Chapter 1 - A Very Productive Morning

The watering can was nearly empty.

Valeria tilted it a little further.

A thin stream spilled from the rusted spout and disappeared into the dark soil around a row of small purple flowers.

Not enough.

She carried the can back across the garden.

The path was made from uneven stone, with grass growing through the gaps. Something yellow had taken root beside one of them.

A weed, probably.

She stopped.

Set the watering can down.

Her knees complained when she crouched.

That was annoying.

She pulled at the weed.

It didn't move.

She tried again, digging her fingers into the soil around it this time. Dirt collected beneath her nails. The thing finally came free with a small clump of roots and earth attached.

Much better.

She tossed it aside.

“Are you going to spend all morning out there?”

Valeria looked toward the house.

A woman sat beneath the shade of the terrace, one hand wrapped around a cup.

Apparently, yes.

She picked up the watering can.

There were still the tomatoes.

And the herbs.

And something growing beside the fence that she couldn't remember planting.

“You said you'd only be a few minutes.”

“I know.”

The words came easily.

Valeria frowned.

Had she said that?

The watering can was empty now.

She wanted to put it down.

Instead, she carried it toward the old metal tap beside the house.

Right.

Of course.

It needed filling.

She turned the handle.

Water rushed noisily into the can.

“You'll hurt your back again.”

“I'll be fine.”

She didn't particularly want to answer.

Actually, she didn't want to talk at all.

The woman continued anyway.

“Martin called.”

“Did he?”

“He wants us there on Sunday.”

“I told him we'd come.”

Valeria watched the water rise.

She had absolutely no idea who Martin was.

That seemed fine.

The can was almost full.

“You told him that last week.”

“I remember.”

She didn't.

The tap squeaked as it closed.

Valeria carried the watering can back toward the garden.

It was heavier now.

Her arm hurt.

That was—

Bang.

Valeria stopped.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The garden shuddered.

The woman on the terrace kept talking, but her words stretched strangely, losing their shape.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Valeria.”

The flowers blurred.

“Valeria.”

The stone path disappeared.

“Valeria, wake up.”

Her eyes opened.

Darkness.

For several seconds, Valeria stared at absolutely nothing.

Her face was half buried in a pillow. One arm had gone numb beneath her chest, and something was stuck to her cheek.

She moved her tongue.

Hair.

Wonderful.

She spat it out.

“Valeria?”

The voice came from beyond the bedroom door.

Valeria closed her eyes again.

“No.”

There was a pause.

Then, “No what?”

“No, I'm not awake.”

“You're speaking to me.”

“Could be dreaming.”

Another pause.

“That would certainly explain a lot.”

Valeria pulled the blanket over her head.

The knocking resumed.

Not violently.

Just persistently.

The kind of knocking performed by someone who had absolutely nowhere else to be until the person on the other side surrendered.

“It's nearly three.”

That got one eye open.

Three?

Valeria reached blindly across the bedside table.

Her fingers found a glass.

A bottle.

Something rectangular.

Another bottle.

She knocked one of them over.

Finally, her phone.

The screen lit up painfully bright.

14:47.

“Oh.”

Eleven missed calls.

Four from her sister.

Two from a number she didn't recognize.

One from her brother.

The rest were from people she had no intention of dealing with before food.

There were twenty-three unread messages.

Valeria turned the screen off.

“I'm awake.”

“I gathered.”

“I'll come down.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“And eventually I did.”

“At six.”

“That still counts.”

Silence.

Valeria waited.

Maybe she'd gone away.

“Your mother asked me to make sure you ate something today.”

Of course she had.

Not come wake Valeria.

Not see how Valeria was doing.

Make sure she eats something.

Like one of the cats.

“I ate.”

“When?”

Valeria thought about it.

Yesterday afternoon?

No.

There had been toast.

Had that been yesterday?

She remembered toast.

“Recently.”

“Valeria.”

“I'll come down.”

“I'll wait.”

Her eyes opened again.

“You don't have to.”

“I know.”

That was considerably worse.

Valeria groaned and pushed herself upright.

The room slowly emerged from the darkness.

Heavy curtains covered most of the windows, leaving only a narrow strip of afternoon light between them. Clothes occupied the chair in the corner despite the existence of a perfectly functional wardrobe less than two metres away. A book lay open on the floor beside the bed. Another had somehow ended up beneath her desk.

On the bedside table stood the small collection of things that had followed her through most of her adult life.

Water.

Medication.

More medication.

A sleep monitor she had stopped wearing three months ago.

And a framed photograph her mother insisted made the room look less depressing.

Valeria looked at herself in the dark reflection of her phone.

Her hair had formed an alliance against her.

She pushed some of it away from her face.

Twenty-three years old.

Fourteen hours of sleep.

And somehow exhausted.

Excellent.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

The floor was cold.

For a moment she simply sat there, elbows on her knees, waiting for her body to accept that consciousness was apparently mandatory today.

She could sleep again.

Easily.

Another five hours.

Six, maybe.

Her bed was right there.

Warm.

Dark.

Perfect.

“Valeria.”

“I'm standing.”

“You are not.”

Valeria looked toward the door.

“That is an unreasonable level of confidence.”

“I've worked here for twelve years.”

Fair.

She stood.

Immediately regretted it.

Nothing hurt, exactly. She just felt empty. Like someone had taken everything her body was supposed to use for the day and spent it while she wasn't looking.

She stretched.

Her shirt had twisted around her waist during the night. It was several sizes too large and had once belonged to her brother, although he continued to deny this despite photographic evidence.

She pulled it straight.

Her gaze landed on the medication again.

She should take the morning tablets.

Calling them morning tablets at three in the afternoon felt optimistic.

She swallowed them with what remained of yesterday's water.

Then she stared into the empty glass.

The bathroom was all the way across the room.

The carafe was empty.

Valeria sighed.

Fine.

She held the glass loosely in one hand and concentrated.

The familiar pull was barely noticeable.

A faint shimmer formed above her palm.

One bead of water appeared.

Then another.

They trembled, joined, and dropped into the bottom of the glass.

Valeria kept going.

A little more followed.

Then the spell gave out.

She examined the result.

Perhaps two fingers' worth.

Twenty-three years old, magically screened three separate times, and this was still about the extent of her talent.

Water affinity.

Barely enough mana to do anything useful with it.

The first screening had been routine. Almost every child had one eventually.

The second had been because her parents hadn't quite believed the first.

The third had involved a very expensive specialist, two days of tests, and exactly the same conclusion.

Low capacity.

Weak output.

No unusual secondary affinity.

Perfectly healthy magical channels.

Unremarkable.

Her mother could direct enough water across a field to keep several hectares alive through a dry summer.

Valeria could save herself a trip across the bedroom.

Every family needed its prodigy.

She drank the water.

From behind the door came, “Are you talking to yourself?”

“No.”

“You've been awake for less than five minutes.”

“And already I'm being judged.”

“Get dressed.”

Valeria shuffled toward the door.

When she opened it, Mara was standing on the other side.

As expected.

Perfect posture. Dark trousers. White blouse. Tablet tucked beneath one arm.

Mara had worked for the family for twelve years, which meant she had witnessed Valeria progress from a child who fell asleep during dinner to an adult who could lose most of a day without really trying.

She looked at Valeria.

Then at her hair.

Then back at Valeria.

“No.”

“What?”

“You're not going downstairs like that.”

“Why?”

“Your father is home.”

Valeria blinked.

“He is?”

“He arrived this morning.”

“Oh.”

“He asked about you.”

“That was nice.”

“I told him you were asleep.”

“That was accurate.”

“He said, and I quote, ‘Of course she is.’”

Also accurate.

Valeria leaned against the doorframe.

“Is everyone here?”

“Your sister is at work. Your brother is not.”

“Mother?”

“Meeting.”

Naturally.

Her mother had meetings most days.

Some involved the company. Others involved regional agricultural boards, emergency services, licensing committees, or whatever new group had decided that moving enormous quantities of water with magic required another committee.

Which, to be fair, it probably did.

The techniques her mother had developed had started with irrigation.

Then drought management.

Then flood control.

Then fire suppression.

At some point, what had begun as one exceptionally talented water mage solving problems had turned into a company employing dozens of people who did the same thing professionally.

Valeria had once been given a tour.

Everyone had been very enthusiastic.

She had fallen asleep during lunch.

Her mother had stopped inviting her after that.

Probably for the best.

Valeria rubbed at her face.

“Five minutes.”

Mara looked doubtful.

“Ten.”

“Five.”

“Eight.”

“Get dressed.”

Mara turned and walked down the corridor.

Valeria watched her go.

Then looked back at the bed.

The bed looked back.

Metaphorically.

Probably.

She considered her options.

Food.

Father.

Being awake.

Or—

“Valeria.”

Mara's voice carried from halfway down the corridor.

Valeria sighed.

“I'm going.”

She stepped back into her room and pulled open the curtains.

Immediately, she regretted every decision that had led to this moment.

Afternoon sunlight flooded the room.

Valeria recoiled.

“Awful.”

Outside, the grounds stretched away beneath her window.

Her parents' house sat far enough from the city that there were more trees than buildings visible from the upper floors. The gardens were maintained by people who actually knew what they were doing, unlike Valeria, whose agricultural experience consisted primarily of whatever nonsense her brain invented while she slept.

Beyond the property, she could just make out the pale line of the transit route leading toward the city.

Something moved above it.

A courier platform, probably.

Its lift array gave off the faint blue-white shimmer of active magic as it crossed between the distant buildings.

Valeria watched it for a moment.

Then yawned.

Magic.

Everywhere.

Everyone seemed to have found something useful to do with it.

Her mother moved water.

Her father had spent most of his adult life in the military.

Her sister had inherited enough talent to make herself useful in the family business.

Her brother had turned his own affinity into a career with the police.

And Valeria—

Valeria could make two fingers of drinking water without getting out of bed.

Technically useful.

She supposed.

Her family had never treated her badly for it.

That almost made it worse.

There had been no dramatic disappointment. No declaration that she had failed them. No furious father demanding that she train harder.

They had tried.

Tutors first.

Then specialists.

Then different tutors.

Doctors when the sleeping became impossible to ignore.

Magical physicians.

Ordinary physicians.

Researchers.

Sleep clinics.

Another specialist.

Another test.

Another theory.

For years, someone had always been trying to fix something.

Eventually, they had run out of new things to try.

Valeria kept sleeping.

Her family kept living.

Her sister built a career.

Her brother moved out.

Her father disappeared for weeks at a time with the military.

Her mother's company grew.

And Valeria slept.

Nobody hated her for it.

Nobody seemed particularly surprised by it anymore, either.

There were worse things.

Probably.

She found a pair of trousers on the chair and pulled them on.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, there was still a garden.

Warm stone beneath old shoes.

Purple flowers.

Dirt beneath fingernails that had not been hers.

Martin.

Whoever Martin was.

She had dreamed stranger things.

Last week she had spent what felt like two hours riding in an airship over mountains she had never seen before.

Three nights ago, she'd prepared soup in a kitchen with blue walls.

Once, when she was seventeen, she'd dreamed an entire afternoon from the perspective of someone repairing a roof.

That one had been particularly annoying.

She'd woken up afraid of heights for nearly an hour.

Compared to that, gardening was almost relaxing.

Valeria found a brush.

Looked at it.

Looked at herself in the mirror.

Made a decision.

She put the brush back down.

Mara would survive.

She opened the bedroom door.

“I'm coming.”

No answer.

Good.

Valeria stepped into the corridor and started toward the stairs.

The garden was already fading.

The woman's face went first.

Then the house.

Then the conversation.

By the time Valeria reached the stairs, she could no longer remember what the purple flowers had looked like.

She still remembered the dirt beneath her nails.