Page 2 of Under Restless Skies

He shrinks his shoulders. “You… didn’t say goodbye.”

The last two times, I told him what to do when I joined the Sky Academy, prepared him for when I left. This time, I did none of that.

“I’ll be close and come visit. It’s not like I’m abandoning you.”

He chops some shallots, and when I turn back to the stew, he asks, “Are you afraid you’ll fail?”

His words echo inside me, amplifying that persistent, fearful voice I’ve been trying to smother. Still, I muster the most nonchalant tone I can. “No. And fear doesn’t change anything. I’ll let Foros decide.”

“Laristella says we should put flowers by his statue.”

“She says many things. You think the god of luck helps whoever honors him the most? Then it’s no longer luck and would go against his nature.”

He sets down his knife. “Maybe you can increase the odds?”

“Yes. With actions. By preparing.”

Curiosity—tainted with a hint of sadness—settles in my brother’s eyes. “You think you’re prepared?” Is he upset that I might leave or worried that I might fail?

Before I can come up with a reply, the door opens, and Laristella’s face pops in, her arms busy with plates. “Prepared for what?”

My mind was so distracted that I didn’t even smell her approaching.

Unwilling to discuss my decision with her, I give her a pleasant smile. “The last batch of stew is ready, and I have to leave early.”

Her dark eyes pierce me. “For the Trial?”

She obviously heard me, so there’s no point evading the truth. “Yes. And I have to go.”

I dash to the pantry, then up the rickety, narrow wooden ladder leading to the tiny room I share with my brother.

Laristella’s steps follow mine, and, from downstairs, she yells, “You still want to get killed?” Pity laces her voice and twists my stomach.

I crouch by the trapdoor, far enough that she can’t see me. “Sina can replace me, and Kaio will keep working. He can pay for his room.”

She sighs so loud I hear it from up here. “Mayara, I’m worried about you, not the stew.”

“I’ll be fine.” I kneel and look down. “No need to worry about me. It’s not like you’re my mother.” Perhaps that was unkind, but it slipped.

“Lucky you. At least I worry.” Her words surprisingly manage to poke an old wound I thought had healed. I always tell myself it’s already healed.

“I’ll be fine,” I repeat, perhaps with less certainty in my voice.

She shakes her head and walks away, and I exhale in relief, then glance at the box with my clothes. Will today be the day I finally pack?

The alternative is to live here forever, in this dingy, small attic, lit by a too-small window. This room was once my salvation, my shelter, and yet as the years passed, it felt smaller and smaller and smaller. Suffocating. And so close to the roof. When we first came here, I could barely sleep, wondering what would happen if flames hit us.

Like all buildings in Dracolius, Grease & Spice is covered with fireproof, compacted earth, a fact that only made me picture a clay oven. Whenever the warning bells rang, my entire body trembled as I dreaded being roasted alive. Even then, I managed to look calm enough to convince my brother that there was nothing to fear. He believed me—and I had no companion in my dread.

But in our ten years in this restaurant, either our building was spared, or the fireproof roof worked. This was a good shelter for two children. Laristella was even kind enough to open a window for natural light to come in, with exterior metal shutters, of course. Kaio and I were safe when things could have been so much worse.

Still, panic fills my lungs when I wonder if the rest of my life will be contained within these walls.

I toss my plain kitchen headband in my box with my personal trinkets, then take out a black crocheted band with red rhinestones, and pull back my hair. I like how the dark thread disappears against my black locks, so that the red dots pop. Looks are the least important thing at the Trial, but I want to feel like myself.

My white linen dress is comfortable enough, but I take it off and put on a clean, gray one that doesn’t smell so much like gallonfish stew. Oh, I won’t mind never smelling—or eating—it again.

The officers in the Sky Academy gave each applicant a paper with a day and a time. I’m supposed to get to the training grounds at three in the afternoon, and it’s still barely two, but there’s no point waiting here, marinating in anxiety and anguish.