Page 11

There’s a rush of footsteps and the sliding of doors, then Vanna appears in the courtyard.

The sight of her never fails to stun me. Her black hair, soft as waterbird feathers, cascades down her back in a silken sheet, and her eyes, framed by thick dark lashes, are bright with excitement. The mysterious light in her chest, which has grown more brilliant since she was a baby, emanates through the layers of her robes.

Our stepmother embraces her, and Adah is there too. He’s smiling with his mouth open. He’s in a good mood. They all are.

A sparrow demon sits on my windowsill, its wings fraying with smoke. I feed it a chili pepper for breakfast. Then, as it flies away, satiated, I cut a pepper of my own and scrape its seeds onto my eggs. My belly growls, hungry from my morning hunt. Even if no one else eats, I will.

I wolf down my breakfast, letting the spice warm my tongue as I listen to Vanna laugh. The sound is music, sweeter than the songbirds at dawn—and worlds away from the Demon Witch’s vengeful promise.

Vanna’s laugh swirls round and round as she dances in her new dress. Lintang spent weeks embroidering moon orchids and butterflies onto the skirt, for once able to convince my stingy adah to buy the finest dyed threads for her to work with. As Vanna spins and twirls, a rainbow arches across the low hills behind us. Even the gods know better than to let it rain today.

I suspect that they’ve fallen under her power too. For when Vanna is happy—when that strange light inside her glows brightest—I swear she outshines the sun. Her radiance touches every living creature around her, from Adah and Lintang to the butterflies and the lizards, the flowers and the trees. I myself am beaming.

Vanna blows me a kiss when Lintang isn’t looking. I smile, tapping my feet to the beat of her dance until she suddenly stops.

“Enough dancing! You’ll tire yourself.”

It’s Adah. He’s rounding the orchard toward the kitchen, and I quickly shut the curtain before he glimpses me. I’m to stay hidden, in case one of Vanna’s suitors visits our house before the binding selection this morning. Any sight of me, and Adah has promised to whip me so hard my backside will be the same texture as my face. A difficult thing to do, but Adah is strong for a man. Not as strong as I am, but he doesn’t know that.

I’ve already swept all the floors and dusted every corner. The only task left is to make cakes—Vanna’s request. I scoop the cassava I grated last night into a bowl and test its consistency with my fingers. Not enough moisture, so I sprinkle in a spoonful of water, then set about gathering the other ingredients.

I’ve made this recipe so many times that my hands move without thinking and the batter becomes alive to me, like clay in a potter’s hands. Mama’s cake is the only thing I have left of her. The sound of her voice, the soft outline of her face—they’re all scraps of memories that I’m desperate not to lose.

Sometimes I wish Vanna looked more like her. But my sister looks nothing like any woman who walks this earth.

And neither do I.

“I’m going to get my veil, Adah,” I hear Vanna say. “I’ll be right back.”

Her voice is high with excitement. She’s a good actress, and I’m sure she’s convinced the entire village that she’s thrilled to be the center of something as demeaning and ridiculous as a binding selection. But she can’t convince me.

I’m contriving ways I can get out of the kitchen to talk sense into her and warn her about Angma when I hear someone behind me. The footsteps are light and rhythmic with a bounce. I’d know them in my sleep.

I don’t turn around, even when I see the shadow of two outstretched arms reaching for my ribs. Instead, I speak: “I thought you said you were going to look for your veil.”

Vanna groans. “You have the hearing of a bat.”

“And you have the cunning of a mule. I’m not falling for that trick again.”

“I wasn’t going to frighten you this time. Just tickle you.” My sister wiggles her fingers menacingly and reaches for my side.

I evade her easily. “I’m trying to work.”

“How can you think about chores today of all days?”

“Not everyone gets the morning off for your selection,” I reply. “Though I am shocked that you’re awake. Usually you’re snoring in your bed until noon.”

Vanna crosses her arms indignantly. “I do not snore.”

“Tell that to the crows on the roof.” I turn to her, hiding a smile. “They’d disagree.”

“Not funny.” Vanna pretends to be upset, but she can’t help smiling too. “Must you always be such a grouch?”

“Yes.”

Vanna sticks out her tongue, and I let slip a tender smile. Specks of sugar dot her nose, and her black hair is tangled about her shoulders from spinning. I would not change anything about her but the light flaring from her heart.

We still don’t know what it is. Our shaman says she’s blessed with the Light of Gadda, but he’d say anything to attract more coin to his temple. Part of me wonders whether it’s the light that Angma covets. Why Vanna is special.