UnTwisted Read online

  “Sara!” she gasped. “You’re wearing yellow!”

  Sara nodded. “It’s pretty, right?”

  “It’s yellow!” Primka said again. “I take it back. I’ve clearly taught you nothing because you’ve obviously lost your mind! Yellow!”

  “You’re wearing yellow,” Sara noted.

  “I am yellow!” Primka huffed. “There’s a difference!”

  “It’s a much lighter shade than the Keepers’ yellow,” Flissa offered. Sara looked at her gratefully, but Primka wasn’t placated. Her feathers fluffed up twice their normal size, and her pink cheek feathers grew red as she flitted madly back and forth between the two princesses.

  “‘A lighter shade,’ she tells me,” Primka said to no one at all. “As if that’s an excuse for a princess of Kaloon to wear a color that reminds the whole kingdom of the worst period in our history. And on your first day of school! What kind of impression do you think you’ll make on the other students? What will the Untwisteds think? I’ll tell you what they’ll think; they’ll think you’re making some kind of statement, that’s what they’ll think. And all our work, and all our sacrifice, and…”

  Flissa caught Sara’s eye and nodded. There was a time when they’d have laughed together at Primka’s histrionics and let her drone on while they conspired under her beak. But by now they’d been through too much with the songbird to dismiss her that way.

  Besides, Primka had a point. Sara’s dress was nothing like the Keepers’ canary yellow, but maybe it wasn’t the wisest choice.

  “It’s okay,” Sara said. “I can change the color.”

  “I’ll help you,” Flissa offered. She held out her hand, but Sara shook her head.

  “I’ve got it.”

  Sara closed her eyes, then held her hands in front of her face. Wiggling her fingers, she ran them down the front of her body. Tendrils of red mist swirled around her dress, enveloping it.

  When the mist cleared, her dress was no longer yellow; it was royal blue.

  “Better?” Sara asked. She held out a finger, and Primka perched on it. She looked Sara up and down, then nodded.

  “Much,” she said, clearly impressed. “And you did it all by yourself.”

  “I’ve been practicing,” Sara said.

  “It shows,” Flissa said. “You’re really good.”

  Sara beamed, which was a relief. It meant she hadn’t heard the edge in Flissa’s voice. Flissa had always been the better student, but when it came to magic, Sara was the one who excelled. Flissa understood why; even though she’d come to terms with the fact that she and Sara were Mages, she was still afraid of magic. She vividly remembered what she’d done to the nose-ringed guard in the Twists—how she’d taken over the girl’s body and forced her to turn her own knife against herself. Every time she thought about it, Flissa burned with anger all over again. She could feel the magic surge through her, overwhelming and out of control.

  She didn’t like that feeling. She knew practicing would help, and she did her best, but she couldn’t throw herself into it the way she did with all her other studies. She preferred when she and Sara did magic together, combining their red-and-cream-colored magical signatures to produce charms like the pink glow that had made them invisible on their way back from the Twists, or the pink shield that had saved them from Mitzi’s deadly dark curse.

  Tap-tap-tap.

  Flissa, Sara, and Primka all looked toward the window, where a blue orb the size of an apricot bumped against the glass.

  “A bubblegram!” Sara cried.

  She ran toward the window, stumbled over a pile of her laundry, then fell forward, smacking her palms against the wall to stop herself from falling over. She yanked open the window and the blue orb floated to Flissa, coming to a stop directly in front of her face. When it popped, Loriah’s no-nonsense voice rang out.

  “It’s a sea of TTs, Fliss. I’m surrounded and I expect backup. Meet me at the ring tree. Hill above the school. Can’t miss it.”

  Sara scrunched her face and tilted her head. “TTs? What does she mean?”

  Flissa blushed. She’d told Loriah how much she was dreading the “teeming throngs,” and Loriah loved the term because she felt the same way. As far as Loriah was concerned, she had one main friend: Flissa. Through Flissa she’d gotten close to Galric and Sara, but she agreed the foursome was plenty. Anyone else was just extra and annoying.

  Of course, Loriah wasn’t one for tact; it didn’t occur to her that tossing around the “TT” might make Sara ask all kinds of questions.

  “Not sure,” Flissa said unconvincingly. “Here, let me just answer her back.”

  Flissa reached into her pocket and pulled out a small glass vial filled with message milk. She might have been wary of magic in general, but message milk was one of the best things to come out of Kaloonification. At first only Mages carried the vials, but now they were universal. Flissa and Sara didn’t know anyone who didn’t tote one with them at all times.

  She unscrewed the top, which was connected to a thin wand that ended in a jagged loop. Flissa gently tapped the wand against the side of the vial to get rid of the excess fluid, then held it in front of her. She could see the sheen of message milk inside the loop; it was ready to receive.

  “This message is for Loriah,” Flissa said.

  The wand glowed blue: destination registered.

  Flissa moved the loop in front of her mouth and spoke into it. As she did, a blue bubble emerged. It grew with her words.

  “Sara and I got your message,” she said pointedly. She hoped Loriah would understand the implication—that Loriah should be more discreet when sending bubblegrams to the palace—but she doubted it. Discretion wasn’t Loriah’s forte. “See you at the ring tree. End.”

  At the word “end,” the strawberry-size blue bubble broke off the cone and floated out the window. Flissa knew it wouldn’t stop until it had found Loriah and relayed its message.

  “Enough dawdling,” Primka said. “Now down to breakfast with you. Everyone’s waiting to see you off on your first day.”

  “Everyone?” Sara asked. Her eyes gleamed eagerly.

  “Indeed,” Primka said. “Your parents, Rouen, Katya, Galric—”

  “Yes!” Sara cried. She flung her rucksack over her shoulder, then took Flissa’s hand. “Come on!”

  Flissa grabbed her own bag midstride as Sara clumsily pulled her out of their room and down the hall to the main door of the Residence, Primka right behind them.

  “One second,” Flissa said, slipping her hand out of Sara’s grip. “I forgot something. Be right back.”

  Before Sara or Primka could object, Flissa raced back into their room. She ducked behind the opened door and pressed her back against the wall. She closed her eyes and tried to still her thudding heart with long, deep breaths…but they came out as wheezes. Finally she gave up and tugged at the chain around her neck to pull out her charm necklace. She opened it to reveal a thin wooden coin, on which a six-year-old Sara had painted portraits of the king and queen. She squeezed the coin tight within her fist.

  “King, I go to school. Queen, I refuse,” Flissa whispered.

  She moved the coin into flipping position on her thumb…but she couldn’t flick it into the air. She simply stared at it. The image of their mother looked benignly back at her.

  After an eternity, she let the coin drop back into her palm.

  “No. I have to make the choice myself.”

  “Flissa?” Sara called from the hall.

  Flissa bit her lip and gave the coin another squeeze, then slipped it back into the locket.

  “Coming!”

  “Come on!” Sara called back into the Residence.

  This was madness. Her head would literally explode if Flissa didn’t come out in the next second. Primka had already lost patience and flown downstairs, and Sara was tempted to do the same, but she couldn’t. She knew Flissa was nervous, and she’d absolutely stick by her sister’s side as much as she could, but she
didn’t want to be late. This was the biggest day of their entire lives!

  Okay, maybe it was a bigger day when Kaloon won the Battle for Unification. And maybe the day they saved their mother’s life from a terrible curse was bigger too, but still, today was huge, and Flissa knew how much Sara was looking forward to it.

  “Finally!” she gushed as Flissa emerged. “Come on, we have to hurry.”

  She grabbed Flissa’s hand and pulled her toward the Grand Staircase, moving so quickly she tripped over a bump in the rug and went flying. Flissa caught her arm before she could tumble down the stairs.

  “Thanks,” Sara said. She hoisted her skirts in one fist and grabbed the banister with her other hand, then watched her feet as she carefully trotted down the steps. She jumped the last two…and promptly fell to her knees. As Flissa helped her up, Sara glanced to her left, down the long marble corridor filled with tapestries and decorative tables. She remembered how she used to run down that hall, bumping her shins every step of the way, desperate to get to the Weekly Address on time. She could practically feel the strain in her legs as she pounded up the hidden back staircase to the balcony.

  Now those stairs were gone, and so was the balcony. The long hallway ended in a giant pile of stone and wood debris, a casualty of one of Grosselor’s magical blasts.

  That wasn’t his only casualty either. So much of Kaloon had been shattered in the Battle for Unification. Homes blasted by powerful magic were left in rubble, or worse. Sara remembered when Galric had come back to the catacombs after one of his runs around the kingdom, collecting scrap metal to melt down into sword blades. He’d been ghost pale and breathlessly told them about a blacksmith’s shop that had been hit with a magical blast and transformed before his eyes into a giant snake made of rocks, its fangs dripping with purple venom that sizzled against the ground where it fell.

  He’d been lucky the beast hadn’t reared back to strike. Instead it had swatted him with its tail as it turned to go after Rouen and the rest of the royal forces fighting nearby. The impact had sent Galric flying into a rock pile that sliced open his arm and gouged his face just under his left eye. The pain was terrible, but Galric managed to pull out his vial of message milk and send Rouen a bubble-gram before he passed out. If Rouen hadn’t gotten the warning, his entire flank would have been ambushed and slaughtered.

  Thinking about Galric made Sara even more eager to see him. She poured on speed and ran down the hall, and Flissa kept up with her step for step. When they turned and ran by the kitchen, she was hit by a blast of tantalizing scents that made her mouth water. Filliam, the new head chef, had grown up in the Twists and knew how to cultivate the most delectable magical plants. He’d turned the kitchen into a fantasyland of flavors that lit up parts of her tongue Sara hadn’t even known existed. Filliam was proud of his work and always invited the princesses to come in and taste his new dishes, but Sara couldn’t. The kitchen had been Mitzi’s domain, and every time Sara even peeked inside, she remembered how the two of them had laughed together, sharing secrets while Mitzi snuck her nibbles of different treats. Sara had thought of Mitzi like a second mother, and even though no one had ever said so, she knew it was her fault that the cook had gotten close enough to her family to nearly destroy them all.

  Sara didn’t want to think about that. Not today. She grabbed Flissa’s hand and ran into the ballroom.

  “The schoolchildren are here!” Primka proclaimed as they raced through the door…and immediately thumped into a massive wall of flesh.

  “There’s my girls!” Katya cried.

  She wrapped her arms around them for a huge hug. Katya’s pillowy girth was full of love and everything good, but it also blocked Sara’s view of everything else in the room. And everyone.

  “I need a picture,” Katya said. She turned around while keeping Flissa and Sara firmly in her grasp. “Galric, come here. Squish in. I need you in this too.”

  Now that Katya had turned them around, Sara could see Galric. He looked completely mortified, which was often Katya’s effect on him, especially now that she had gone from his secret guardian to his full-time parent. But when he saw Sara, his eyes widened.

  “Whoa,” he said. “You cut your hair.”

  Sara nodded as best she could from under Katya’s arm. “Uh-huh. You like it?”

  “Yeah, you look great!” he said. Then he blushed and added, “I mean…”

  “Picture!” Katya insisted. “Now.”

  Chastened, Galric hurried to Katya and stood in front of her, right between Flissa and Sara.

  “This’ll be a good one,” Rouen said, and Sara heard the familiar chinking sound as he walked across the room. Rouen had lost a leg in the Battle for Unification; not even his powers and the strongest magical medicine could save it. His metallic replacement was sleek and strong, made by Kaloon’s best blacksmith, and so well crafted that Rouen swore he didn’t even miss the original. “What do you think, Vincenzo?”

  Vincenzo, the new royal portraitist, had already set up his easel and paints and begun to sketch. He stood on a chair to do his paintings, which would have been unthinkably rude for the previous royal portraitist, but Vincenzo was a sloth and needed the extra height. He was also brilliantly talented, and Sara’s own technique had improved immeasurably since she started studying with him.

  The sloth put his claws to his lips and kissed them. “The pose is perfection.” Then he glared at the princesses and Galric. “But if any of you move, I shall paint the most hideous version of your face you can possibly imagine, then hang the portrait here in the ballroom for all to see.”

  Galric laughed, but it fizzled quickly under Vincenzo’s glare. That almost made Sara giggle, but she bit her cheeks to stop. Vincenzo wasn’t joking; she’d seen the horrible paintings he’d made of people who crossed him.

  As they all posed for Vincenzo, Sara watched the sloth’s eyes so she’d know when he wasn’t paying attention to her and she could sneak glances at Galric. It was amazing how much he’d changed since they’d first met. He’d gotten taller, for starters. Or he just stood taller. He didn’t slouch the way he used to, as if he was worried his presence might bother someone. And, like Sara, he’d cut his hair, only he’d done it months ago, when he, Loriah, and so many other young Kaloonians had jumped in to help the war effort: delivering notes for those without message milk, gathering spare metal to melt down for weapons, running supplies to fighters, and helping to transport the wounded to medical care. He’d said it was too distracting to do all that with his hair flopping down in his face, so he lopped it off and wore it swept back from his forehead. Now when he caught Sara’s eye, he wasn’t peeking out from behind a curtain. He was really looking at her.

  Sara checked to make sure Vincenzo was focused on Flissa. Then she quickly crossed her eyes. Galric laughed.

  “That’s it!” Vincenzo snapped. “Now you shall get a plobquat for a nose!”

  “What?! Wait!” Galric complained.

  “You’re still moving,” Vincenzo said. “Feet for ears.”

  “He does deserve it,” Katya said, “but it would mean a lot to me if you’d just paint him as he really is.”

  Vincenzo sighed. He didn’t like to give in, but it was difficult for anyone to say no to Katya.

  “Fine,” he said. “Just as he is. Including the large pimple on his nose.”

  “Aw, come on!” Galric complained, and this time Sara, Flissa, and Katya all laughed out loud. Eventually they pulled themselves together, and Vincenzo finished the portrait in no time. It looked amazing; Sara only hoped that one day she’d paint just as well.

  “Those earrings,” Galric said. He hadn’t even noticed them until he saw them in the portrait.

  “Like ’em?” Sara asked.

  “Ow. Didn’t it hurt?” he asked. “You stabbed yourself through the ear!”

  “Technically our mother did the stabbing,” Flissa said. “And the polite thing to say isn’t ‘Ow,’ but ‘Yes, they’re very pretty.’ Which th
ey are.”

  “Thank you, Flissa,” Sara said, and she enjoyed the way Galric blushed at the rebuke. “And no, it didn’t hurt at all.”

  “’Course not,” Katya said. “And even if it did smart a touch, a little ear-stabbing is nothing compared to this.” She grabbed Galric’s arm and rolled up his loose-sleeved shirt to reveal the lower part of the pink scar that ran from his wrist to his shoulder. “Got your arm cut clean open, but you kept going on and helping the cause. And you got this one for your trouble too.”

  Katya pointed to the small scar under Galric’s left eye. It was almost invisible now; Sara could only see it when he smiled. Then it folded in like a crescent-shaped dimple.

  Galric blushed even redder. “Everyone here knows about the scars, Katya,” he said softly. “You don’t have to keep pointing them out.”

  “But I do,” Katya said. “You’re a hero, and I want everyone to know it.”

  “That’s right, you are,” said Rouen. He moved next to Katya and put his arm around her waist. “We’re very proud.”

  Katya and Rouen kissed. Immediately Sara grabbed Flissa’s hand and squeezed. Of all the things they’d learned about Katya in the last several months—that she was a powerful Mage, that she was a leader of Kaloon’s magical Underground, that she had vouched for Galric when he was little and kept him from the Twists—the strangest by far was that she was married to craggy-faced Rouen.

  Sara glanced toward Galric, thinking he’d share the joke, but he just smiled at the couple with love in his eyes. It was sweet, really. Katya had always been like a mother to him. Now, with his real father, Gilward, gone, it looked like he’d welcomed Rouen into the role.

  “So you’re excited for the first day of school, are you?” Katya asked the girls. “We heard you running down here.”

  “Of course you did,” Primka said, lighting on Katya’s shoulders. “Years of etiquette training, and they thump around like elephants.”

  “Ran, huh?” Galric said. He turned to Flissa and grinned. “So that means she tripped and you had to catch her…ten times?”