Shaper's Daughter

Chapter 1-2

Kital ran over and threw himself at her, with Ibba flying headlong at her soon after.

“Happy birthday, Isika!” they cried, and she kissed them both, laughing, wiping tears away quickly. She was pulled into the crowd. Already men pulled their drums out of the leather satchels that held them, getting ready to start the dancing and singing. Benayeem, her younger brother by a little over a year, came and stood by her. He slung an arm around her, squeezing her shoulder, and she leaned on him. The lights in the garden shone like the fire birds that lived in the forests of Maween.

“Happy?” he asked.

“So happy. I made the right choice.”

As the heir to the throne, Isika was owed a birthday banquet at the palace, a large, ostentatious affair with all the elders from different parts of Maween and as many Othra as they could entice. Isika had refused it all. She wanted a small party here, in her own garden, with the people who loved her. The four ruling elders were invited and would arrive at some point. But Isika knew them and they were less scary in her home than they were in the plush throne room.

Standing there, again Isika found herself wishing for something she couldn’t have: to be a normal, non-royal Maweel girl. The last months had been the happiest of her life, uneventful and filled with long days in the pottery studio. There were, of course, the strange moments that came from being smack in the center of so many worlds. She was a girl who had grown up in the Worker village and had a sister who had been taken from her there, and a stepmother that she had rescued from the Workers, enemies of the Maweel people.

Plus she had Keethior, a magical companion animal who had chosen her. And a friend for life, a Gariah warrior who seemed to think his mission was to guard her; four elders who wanted to know what her intentions were; her own brothers and sisters; her adopted aunt and uncle; and all her traveling companions.

“It’s complicated, isn’t it?” she asked Ben, watching Abbas whirl in his own rhythm to the songs the drums were crying out, oblivious to the steps of the other dancers.

“Very,” he agreed. “But wonderful.” He looked around. “Where is Aria? She shouldn’t miss this.”

Their younger sister, whom they had lost when she was seven and was now thirteen, lived with her own foster parents, one more complicated thing about their new lives. Isika wished their sister lived with them, but Aria was struggling and often pushed the other siblings away.

Isika shook her head slowly. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I hope she finds her way here.”