Chapter Text
It was always a happy birthday when Asha found time to tuck into her study and read about the stars.
The eager scratch of the quill tip, the roguish beam of mid-morning sun, her books cracked open with their flaking spines and yellowing pages, the scent of journal parchment stout with newness — this was all she could possibly ask for. There were other gifts, of course, organized neatly throughout her bedroom down below. Real gifts, half-unwrapped from their pretty parcels. Every year, her mother and father made sure to shower her with gowns, jewelry, the like. She was their only daughter, after all, and birthdays only came around once a year. Not to mention, this was no ordinary birthday.
Asha appreciated their zeal for gift-giving — really, she did — but the gifts themselves couldn’t hold a candle to her grimoires and her star maps, her telescopes, her most prized jar of raven’s wing ink. She dipped her quill in deftly, tapped it against the rim, and turned to the next page in her journal. Wonderfully blank. A small, secret smile played on her lips.
Her study was lofted above her bedroom, up a spiraling staircase and set into the tower rafters, its own marvelous, trinket-filled nook. Like the nest of a studious little bird, her mother had called it. The only feature of the space with any sense of grandeur was the large, rounded window that overlooked the whole of Rosas. She could gaze out at the kingdom, her kingdom, any time she liked. It was richly green and flowering this time of year, the cooler weather drawing more people out from their homes and into the city. The market stalls were bursting with merchants and shoppers, the cobbled roads were packed cart-to-cart with traveling troupes and farmers from the villages, and the seaports, oh the seaports, were positively swelling as the season spurred the arrival of boats from foreign shores. Whenever Asha pressed her face to the window glass, she saw Rosas come alive — and from her lofty vantage, it was beautiful, if not quite far away. A stage performance of a bustling town center rather than the real thing, a play observed from the safety of her theater balcony. She didn’t come down from her balcony often.
The ink ran dry. She dipped her quill again.
Today, on this most glorious and auspicious of days, Asha had decided to comb through some of her oldest, mustiest books. She’d already read them cover to cover dozens of times, but it could never hurt to flip through again and jot down some last-minute notes. This current one told of legendary astronomers who’d drawn paths of the night sky and encountered celestial magic firsthand. These stargazers were fascinating, truly — but the stars they’d charted were her primary focus.
One had to understand the stars, their patterns and their positions, in order to understand their magic. It was well-known that stars were as dangerous as they were distant, that their cosmic dust could grant unimaginable power. People had wished on them long ago, before anyone knew how potent and unpredictable their magic could be. Stardust wasn’t safe for just any mortal to wield. It was the reason only the king and queen, the two high sorcerers of Rosas, had access to the kingdom’s stardust reserves — filled with the harvested remains of all the magic those careless stars had left behind, and used most sparingly, because once it was gone, that was that. This well of stardust had to be guarded, protected.
So, Asha had studied and practiced the other major disciplines in preparation — alchemy, divination, herbology, and even runic, with all those dreadful symbols — and now, she was finally ready to learn the most powerful spellwork of all.
Today, on this most glorious and auspicious of days, with eighteen years of magical training under her belt — she would graduate from an apprentice to a full-fledged sorcerer. She would take her first steps into the inner sanctum of the palace observatory, where the reserves were kept, and she would gather up her first handful of stardust, continuing on the legacy of King Magnifico and Queen Amaya, merciful and just, the greatest rulers that Rosas had ever known. They’d ushered the kingdom into an era of unprecedented peace and prosperity. They’d found a way to grant the wishes of their people so that no one had to risk consulting the stars. The very least Asha could do in return was to be an absolutely perfect protege. A perfect daughter.
She was primed to hold the shifting stardust in her hands, she told herself. She was going to ensure that the wishes of her people had every chance of coming true. She was more than capable of becoming the leader they all deserved. Asha shivered at the thought; it wouldn’t be long now.
Someone knocked suddenly on her bedroom door — three distinct raps spaced at even intervals. She knew that cadence.
“Come in!” she called down, rising from her chair and moving to the stairs.
As Asha descended — without any particular pomp or circumstance — her mother entered in the manner of a river cupping around its bend, so smoothly regal that it was difficult to look away. Her hair was done in its usual style, a single plait running thick and dark down her back, but she wore an especially fine gown for today’s occasion. Emerald green and silver. For her part, Asha had braided some shells and beads and circlets into her own hair earlier, an attempt to elevate her typical look a little, but that felt quite silly now. Why bother? The queen was always the most effortlessly radiant person in any given room. And the most slippery.
When she caught Charo slinking in as her mother shut the door, Asha wrinkled her nose — then quickly itched at it to mask her distaste. She wasn’t overly fond of her mother’s cunning-eyed cat, but who was she to have any say in another sorcerer’s familiar? She would be allowed to choose one for herself very soon, and she wouldn’t want anyone else influencing that decision.
“Asha, my starlight. How long have you been up there?” Her mother approached with a rippling glide of her skirts and took Asha gently by the shoulders. “You get so absorbed in your studies, dearest. I love that you are so dedicated, I do — but there is nothing more to be learned. Not until tonight.”
“I know, mother,” said Asha, a tad sheepish. Charo had settled himself on a nearby shelf, surveying too keenly, and she did all she could to avoid his stare. “I just wanted to make sure.”
“You are ready, starlight. All you need to worry about now is what you’ll be wearing.”
The queen’s eyes swept towards Asha’s bed — those half-opened gift boxes. She released Asha’s shoulders to free her hands for an elegant gesture. “You’ve liked all of your presents, haven’t you? I do hope one of these new dresses will suit you for tonight.”
“Of course, mother. Everything is lovely!” Asha strode over and plucked up her favorite, deep purple silk with gold stitching across the neck, down the bust and along the hemline. “I was thinking about this one.”
Her mother hummed a somewhat weak approval before angling her head to scan the rest of the options. A beat later, and she had fetched another — a more muted shade of green than her own with scalloped silver trimming. “Hmm. How do you feel about this one?”
Asha steeled her expression before it began to crumple, easing it into something like gratitude instead. She folded the plum-colored dress back into its box and reached out to take her mother’s pick. “Ah — yes, yes. A much better fit for my graduation. It’s got the family colors. Thank you, mother.”
Even the queen’s warmest smile had a certain poise to it. “Oh, wonderful.” She took Asha’s chin between her forefinger and thumb, giving a briefly affectionate squeeze. “Your father can’t wait to see you. He would’ve been to see you already, you know, but he’s so busy sorting out the details.”
“It’s alright,” Asha said, folding the gown over her arm. The fabric was so heavy. Such a luxurious velvet. “It’ll be worth the wait.”
“You know how he appreciates your patience, dearest. He sends his love. And one last thing—” Her mother’s jaw feathered so subtly that it might have been nothing more than a trick of the light. “Your little friends down in the kitchens have also sent their birthday regards up to my lady’s maids, to be passed along — as well as some whisperings that they’ve prepared a… surprise for you. Whenever you can make the time.”
Asha felt her face light up from within. “Oh! Oh.” She cleared her throat. “That’s so kind of them to think of me.”
“Well, you are their princess.” Her mother leaned in to kiss her cheek. “And soon to be the new guardian of their truest, deepest desires. Goodbye, starlight.”
“Goodbye, mother.”
Charo leapt from his perch at precisely the moment the queen passed underneath, landing atop one of her slender shoulders. He seated himself primly, his back to Asha as the pair took their leave. And yet, before the door could click into its latch, obscuring them both from view, he pivoted his head with uncanny quickness — his feline lips seeming to curl up into a grin.
Asha shuddered. What a horrible cat.
✯✷✧•☆✦✵✶
As she wound through the echoing stone corridors, Asha thanked all the servants who wished her a happy birthday. And if anyone had, by some miracle, somehow forgotten the day and neglected to offer up their wishes, there were plenty of reminders to go around. The great swathe of heraldry banners that generally lined the walls had been switched out for elaborate tapestries, each woven in Asha’s royal image — her mane of locs, her dark complexion, her slightly slumped posture from when she’d been made to sit for that original portrait. She cringed a little at the accuracy — and the sheer grandness of the gesture.
It was a minor relief, once she arrived at the kitchens. They were situated beneath the main floors of the palace and proved as hectic as ever, the press of bodies and the intermingling smells enough to deter even the bravest souls from venturing in. It was the third weekend of the month, however, so Asha knew that Dahlia and Simon would be working somewhere a bit more private; she cut down a side passage and took one final stairwell below ground.
The cellar was predictably cold and dust-ridden, but Asha didn’t mind. It wasn’t so different from her study, from being surrounded by her stacks and stacks of fusty, decrepit books. Oh, how she loved those books. As soon as she stepped inside, a familiar crop of short black hair bobbed up from behind a rack of wine bottles. Dahlia’s glasses juddered down her nose at the rapid motion.
“Asha!”
A sneeze erupted to the right of the bespectacled girl; moments later, Simon came around the corner of his own rack, scrubbing irritably at his face. “Happy birthday.”
Asha bit back a laugh. “Thank you, thank you. I can’t believe you two are still getting stuck with cellar duty.”
Dahlia waved her cleaning cloth this way and that, a blithe flick of the wrist. “It’s not so terrible. Much better than potato peeling.” And then her eyes widened to big crooked moons behind her half-skewed spectacles. “Oh! Simon! Simon! Go get the thing! The thing! Hurry!”
The broad-chested boy continued to sniffle, ever a victim of the cellar’s most aggressive dust motes. He narrowed a gaze at her. “And why can’t you get the thing?”
“You hid it on the top shelf, remember? You unreasonably vertical man. I can’t reach that high.”
He merely sighed and lumbered to the rear of the cellar. When he returned, he brought with him a two-tiered cake painted in bright violet icing. On the top, a tidy hand had written: For our splendid starcatcher. Love, D & S.
Asha’s pulse fluttered; she grew giddy and a little shy, so overwhelmed with this myriad of feelings for her friends. She glanced between them, nearly beaming, nearly welling up. “This is the most gorgeous cake I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
Producing a trio of forks from her pocket, Dahlia smiled with all her teeth. “I’m glad. Soak it all in, Asha dear, because in about ten seconds from now, it’s going to be the most hideous.”
They sat in a crude circle between the racks and ate their fill, the silence stretching pleasantly as they shoveled and chewed and made high-pitched noises of pure delight. When the dessert had been sufficiently demolished, and her stomach began to gurgle in turn, Asha slouched against the closest wall of bottles, licking her fork clean.
“Almond in the batter and in the icing? That was inspired.”
Dahlia mimed a bow. “The recipe may have been mine, but I can’t take all the credit. Simon did the lettering.”
Simon grunted to the affirmative. He brandished his fork as a sword, leveling the prongs at Dahlia’s temple. “As if she couldn’t tell. Your letters would have been dripping down the sides. One minute, you’re guiding the icing tube, and the next, you’re making baby sounds at a fat little bird that just landed on the windowsill.”
“Psh!” Dahlia lifted her fork defensively, and she swiped it towards Simon’s in the spirit of a spar. “Rude and uncalled for. But damn it, you’re right. I can’t resist a fat little bird.”
“More like you can’t stay focused for more than five minutes.”
“Stars forbid that I try to move through life with a bit of whimsy.”
Asha watched them as they parried on, giggling — until her thoughts strayed inevitably to the wishes they’d both entrusted to her several months ago. They’d shared their burning desires, their precious, tentative hopes. Twin heartsongs that ultimately connected them as one.
I wish to become a valiant knight of the kingdom with the strength to fight for my people!
From the lowest pauper to the crown-clad princess in front of them, Dahlia and Simon wanted more than anything to protect their fellow citizens of Rosas — they wanted to protect their home and everyone in it. Neither of them had given their wishes yet in an official counsel with the king, but they surely would soon, now that they’d also recently turned eighteen. It was known to be the ideal age for deciding on, and then parting with, your heart’s desire. Once they offered up their wishes, they could be chosen for one of the more public wish granting ceremonies held throughout the year. Asha pulled her knees to her chest and mulled this over. She owed so much to her friends for how they’d taken her under their wing and made ample space for her without obligation, when they already had so little to spare — how they liked her, not as heir to the throne, not as some untouchable paragon, but as Asha. She had to protect them, too, when she held the stardust in her hands.
Simon blew pale hair from his brow. “Alright, enough of your nonsense, Dahlia.” At this, the girl in question jabbed her fork playfully into his ribcage. He made a show of his annoyance, swatting her away. “This is Asha’s birthday, the last time I checked.”
“Surely the massive weavings of me hanging on every wall in the palace were enough indication,” Asha muttered.
Dahlia disguised her laugh beneath a cough. “Oh, come on. Those look great.”
Asha grimaced. “My parents certainly pulled out all the stops.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s unwarranted,” said Dahlia, “seeing as you’ll be getting the promotion of a lifetime tonight.”
“Yes, but—” Bashful again, Asha swallowed the lump in her throat. “I don't want to be remembered for my gaudy tapestries. I want this new role to actually mean something.”
Dahlia pitched forward with a desperate earnestness. “It will, Asha. You’ve worked so long and hard at your magic. No one would dare call you a fraud. You’re the real deal!”
A firm nod from Simon. “I don’t know anyone in all of Rosas who’d make a more capable sorcerer.”
Their reassurance worked wonders for Asha, as it always had. She felt the tautness of her shoulder give way. “Thank you both. Really.”
And now that all those royal anxieties had been squared away — Dahlia’s eyes squinted with the mischief of a new grin.
“So… you’ll do a little magic for us, won’t you?”
Asha rolled her eyes good-naturedly, pretending at resistance. “Oh, I don’t know…”
“Just a teensy spell! A tiny one! One last hoorah for Apprentice Asha before she leaves us for the big leagues.”
Letting out her most refined snort, the princess drew a pocket-sized vial from the pouch at her hip; she popped the cork and dabbed a few drops of rosy elixir into her left palm. When she spoke the incantation, the liquid burbled up, peeling like a second skin until it was separated from her hand entirely, forming itself into a gelatinous sort of bubble. A tensely dramatic pause, as the bubble hovered there just above her fingers — before it burst in a great spray of pinkish particles that glittered on the air.
Dahlia whooped and cheered, lover of spectacles that she was, while Simon quietly eyed the fading enchantment, his smile slow-growing.
That jittery fear of hers dissipated just as easily as the sparkles. It made Asha sit a little straighter. Once she learned the magic of the stars, she’d be able to do so much more for Dahlia and Simon than perform her flashy parlor tricks. She might just be able to help make their dreams a reality.