SINDRED

When I arrive at the apothecary in the morning, I've wrapped a gray woolen shift around my head like a sort of hat. Ezebel narrows her eyes at it in wordless question as she pours me a cup of green mush. Instead of answering, I make sure the door is closed and tug on the end, letting it come undone. My hair gleams in the sunlight.

"You washed it," she says. It's not a question.

"If I can erase myself from the minds of others, does it matter?" Not exactly a question, either. A statement. Almost a challenge.

She raises her eyebrows. "Did you practice?"

I don't respond, but she takes my silence as an answer. "Very well," she says, "if you want to take such a risk, prove it. I'll summon a test subject, and you will show me what you can do."

Don't let your fear control you. I take a deep breath and say, "I'm ready." Even though it feels like a lie.

.

In the training room, Ezebel stands in front of me with a girl named Enna. She's a handmaid to Vessimira, a powerful young woman in court, daughter of High Priest Rogemere Nikaldia. With that placement she serves as one of Ezebel's most useful tools. Beneath her rudimentary glamour, Enna's skin is a rich green, and her teeth are long and sharp like fangs. But to the human eye, she is brown-skinned and doe-eyed, with a shy smile that wins over even the most distrusting.

We know each other, but not well. But I do know she is not skilled with glamour or magic of any kind, and that is why Ezebel chose her for this test. She doesn't know why she's here, but stands patiently while Ezebel gestures for me to proceed.

"I don't know if you should stand so close," I say to Ezebel, "if you don't want it to…" What am I saying? I don't even know if I can do this again, let alone affect two people.

Ezebel walks backwards until she is standing about ten feet away, close to the wall. Enna looks nervously from Ezebel to me, but stays where she is.

I close my eyes, stand tall, pull back my shoulders and my chin, concentrate on the slow in and out of my breath. Though in the training room it is warm as a late spring day, in the world of my mind it is snowing. Big fluffy flakes drift slowly down, creating a landscape of white. I fly through the blizzard, a wild flurry of wind, whistling through barren branches, across the cold-bitten cheeks of daring travelers. I am the ice crystals in their hair, the hunger in their bellies, the chill sneaking into their bones. And then I am gone. Driven away by the heat of a snapping fire and the sizzle of freshly cooked meat. By sunshine and laughter and the promise of summer. A droplet in a river of rushing meltwater. A flicker of white sinking into the darkness. Unwanted, meaningless. Forgotten.

Try to feel, Sindred.

Just a ghost, a pale shadow. Nothing.

I open my eyes. Ezebel is watching me carefully. Enna has her eyes lowered, is holding her hands loosely behind her back. She is waiting for something, but she doesn't know what.

This time, I know I've done it. I smile at Ezebel.

She frowns, looking at Enna, then back to me. "Enna," she says.

The girl looks up. "Yes, m'lady?"

"Do you know why you're here?" Ezebel asks.

She is careful with her answer. "No, m'lady. You asked me to come, but did not say why."

"Who is here with us?" Ezebel presses.

Enna looks around, confused. "No one, m'lady. Or… Wait." Her eyes focus on me and she blinks. "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't see you."

I smile, but say nothing.

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"What is her name?" Ezebel asks, as Enna continues to stare at me, head tilted in puzzlement.

Enna turns her focus back to Ezebel. She looks blankly at her and doesn't answer the question.

"What is her name?" Ezebel repeats.

"Whose name?" Enna asks. Her voice is quiet, almost slurred, like she's just been woken from a deep sleep.

Ezebel's eyes widen. She doesn't ask another question for a moment.

"M'lady?" Enna says. "Is everything alright?"

"Is someone in this room with us?" The White Witch asks.

"I…" Enna's skirts swish around her legs as she spins in a circle, analyzing her surroundings like she's not even sure where she is. "I don't…"

"Stop. Sindred. Enough," Ezebel snaps.

I walk toward Enna and take her hand. The girl lets out a soft yelp and jumps.

"It's alright," I say. "It's just me."

"I'm sorry, I don't recall…" she says.

"Enna, thank you," Ezebel says. "You can go."

The girl curtsies, then scurries away.

"Are you proud of yourself, little Sin?" She's moved so she's just inches from my face. "You proved your power. I won't question it again."

I say nothing.

"Promise me this." The White Witch stares into my eyes and says ever so softly, "Never, ever use that power against me."

"I promise," I whisper.

.

Aurelius is in the apothecary when we return. "The prince is home safe," he says immediately.

"Where was he?" Ezebel asks.

"The forest. I believe he was meeting someone there," Aurelius answers.

"What information leads you to that conclusion?" she questions.

"Did not show any sign of chilblains on fingers or toes, despite lack of mittens or woolens in the cold of night. There were soot smudges on his shirt and trousers, at his backside and hemline, as though he were sitting near a fire," Aurelius describes. "And crumbs. Traces of some sort of biscuit, I'm guessing. Mostly clinging to the creases in the front of his clothes, but also a few on his face, stuck on some kind of sticky substance. Honey, perhaps. Or a light-colored jam."

Ezebel nods. "His parents?"

Aurelius sighs. "The queen is still in tears, my lady, though I believe she is relieved at the safety of the boy and is simply in a state of overwhelm. The king is… shouting. Mostly at his guardsman, who he has ordered watch the prince even more closely and at all hours."

"Thank you, Aurelius," Ezebel says. "We must find out who the prince met with in the forest. A traveler, perhaps? But how did he get onto the king's land? I'll send out scouts."

As he turns to leave she adds, "Oh, and, Aurelius?"

"Yes, my lady?" he asks.

"Keep this knowledge between the two of us," she says.

"Of course," he looks alarmed. "Always, my lady."

He leaves the room. Not once did his eyes fall on me, standing quietly behind our master.

There is a moment of tense silence.

Ezebel goes to an old wardrobe in the corner and pulls out a dark green gown. "Help me with the ties," she says, stepping out of her trousers.

The fabric of the dress is heavy and soft, with red and silver embroidery on the cuffs. She wears a collection of small silver hoops in her ears, and a heavy silver chain around her neck, as is the fashion. Except for most courtiers, their looping jewelry is made of polished iron, a sign of their loyalty to the church. The White Witch is careful to look the part, but if she were to ask me to help her fasten an iron chain around her neck, my fingers would sting and burn.

I follow her out of the apothecary, watch her lock the door and slip the ring of keys into her pocket.

"Continue your training on your own and report back to me tomorrow," Ezebel tells me.

She leaves too swiftly for me to ask for clarification. I am left standing there, no teacher, no clear lesson, no one to cling to like a shadow. I stare dumbly after her for a moment.

Freedom is a gift I've always had difficulty embracing.

It is one thing to drift lonely through the palace halls, nothing but a spectral glimmer out of the corner of one's eye. Watching, listening, never seen or heard. But if I can erase myself from the minds of others, why stay within such limits?

I make my way to the kitchens, slipping in the crowd of staff chopping vegetables and kneading dough, stoking fires and stirring sauces. I look for a particular head of curling red hair, but I find her by her laugh, easily distinguishable even over the din. It reminds me of my mother's laugh, real and full and almost certainly louder than she thinks it is.

I act like I have an important message, like I'm meant to be there and refuse to be questioned. It is a trick I'm well practiced in. But it doesn't matter; no one even glances my way. When I reach the back of the kitchen, I find her scrubbing an enormous pile of blackened pots and pans. A dark-haired girl keeps her company, both of them covered in grime and soap suds, passing the time with carefree chatter.

I wait for the right moment to interrupt. "Would you like another set of hands?" I ask. "Looks like a mountain of work."

Though her friend doesn't seem to hear my offer, Bianca looks up instantly. "Sindred!" she says, smiling. "I'm so glad you came!"