“Do you have to hang on to my ear, Astro? It tickles.”
“Your hair is too slippery now for me to hang on to that. Perhaps it would help if you did not wash it for a while.”
“Believe me, no one would notice if I didn’t.” Petra eyed a young boy who looked as if he had never had a bath in his life.
And then the unexpected happened. Petra smelled something delicious. She followed the scent until she turned down a street crammed with shops. Dozens of wooden signs swung, showing oxen, candles, necklaces, dragons, flying horses, and countless other things. It was a challenge for Petra to figure out what exactly could be bought at some of the stores. Surely one could not buy a dragon?
Petra could have discovered the answer to that question if she had peeked inside the shop at the Sign of the Fire-Tongued Dragon. But she had only one purchase in mind at that moment, and it had everything to do with the sugary scent that pulled her along the road. She turned a corner and faced a large square packed with rows of small stalls. To Astrophil’s delight, many of them were heaped high with books of all shapes, sizes, and colors. “Ooh,” he said. “Let’s go closer.” He gripped Petra’s earlobe excitedly.
“Astrophil!” she hissed, trying not to attract attention, for now several people milled about them, mostly scholars in long black robes that identified them as students at Karlov University. “If I wanted to get my ears pierced I would have asked Dita to stick a needle in them a long time ago.”
A bookseller with a long, scraggly beard gaped at her. For the millionth time she wished that she was able to speak to Astrophil with her mind. Carrying on a conversation with him meant that everyone around her would think she was talking to herself.
“Sorry,” Astrophil said. “But can we get closer?”
“After we buy breakfast.” She had identified the source of the sweet scent, and it was a stall selling pastries. Several people were in line. Petra stood behind a young man in a Karlov cloak. The line advanced slowly. Petra impatiently scratched some bug bites on her arm.
When only the Karlov student stood between her and breakfast, a girl and a boy walked toward them. They wore Academy robes made of dark green velvet with a golden spiral stitched on the right shoulder. They paused right next to the man in the Karlov robe, and Petra was surprised to see that they expected him to let them step in front. She was even more surprised when the student stepped back and waved them ahead.
“Oh, I cannot decide.” The girl stared at the row of cakes and cookies and honey breads. “Kolachki, perhaps? I do love their apricot jam centers. Or gingerbread?”
“Just pick one, Annie. We have to get to class.” Then the boy said to the woman behind the stall, “Apple strudel. A big one.”
“Anna.” The girl glared at him. “Remember to call me Anna. We are adults now. You should act like one.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Is it not splendid that we are in the same class?” she said. “Mother and Father are so pleased. To think that we can start fires with a snap of our fingers! I cannot wait to begin seriously practicing.”
“I guess.”
“You speak like a commoner, Gregor.”
“Look, if you don’t pick your pastry now I’m going to go to class alone. If you’re so blazing pleased about being in the Academy, you can try not to get us kicked out after only a week.”
She sighed. “I will have two kolachki.” She nudged her brother, and he pulled a large purse from his robe. “I wonder what the prince’s talent is. They say that he was in private lessons for all four years at the Academy. His talent is a state secret, of course, since our enemies would know his weakness if they knew his magic.”
“You talk such nonsense.” He paid the woman. “Bohemia doesn’t have enemies. We’re part of the Empire.”
“Why hide his talent, then?”
Gregor shrugged and began to walk away. “Maybe he doesn’t have any and didn’t want anyone to find out. Maybe that’s why he didn’t take classes with a group of students.”
Petra heard someone behind her gasp. The pastry seller looked scared.
“Or maybe”—the girl grabbed her brother’s arm and glared at him—“he has more than one magical ability and therefore needed special attention.”
He shook off her hand. “Don’t be stupid, Annie. Nobody has more than one magical ability.” He stalked away. His sister trailed after him, protesting.
The student in front of Petra shook his head. “Reckless. What a reckless thing for him to say.”
Petra bought a hoska, a braided bread made with almonds and raisins. She tucked her purse back inside her shirt, but she put the change from the bread in her pocket, so that she could reach the coins easily. Then she walked away slowly, mulling over what the brother and sister had said. The girl had been right about one thing, Petra thought: knowing what the prince’s talent was would help her get what she wanted. And she supposed that she was the prince’s enemy.
Listening to their conversation had only confirmed her bad opinion about the sort of students enrolled at the Academy. The Academy was, above all other things, exclusive. Petra’s father had explained the meaning of the spiral stitched onto their robes. If you stand above or below a spiral, you can see how it spins out from its center. But if you stand inside the spiral and look straight around, you see a line, like the horizon. Using magic, her father explained, was like seeing a spiral from every point of view. Most people see only the results of magic, like seeing a spiral from above or below. But having the ability to use magic meant being able to not just see its effects, but to be inside of it, to see an infinite line of possibility.
The coins jiggled inside Petra’s pocket as she walked, reminding her of more ordinary subjects. “Things are more expensive here,” Petra said.
“Perhaps,” Astrophil replied. “But I think the pastry seller simply cheated you.”
Irritated, she stopped and put her hands on her hips. “Astro! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to see if you would realize it on your own.”
Petra was groaning in exasperation when someone interrupted her.
“The uncle stole your cloth, missus.” Petra heard a high voice. “I seen him. His hand is on the silks.”
At first, Petra could not tell where the voice was coming from, but at the mention of a thief she instinctively touched the spot where she kept her purse. Then she remembered Tomik’s advice about pickpockets and cursed herself for being so thoughtless. But when she looked around, she saw that no one was paying attention to her. Everyone on the street corner was gazing at the girl with the high voice. “The uncle stole your cloth,” she repeated.