Before She Ignites (Fallen Isles Trilogy #1)(20)

Still, none of the prisoners should have even guessed I was the Mira Treaty Mira. A burst of fear fluttered through me. “How do you know?”

“Just rumors,” Tirta said. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want.”

That was a relief. “Thank you.”

“When I heard you were here, I hoped I’d get to meet you.” She smiled.

Conversations that began like this usually required Hristo to loom a little extra. I proceeded with a neutral and noncommittal, “Oh?”

“I was born about six months after the treaty—in Sarai. I always felt sort of connected to you.”

“Oh.” How I wished for Hristo and his looming.

Tirta blushed furiously. “Sorry. I know I’m being awkward. It’s just that without you—without the treaty—my life would have been very different. I wouldn’t have belonged. I don’t have much of a gift, you know. Working on one of the farms would have been a nightmare, but thanks to you and the treaty, I don’t have to.”

My heart twisted. Mother had always told me to just gracefully accept praise and thanks when people started talking like this, but I’d never felt right about it. “I didn’t have anything to do with the treaty. I just happened to be born the same day, so my father named it after me.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t the Hopebearer.” She smiled, relentlessly friendly. “Sorry. I can see it makes you uncomfortable. I just always liked you. That’s all.”

I didn’t know whether to thank her or run away.

Ilina would tell me to make friends, and this girl clearly wanted to be my friend. I needed to let her. Besides, who was I to judge awkward attempts at closeness? Especially after what I’d done to Aaru. Maybe Tirta was a little like me.

So I smiled. “Please don’t tell anyone who I am.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

I headed toward the buckets and rags.

“Do you know how to clean?” A note of amusement filled her tone.

“I managed cell-cleaning day.” Barely.

Tirta stuck her head through the window. “I can’t help you. I have a lot of food to cook. But I can give you instructions if you need. Start at the top. Use that pole to get the walls. And don’t forget the underside of the tables. Sarannai will check there first.”

This had seemed impossible before. But under the tables, too? And probably the legs and chairs and everything else, as well. How was I going to finish all of this by lunchtime?

Ilina would tell me to do what I must to survive. Zara would tell me to stop being a baby. Father would remind me that I was Mira Minkoba, and that I was a brilliant star. It was my duty to shine.

I grabbed a bucket. There was no time to waste.





BEFORE





One Year Ago


“IT’S TIME TO GIVE UP THE DRAGON, MIRA.”

It was my sixteenth birthday and I was reasonably certain Mother was trying to ruin my life.

The upstairs parlor was usually a happy place, even in my family. Once a decan, my parents, Zara, and I met here an hour before dusk. We’d play cards, eat tiny pastries with honey drizzled on top, and watch the sun set over the mountains. I loved twilight, where sunlight glowed just behind the jagged peaks. I loved the glorious silhouettes. Those hints of majesty.

But tonight, Mother said the words I’d been dreading for eight years: give up the dragon.

I put down my cards, face up. The game didn’t matter anymore. “Why?”

“People need to see you growing up, doing something good with your life.”

I’d never been able to do anything with my life. That was the problem.

Mother glanced at Father; they were united in this decision and it was his turn to explain to their stupid child. He cleared his throat. “You represent the Mira Treaty. Use that power. When people hear Mira believes in better pay for Hartan servants, they will believe, too.”

I glanced at Hristo, who was reading on the far side of the room. The sting of his rejection was four years old, dull now, but I’d never forgotten what he said—that we weren’t equal. “Of course I think Hartans should be paid the same as anyone else on Damina—”

“Then it’s settled.” Mother plucked all the cards from the table to begin a new hand. “In the morning you’ll thank Viktor and Tereza for the time with their dragon. Later we’ll announce your intention to become more involved in civil policies.”

My mouth dropped open. “But LaLa—”

“Oh, forget the dragon!” Zara sat back and crossed her arms. “You like that dragon more than you like anyone else.”

That wasn’t true. . . .

“The dragon was a sweet childhood hobby.” Mother shuffled the cards. “Your responsibilities are different now. You can’t always get what you want, but you do have everything you need.”

Except the freedom to make my own choices.

“A dragon is not a need,” Mother said.

“How will it look if I abandon LaLa? Keeping her will demonstrate that I take responsibility for those under my care—even dragons.”

Father nodded faintly. “That’s true, but I’m still not sure . . .”

“I’ll use my influence.” I rushed over the words, desperate. “I’ll do what you want. Just don’t make me give up LaLa.”