to Esi. “I did already,” I muttered to Svîk. “There was yesterday and this morning.” I took a deep breath and shifted my attention to him, giving him a cheeky grin. “Remember, I’m judgmental. Two chances are all you get.”

  “Noted,” he said and chuckled again. His chest puffed out as he took a deep breath, and he strode toward Esi, saying, “Hey, Esi. I’m sorry I was such a toad earlier.”

  I didn’t hear what she said in return, as I pivoted toward the wall of foliage. I surveyed the growth and frowned. What had they done yesterday?

  “Hey,” Esi said, suddenly at my side. “I’m sorry.”

  Nodding, I turned and said, “Me too.”

  Esi’s shoulders relaxed, but she still asked, “Really? Because you were right, and it wasn’t fair, and I was guilty. Even if my reasons seemed unselfish.”

  I shrugged off her worries. “You were right, too. Sometimes we have to make the best of the situation we’re given with the power that we have. I wasn’t here before, so I don’t know all the details.”

  She swallowed and then pulled me into a hug. “Thanks.”

  The muted murmurs of our unit floated to us, the rolling sounds of discontent.

  “You better save the rest of your reconciliation for later,” Svîk said. “Since you’re not including the daft-magî in your love-fest, they’re likely to get upset if you’re not working.”

  As if to reinforce the point, Rumi shouted, “Do we all get a break? Or is that just for animals who don’t know any better?”

  I grit my teeth as we pulled apart, and Esi shook her head. Apparently, she and Svîk already agreed on something.

  “I know,” I said, returning to my spot, which was significantly farther along than the space where Rumi and Lis were—not that I was looking. The two of them were like night parrots: cute, obnoxious, and stupid. “I’ll keep it to myself from now on.”

  18

  Esi sighed and wiped the mud from her face—smeared it really—leaving a dark streak down her cheek and another across her forehead. We trudged past other groups still working to beat back their sections of the jungle. I couldn’t help feeling some vindication seeing everyone working.

  “So,” Esi said, dragging my attention back to her. “You and Svîk, huh? You got his attention and seem to be holding it.”

  I pulled up short by her words. “No-o,” I said, dragging out my protest. “Why would you even say that? I still don’t really trust him; I’m certainly not going to get romantically involved with someone I don’t trust. That would be stupider than—” I stopped just before insulting Lis and Rumi. “—a toad.”

  Esi laughed, but it sounded forced.

  Squinting, I tried to get a read on her because something was off. I’d only known her a couple of months, but we’d spent a lot of time together, enough that I could feel it, even if I didn’t know what it was.

  Eventually, Esi turned and put her hands on her hips. “What are you gawking at?” she asked. “Let’s go wash off the mud. I know how you feel about being clean.”

  Everyone else in our group was headed toward the Cem or back to their homes.

  “Yes,” I said, running to catch up. I threw my arm around her shoulders and, after several steps in tandem, asked, “Do you not like him because he’s a toad?”

  She grunted. We left the perimeter road and stepped onto the path leading down to the pool just off the Cemik River. Esi held her tongue, keeping her strange peace as we waded into the water. I dove under and scrubbed my scalp, letting my hair float out around me, giving her space. I surfaced and swam around the inlet of calm water before turning toward shore. Esi stood on the rocks, waist deep, and I joined her. We swished our filthy tunics back and forth, and I scrubbed at a stubborn spot of dirt with my fingernails, waiting for her to speak.

  As we headed home, she kicked at the mud, flinging chunks of the muck into the air in front of us.

  “I don’t trust him,” she said, keeping her gaze fixed ahead. “He’s too . . .”

  “Too what? Too confident? Too attractive? Too strong? Too . . . what?”

  “All of it. He’s just too much.”

  I nodded. “Plus he used to be Serîk for the kümdâr, which means you have to wonder about his judgment.”

  Esi turned toward me with a jerk. “Yes.”

  “I agree,” I said. “I don’t trust him either.”

  This time, she rolled her eyes. “You don’t trust anyone. But for you, it’s not just Svîk. You don’t trust anyone—not Rull, Svîk, Nebe, not even me. But that problem isn’t everyone else, Taja; it’s you.”

  Her words thumped the air from my lungs, but when I opened my mouth to protest, the argument stuck. I blinked as the assurance I wanted to offer—that I trusted her—dissolved in the simple truth she’d declared.

  “Not that it’s your fault,” she rushed to say. “You don’t even know who you are. How could you hope to really grasp the depth of someone else’s character? I mean, at least not right now—or not yet.” She shook her head. “I’m not saying the right thing. In fact, I’m sure I’m saying all the wrong things.” Esi grimaced, squashing her lips together like a duck. After a long sigh, she added, “But I think your instinct is right with Svîk. Sometimes good people do bad things—or stupid—” She pointed to herself. “—like going along with the council because I did
want to visit Terit and have goats.” She dropped her hand to her side. “But sometimes bad people do good things.”

  I nodded, not because I agreed, but because I wasn’t sure what else to do. Because the same instinct that made it difficult to trust Svîk made it impossible to trust Rull—and almost everyone else here I’d met—just like she said. And after weeks of living with Esi, I wasn’t so sure about her, even now.

  “Why did you take pity on me?” I asked. “When you saw me on the Little Rê, what made you say I could come to Pûleêr with you?”

  She held my gaze for only a second before returning her attention to the muddy ground. Kicking another clump of muck into the air, she said, “Just a hunch.”

  “You know I don’t believe you,” I said.

  Esi pursed her lips, and her shoulders tightened. “It doesn’t really matter if you believe me or not. I don’t know you, and until that day, I’d never seen you before.”

  “But?”

  “People talk, but that doesn’t mean anything they say is true, Taja. My cousin said something when I was in Terit the last time, about a girl there. She was incoherent and had no short-term memory. And not that you look anything like the girl she described, and you were awake, talking, walking, totally capable—so nothing like that girl at all—but that girl’s story made me take compassion on you. That’s the truth.”

  I stared at her, and she stared back, the fire in her eyes—even more than the vehemence of her words—convinced me she was telling the truth.

  The bell rang, calling us to dinner. My stomach growled, the sound loud enough to make Esi’s serious expression crack.

  “Did you eat anything today?” she asked.

  “Yes. Dostane made those rice balls.” I’d eaten the second one after Dostane refused. “And we had mangoes, remember?”

  “Right,” she replied. We got to the perimeter road, and Esi turned left toward her house.

  “Wait,” I called to her. She glanced over her shoulder, and I pointed toward the communal area. “It’s suppertime. Aren’t you hungry?”

  Esi faced me and shook her head. “I’m not. I’ll see you at home. Make sure you check on Bizi before you come back.”

  Even though she didn’t say it, I felt like she was dropping a conda-sized hint to leave her alone. She exhaled as though the weight of emotion was likewise conda-sized. I thought of all the goodness and kindness—which far outweighed the bad, or stupid, choices she’d made, and my heart softened. “Of course I’ll check on Bizi. And if we have meat, I’ll save you a piece.”

  Esi halted mid-turn and smiled. “Thanks. I’ll wait up for you, but don’t feel like you have to hurry back. And I’m glad you came home with me.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  A dozen magî rounded the bend, followed by a dozen more.

  “You better hurry or you won’t get any meat. Even if they do have some.”

  I nodded with a laugh, spun on my heel, and waved goodbye as I sprinted to dinner.

  The smell of roasted mutton made my mouth water as I drew near the kitchen. Several dozen magî were already there, jostling for position. A male magî shouted my name, making me jerk out of my thoughts, and my gaze collided with Svîk’s.

  “Over here,” he said with a wave.

  He stood toward the front of the line, and several magî near him threw glares toward the former-Serîk. I shook my head and joined the last few stragglers, even letting two young boys scoot in front of me. With the amount of contention I’d already caused, I was not about to cut in line for food.

  “I’ll come sit with you,” I called back. “Save me a seat.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

  19

  The line for food finally started moving, and within minutes, I was at the front of the long wooden counter.

  “Plantain?” a magî asked, holding up a whole roasted vegetable, its skin marred with ash. Her eyes were glazed, staring blankly forward.

  I’d never seen her in the kitchen before, but Dostane had said changes were coming.

  “Sure,” I said. It would be pretty hard to ruin plantains. I smiled, trying to catch her attention as I said, “Thanks.”

  She held the food out for me, not meeting my gaze. Okaaay. I put it on my plate and moved forward.

  “Beans?” the next magî asked, holding up a ladleful. Like the first, she kept her attention fixated just above my head.

  “Yes, please.” I held up my plate, and she dumped the soupy mix on top of the plantain. Not quite what I would’ve done, but I bit my tongue and glanced down the line to the next server. This time, I recognized the magî.

  Nebe dropped a heaping spoonful of cheese on the plate of the person in front of me, giving the utensil a shake. Her expression was hard, her lips pursed in a thin line of irritation. She dug up another large portion of the creamy goodness, raised her head, and narrowed her eyes as she met my gaze. She released the spoon into the pail with a wet splat and clenched her jaw, her anger rolling out to me. She said nothing as she picked up the spoon, turned it sideways, and smacked the utensil on the edge. She then leaned over and deposited a few flakes of cheese next to my plantain.

  “Next,” she snapped, dismissing me.

  I shook my head. “You dropped almost all the cheese back in the pail.”

  “You’ve got some on your plate. We have to ration so everyone gets some,” she explained, her voice filled with condescension. “We need to be fair.”

  Debating the cost of arguing took less than a second. Did I like cheese? Yes, but not enough to create more waves. And holding up the line would cost far more than the scoop of cheese was worth. I gave her a brittle smile and said, “Someday, the role will be reversed, and you won’t get any cheese. When that happens, remember this moment.”

  She curled her lip at me and said, “Next time, you won’t get any cheese. Move on. You’re holding up the line.”

  I stepped to the next magî serving roasted maize and held my plate out. Indignation pulsed through me, making me want to throw my plate at Nebe, but my stomach rumbled again, reminding me of my priorities. I finished going through the line, my mind oblivious to what else was being served. Entering the dining area, I scanned the space. Svîk sat toward the back, talking with Rumi and Lis. Grinning like a fool, he shook his head, said something, and the two young women laughed. But as I approached, they both jerked upright. Rumi sneered at me from the other side of the table and grabbed Lis’s arm.

  “Come on,” Rumi said, tugging on her friend’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  “Bye, Svîk,” Lis said, her voice breathless as she smiled down on him. She continued to stare at him, walking backward until Rumi let go. Lis flicked a glare at me, and then the two young women turned and wound through the crowd of magî flowing out of the kitchen.

  I watched the two of them swimming upstream, and when they joined several other magî—cutting into the line—I tensed. All that talk from Rull about fair and equal, and they . . .

  “Don’t do it,” Svîk said, echoing his previous warning.

  I turned my anger on him. He swiveled in his seat, away from the two magî, to face me. He shook his head, picked up his spoon, and mashed the beans into his plantain.

  I slammed my plate to the table, and beans, gravy, and roasted maize splattered onto the wood. “Are you joking?”

  He shook his head, his previous jovial expression gone. He scraped up a bite of the mash and said, “I never joke about strategy.”

  His statement was so unexpected that I stood rooted, studying him as he put the food in his mouth, frowned, and quickly swallowed.

  “Sit down, Taja,” he said, patting the table between our plates.

  “Why?”

  He drew back and studied me before he said, “Because you need me.”

  I snorted. “I don’t need you.”

  He chuckled as if I’d said something funny. “You’re right. But I think you’ll do much better with me than without.”

  �
�You’re just insufferable sometimes.” I huffed and took a seat. “And I don’t know why you’re making friends with Rumi and Lis. They’re lazier than sloths and dumber than a night parrot caught by a conda.”

  He nodded. “Astute observation.”

  “Then why are you being so friendly with them? It makes me feel like you’re trying to play both sides—friends with them and me? I don’t want to be friends with magî who stab me in the back.” I indicated my dab of cheese and added, “Or cut me out.”

  Pointing at the thumbprint-size serving, he asked, “Is that all you got?”

  “Yes,” I replied. Scraping my finger over the plate, I wiped up the single bite and put it in my mouth. The creamy cheese coated my tongue for a few seconds before I swallowed it down. “Apparently, as you already know, I have a talent for upsetting the residents.”

  With a snort, he dropped half his cheese on my plate, the remainder still almost the size of my fist.

  “You do have a knack of calling out an individual’s foibles.” He chuckled then added, “Or an entire community’s.”

  I froze, my spoon halfway through the cheese. “I’ve been silent—mostly—since you said something this afternoon. The only person I’ve talked to since we left assignment was Esi.”

  “And me,” he added, tapping his chest where the silver charm rested.

  And Nebe, but she hardly counted. I shrugged. “And you, but you’re also flirting with—” I waved my hand after Lis and Rumi. “—stupid and stupider.”

  “Being nice doesn’t mean I’m friends with them.” He mashed the remaining cheese into the plantain-and-bean concoction. “I’m not much a fan of savory pîderîne, but the rest of the food tonight is terrible. What happened to the magî who made the fried cheese balls?”

  “She told me this morning that they were making her rotate, so it was fair.”

  Rull got up and made announcements—mostly just to hear himself speak—but his last announcement made my throat catch. Esi was off the council.