Step Forward
He’d trapped Tamzin, boxed her in, his arms braced against the stone at her back. Tension coiled through her, tight enough to snap. At any moment they would call her name.
“Let go. I’m so late.”
She stood in the narrow alley just beyond their village square, pressed against a stone wall still warm from the day’s sun. Her breath came unevenly, her thoughts louder than the nearby crowd.
“Tamzin of Edon,” the king’s officiant called out. “Twenty-fourth year. Step forward for assignment.”
Tamzin snapped her head toward the mouth of the alley. Oh God. She didn’t want to do three years of subject service. It was why she’d put it off for as long as she could. But it wasn’t like she could say no, thank you. Not when the king commanded it. Nor could she avoid that thing waiting out there. The Soul Chest. It gave her a shiver. Oh, what was she doing? This was not how people faced their subject assignment. No one questioned it. No one delayed it. No one slipped into an alley with an incorrigible man while the village waited.
“You’re thinking too much again.” Deren stepped closer, giving her arm a supportive stroke. “You always do that.”
“I’m not thinking too much. I’m late.”
With a finger, he teased the top of her collar, fastened tight at her throat. “You’ll look good up on the stage. All buttoned up like a proper sermon.”
Tamzin slapped his hand away. “Don’t.”
“Forgive me. I can’t be blamed. You excite me.”
She glanced down the alley anxiously.
“They can’t start without you. You’re first.”
“They have started.” She could hear it well enough. The officiant’s measured cadence and the low murmur of villagers waiting for her to step forward. Her father would be there.
“Please don’t be nervous. In a few minutes, you’ll walk out there, put your hand in the empty box, and pull out a vegetable. You’ll be off to the fields. Same as every other girl here. Perfectly safe. And missed terribly by me.”
Her hands unclenched. Deren always knew what to say.
“Unless you’ve been hiding something more interesting beneath all that black.”
She huffed. And what not to say.
His fingers toyed with her long skirts. Tamzin’s thoughts slipped loose. “Maybe you’re the kind who hides wicked thoughts. Like those women in the city. The ones with powers no decent person names.” He teased his finger over her covered thigh.
She put her hand on his, stopping him. “We don’t speak of such things.” Her faith had taught her better.
But she was still holding his hand. He stroked it with his thumb. She should not have responded to his closeness, or the sudden quickening of her pulse.
“I can’t,” she said, though she did not pull away.
Deren smiled like he had already won.
“Tamzin!”
Her father stood at the mouth of the alley, his expression as dark as his long cassock. Her stomach flashed cold. For a heartbeat she couldn’t move.
Deren jerked away. “Tamzin, you have to stop coming after me with your sinful desires. I told you I was saving myself for my future wife.” He nodded at her father and ran off.
Shame flooded her, followed by an overwhelming desire to punch the stone wall. Her father seized her arm, his grip tight enough to hurt.
“When will you learn to behave?”
“I was just—”
“The king’s law does not wait on your distractions.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You will be.” He pulled her toward the square.
Oh God. She’d get a thrashing before the day was done.
The crowd parted for them. Tamzin felt every glance, every whisper. Late. Dragged in by her father. She stumbled along, trying to keep up with his long strides.
The Soul Chest waited up on a platform with the king’s officiant standing beside it. As they climbed the stairs, the villagers crowded closer. Hypocrites. The lot of them believed that magic would bring darkness to the beholder, yet not one looked away.
Her father placed her firmly facing the chest and stepped back. She could feel him looming there, ready to force her hand if she took too long.
“Tamzin of Edon?” The officiant’s eyes narrowed at her.
She nodded to the man. He was very tall.
The man flicked his hand toward it and stepped aside. That was it? No speech? No declaration? He stared at her, a little bored, if she judged his expression right.
Very well. Her heart pounded as she stepped closer to the Soul Chest.
It was a fancy thing, made of cherry wood, with gold joints and filigree. A small cloud of crimson dust churned around its sides. The box was sealed on all sides except for a hole at the top just large enough for a hand. She peered inside and only saw shadow.
Tamzin lifted her arm. As she moved her hand closer to the Soul Chest, the hair on her neck stood on end. She stopped.
“Go on, woman,” the officiant snapped. “You’ve kept us waiting long enough.”
She dipped her fingers into the box, and immediately they tingled. The sensation grew more intense as she reached inside, like tiny strikes of lightning against her skin. Then a pressure wrapped around her wrist and pulled her deeper into the chest. She lost her balance but caught her footing before she fell. All the while, it gripped her tight.
Heat surged against her palm, sharp and immediate. Her throat tightened. This wasn’t right. A squash or carrot wouldn’t burn. Every instinct screamed for her to let go and run away, but the square had gone silent.
Tamzin closed her fingers. It flared hotter. She drew her hand out.
Light curled against her palm. Then a shape formed, delicate and impossible. A rose with petals traced in fire. Urgent murmurs swept through the crowd. Tamzin stared at the flaming rose in her hand. It felt hot, but it wasn’t burning her.
This wasn’t service in the fields. What was it?
At the edge of the square, a captain in the king’s colors went still. Even more disturbed than the villagers. He watched her intently.
With recognition.
