ONE. INNA
YEAR 1510 OF THE ALCHEMY AGE
Beneath charcoal clouds, sprites glowed a merciless sapphire, turning the shadows Inna crept through into a spotlight. Stealth was a lost cause as she tiptoed across tide-lashed docks in pink platforms. The shoes weren’t made for sneaking, but her mother’s rushed orders hadn’t left her with time to change.
The silk sprites summoned a lukewarm breeze, lifting Inna’s hair and swinging nearby bracket lanterns. Wooden piers creaked and battled the masculine voices up ahead. Illyre’s city lights and tourist crowds were distant memories out here among the small, discreet boats of poachers, smugglers, fishers. Inna had long since passed the sturdier, registered boats; decadent tourist ships painted silver and plum, her mother’s crest splashed across each stern.
Inna blinked through the salt mist and hurried toward the bobbing ship at the pier’s end. She wasn’t worried about being spotted. Anyone sailing this late wasn’t interested in ferrying guests around Ascira’s glittering skirts, watching sprites flit by while sipping from champagne flutes. They were here because they’d rather risk sea-monster-infested oceans than declare their goods on legal airships.
Even if Inna’s mother hadn’t described the ship she was to seek out, the smell soon gave it away: sharp and saccharine, like boiled sweets, contrasting the docks’ rusted iron and wet timber.
Inna bit down on her tongue, steeling her spine. Sprites’ odor was strongest when they were hungry. She’d have to be careful to keep any captured sprites locked away.
Behind Inna, a tall shadow sniffed. “How many sprites do they have down there? It smells like someone drowned in honey.”
“Hush.” Inna paused at the boat’s edge, turning to Celesse, her backup for tonight’s assignment. “Adelia said there’s only two poachers. It should be a quick retrieval.”
Inna ignored Celesse’s arched brow and reached into the satchel at her waist. She retrieved a slim glass vial, glowing dandelion-yellow with a liquid dose of sprite magic. With a too-tight grip, she uncorked the vial and lifted it to her lips.
The magic trickled down her throat like warm syrup. It fizzled through her limbs, pressing beneath her skin, eager to be expelled. She hoped to not have to use the warm weather magic: one stray spark could shatter a jar and free the sprites. The siphoned magic would only last a few minutes, anyway. Just long enough to offer backup in case the poachers caused trouble.
Inna reached inside her satchel for a second vial—her uncle always ensured she had a steady supply—and offered it to Celesse. She held it pinched between her nails so Celesse’s touch wouldn’t brush hers. But Celesse merely kept her brow raised and offered a minute shake of her head, leaving Inna’s arm outstretched.
“It’s a small ship,” Celesse cautioned. “The last thing we need is me sneezing sunshine and breaking out a starved sprite.”
A soft current—unrelated to the magic—hummed beneath Inna’s skin: the petty satisfaction of wielding what Celesse couldn’t. Despite whatever else her mother thought of her, Inna knew, at least when it came to shaping magic, she could do what was needed.
Inna slid over the boat’s lip. “Suit yourself. Keep watch up here.”
She crept across the deck, hands gliding over the worn railing, breath shallow. Light glowed from a narrow staircase leading to a cabin. The poachers’ laughter cut through the hush, floating up from belowdecks. Inna crouched behind a stack of crates and peered between slats of rotted wood. The magic in her veins encouraged her to move faster, warming her muscles against the evening chill.
At the bottom of the deck’s staircase, Inna spotted two sets of feet. In their shadows, three glimmering jars lined the floor. Tiny, shifting colors flickered within: sprites. Their wings pulsed, crystal shells clinking against the glass, searching for an escape.
How many poachers had died to seal them inside jars? To most, sprites were harmless, pretty things, capable only of dizzying lights and weak weather magic—until you stuffed them in cages and starved them. But to any underground buyers who knew the truth of sprite power? The thumb-sized weapons would fetch a hefty price.
These poachers were likely oblivious to the danger they’d trapped.
Inna’s heartbeat matched the rhythm of Celesse’s tapping foot. She steadied her breath, and raced down the staircase.
Inna rammed into the first poacher before he could turn toward her. The second, shorter poacher fumbled for a weapon as Inna ducked his flailing arms. She twisted his elbow until there was a sharp crack that sent his knife clattering to the floor. He yelped, eyes wide, as she lifted her own blade to his throat.
The poacher she’d thrown against the wall recovered quicker than expected, straightening to race for the stairs. She was tempted to fling her current captive to the floor—but a quick glance at his belt kept her still. The bastard had another two bottled sprites dangling from his leather belt. She couldn’t risk them breaking. Not without knowing how long it had been since they’d fed.
Inna opened her mouth to shout as a lean shadow flew down the steps, greeting the fleeing man with a swift kick to his torso.
“Too slow,” Celesse sighed, facing Inna. “I thought you were going to hover on the deck for a few more years.”
The taller man tumbled back from Celesse, coughing. His veined eyes darted between Inna and Celesse, eventually settling on Inna.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he sneered. “Get off my ship!”
Inna tightened her grip on her struggling poacher. The fizzing magic in her veins pressed at the insides of her fingertips, begging to heat her blade.
She glared at Celesse. “I told you to stay on the docks.”
Celesse narrowed her dark eyes and shrugged, rustling her steel shirt. Soft, crimson chain mail danced across her entire body in a protective jumpsuit. “And I told you to move quicker this time. I’ve booked a seat at a card game in forty-five minutes.”
Inna swallowed a sour, too-familiar frustration. She removed her blade from the poacher’s throat and, slowly, spun him to face her. “Untie the sprite jars from your belt, please.”
At some point, Celesse had withdrawn her own blade to press against the second poacher’s chest. Though he scowled, Inna’s poacher—with sprites tied to him like glitter-bound grenades—watched her with wide-eyed fear. Good.
Trembling, her poacher reached down and unclasped a sprite vial from a carabiner at his waist. He unclipped the other and held the two caged, glowing sprites toward her. The warmth and sweat from his hands fogged the glass, dimming the sprites’ soft, changing colors. They eventually settled on a cherry-pink shade, likely their natural hue.
Celesse swore. “Are those posy sprites? I haven’t seen any for months.” She turned to her pinned poacher. “How long have you had these little monsters trapped down here?”
Inna gnawed at the inside of her cheek. Posy sprites were usually only seen in the Molten Season, when the sky softened and warmth flowered across fields. Their season had ended months ago.
Inna pressed her blade back to her poacher’s throat. “Answer her.”
“A few weeks?” her poacher squeaked.
Guilt ghosted through Inna, easy to ignore. These two didn’t seem experienced. They’d probably heard rumors of sprites’ illegal value and taken their chances. Their accents were too sharp and clipped to be Asciran. They were likely from the nearby continent, Velande.
“Place the sprites on the ground with the others, and we’ll let you sail off,” Inna said. “You don’t want to be here any more than we want you here.”
Overhead, a dim lantern swung. The ocean lapped at the hull. The poacher beneath her blade glanced to Celesse, to his partner. His fingers twitched toward the thin lids keeping the sprites contained.
“Don’t try anything.” Inna pressed her knife deeper into the man’s throat, drawing a bead of blood just as sweat beaded down her back.
“Release the sprites,” the other poacher growled. “She just wants the damn things to sell for herself. We can at least make it harder for her.”
Inna grinned. “Want to test that theory? We don’t need any more posies for our supply this year. Go on. Open a vial.”
“Inna,” Celesse warned, inching back, toward the staircase.
The poachers exchanged frowns. Inna understood their confusion. To the world, sprites were harmless, floating baubles. Their siphoned magic could offer people no more than a few minutes of weather-infused party tricks. Through as many industries as they could sink their claws into, her family had ensured that sprites seemed a fickle tourist attraction. Not a magical, murderous gold mine.
“You’ve had those sprites in vials for weeks, right?” Inna asked. “They’ll die before you can smuggle them into Velande. Hand them over, and maybe I can find you something better to sell for us.”
Inna extended a hand toward her poacher’s caged sprites. The pink creatures pressed against the glass, as if reaching for her, for the magic humming through her. Slowly, carefully, she cupped the jars and—
A sharp creak sounded. Then, hurried footsteps.
A new figure flashed through the narrow cabin space, hurtling toward Inna.
She cursed and ducked in the same breath, releasing her trembling poacher. The new figure had too much momentum for the small space and collided with the opposite wall. A rusted weapon glinted in her grip.
Inna raised her knife and turned toward her attacker, a dark-browed woman with an impressive scowl. She must have been stowed away in the head of the ship. Steel whistled toward Inna’s ribs and she jumped back. She felt Celesse move behind her, keeping one poacher subdued.
“You didn’t even check the rest of the ship?” Celesse snapped.
Inna ignored Celesse and pivoted, catching her new opponent by the wrist. The woman twisted, her arm shooting out to press her knife to Inna’s neck. Breath short, Inna summoned forth the sprite magic in her veins, willing the golden warmth into the woman’s white-knuckled grip around the knife. She bit down on her tongue and pushed, wringing every drop of magic from that measly vial, focusing on the poacher’s grip against her neck.
A moment later, the poacher hissed, flinching back as her hand glowed blister-red. Inna drove her shoulder into the poacher’s ribs before knocking the heated weapon to the floor. The woman gasped, bending over. Inna felt a moment’s triumph before new hands gripped her neck from behind.
Lurching, Inna stomped down on her second attacker’s foot and shoved him into a wall as the last of the magic fizzled from her blood. Both poachers wheezed, and as the man behind her fell, so did a vial.
Inna heard glass shatter a half second before sprite light lit the cabin, color scattering like stars.
Two ravenous sprites burst free.
“Shit!” Celesse screamed, scampering back, abandoning her dazed poacher.
The freed sprites flew to the center of the cabin and the two standing poachers paused their attacks. Inna lunged in front of Celesse. Old, reflexive fear moved Inna’s limbs, keeping Celesse safe, and the sprites quickly chose the standing poachers as their prey.
The female poacher sucked in a sharp, startled breath as a sprite darted toward her.
Her mistake was opening her mouth.
The sprite shifted from pink to gold to crimson before dulling itself, like heat off stone, hiding behind illusion magic, bending light around its form. Dread crept down Inna’s spine. She knew what would come next.
The sprite slipped inside the poacher’s open mouth and down her throat.
The woman coughed. The other sprite hid itself, too, though this monster didn’t bother with an orifice, diving toward the shorter poacher’s left arm, the vein at his elbow’s crook. Almost too fast to follow, the sprite punched through skin and burrowed deep inside the poacher’s blood.
“Where did they…” the female poacher began, before a cough wracked her body. Blood trickled from her nose, reaching her upper lip before she crumpled to the ground.
“Farrah?” The younger, shorter poacher stepped toward his fallen colleague, oblivious to the blood trickling down his own arm—and then, from his nose.
Farrah’s fingers twitched, scarlet pooling from her fingernails. The young poacher managed another wobbly step before his knees gave way. His brown, bleeding eyes locked on Inna as he slumped beside Farrah.
Almost a minute passed in silence. The two poachers lay sprawled with the third curled, trembling, in a corner, when the sprites finally reappeared. Farrah jerked. A gargle escaped her throat. Blood bubbled from her lips, spilling down her chin, as the sprite—brighter, rounder—slid free. The other sprite, now a merry yellow, shot out of the younger poacher’s chest cavity and joined its friend in the air. One drifted leisurely toward Inna, its tiny body pulsing. Newly fed, it was near blinding to look at, even with the tinted, protective contacts Inna wore.
Inna felt Celesse stiffen as the sprite neared. It shifted to a bright orange, slow and sated.
“You’re safe,” Inna said to Celesse. “They’ve eaten their fill.”
Inna lifted a hand, pointer finger extended. The sprite hesitated, then landed on Inna’s finger, delicate as gossamer. So long as Inna wore the pendant around her neck, thrumming with a dozen sprites’ worth of magic, no sprite would attack her. It was an invaluable trinket, marking her as kin in the sprites’ eyes.
Celesse huffed. “Can you put it back in a cage, please?”
“Fine.” Inna nodded toward the remaining poacher. “Restrain him.”
The remaining poacher fought Celesse’s grip for an impressive few seconds before she knotted rope around his wrists.
“What … What did you do to them?” the man spat.
Slowly, Inna reached into her silver satchel and retrieved a small, empty vial. She lifted the vial and let its subtle glimmer reflect through the air, mimicking the sprites’ light.
She popped the lid open and shook it. Both sprites drifted toward the new cage, shedding petal-like crystals.
They inspected the bottle, tempted by curiosity; tiny stars caught in the wrong orbit.
Into the vial, out of the ship, Inna repeated to herself, a mantra. Another mission completed. Another step closer to what she needed, beyond her mother’s absurd tests.
Inna pressed down on the vial’s base, activating a small vacuum. Both sprites flew inside and Inna clicked the lid shut.
Triumph, a small, momentary rush not unlike the magic she’d drank, brushed through her. Neither Celesse’s jabs nor Adelia’s expectations could take this victory away. Missions like this gave her a shape, a worth in a world already drowning in magical importance.
Celesse ran a hand through her sleek ponytail. “You could’ve tried harder to stop the murder bugs getting out of the jars.”
“And you could’ve shot them down if you were that scared.”
Celesse worked security for Inna’s family most nights. The guard could hold her own in a fight. Even so, the real reason Inna kept her on missions—despite their prickly romantic history—was that Celesse was the best shot Inna had ever seen. Inna could see Celesse’s slinger—a mechanical slingshot rifle—tucked at her hip, surely loaded with pearls, ready to strike down any rogue sprites.
Ignoring Celesse’s glare, Inna pulled out her tele-comm. Thumbing the digital screen, she texted their address to the head of her mother’s cleanup crew. Pocketing the device, Inna bent to retrieve the other caged sprites along the ground and tucked them inside her satchel.
“What are we to do with him?” Celesse thrust a thumb toward the cowering poacher.
Before Inna could respond, a cool breeze descended the stairs, heralding a new presence. Her stomach lifted as a short figure glided toward the center of the blood-soaked cabin.
Her mother didn’t look at her, not at first. Instead, Adelia Pallo dipped her chin toward the remaining poacher. His breath hitched as he met Adelia’s gaze. Fresh fear lit his features like a struck match.
Finally, Adelia’s blue eyes turned to Inna, and the massacre at her feet.
“Sloppy,” Adelia noted, the single word plunging and twisting a knife into Inna’s gut.
Adelia’s black heels clicked as she strode toward the still-breathing poacher, and yanked him up by his dark hair. The man—likely still dazed from Celesse’s strikes—barely fought her grip.
Inna swallowed a lump, pulse drumming.
“Do we keep him alive for information and risk him escaping, running his mouth about sprite appetites?” Adelia’s pale eyes turned to steel. “Or do we kill him and lose potential knowledge?”
“Keep him alive,” Inna said, forcing her voice to stay flat, even. “We can keep him hidden.”
She’d found the poachers, hadn’t she? She’d recovered the sprites. She’d remained exactly what her mother had required.
Adelia paused. Trembling, the man tried to rise from his knees. He managed one foot beneath him when Adelia—faster than any sprite, Alchemist or god—retrieved the rusted blade from the ground, and slashed the man’s throat.
Inna didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t. But she couldn’t help her stomach’s churning as the poacher slumped beside his fallen friends. Blood seeped from his neck as he stilled.
Whether by steel or sprite, their deaths were on Inna’s hands. They were far from the first.
She shoved her knife—her sister’s old knife—back in her satchel and, just for a moment, a quick flicker, the ghost of Erika appeared beside the poachers, her body strewn, bleeding, broken.
Adelia wiped her blade on her silver trousers. “Wrong answer.”
Inna’s fists clenched. Her mother had told her there were two poachers on the ship, not three. But she held her tongue; she had a better chance of surviving an argument with Salta’s serpent god.
As Adelia turned back toward the stairs, she said, “You did well, Celesse.”
Celesse’s chest puffed, and Inna fought a sneer. Then, back to Inna, Adelia instructed, “Get these poachers to the nearest coroner on payroll. We don’t need curious sailors searching their bodies and seeing crystallized organs.”
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