Time: -9 years pre-canon
Age: 17 years old
The crowds were rarely avoidable in Vesuvia during the day, especially in the central district, but they were particularly bad at this time of year. Even after sunset when the night market opened to the crowds of the Masquerade, the bustle was almost overwhelming.
Daya ducked and weaved through the throng of people, hopping to and fro across the boards placed above the canal. Her purchase she cradled close to her chest, and the smell of the hot, fresh bread made her stomach rumble. It was her luck that the market was open almost constantly during the days of the Masquerade, if only because it gave her something to do at night. The vendors always made a killing when the Count's birthday celebrations rolled around, after all. Artisan bakers made cheaper versions of the delicacies served at the palace, tailors sold costumes of chiffon and cheap gold leaf, and winemakers offered tastings of rare imports from Atapra and Milova. A sea of fluttering costumes, glittering baubles and painted masks surrounded her, dazzling her with the colours and patterns of a hundred people. It was enough to be overwhelming. The palace had to be worse, surely…
For a moment Daya glanced wistfully at the stone stairs that wound out of sight, all the way up to the palace. What would it be like to wander the gardens in an elegant costume, she thought, perhaps dancing in a glittering ballroom and eating tiny sandwiches.
"Keep dreaming," she said out loud, and blushed at the odd look a passing reveler threw her. As if she would ever be invited to the Masquerade-as if she would ever have enough money for fancy dress! And who cared about tiny sandwiches, anyway?
If she dawdled any more the bread would get cold, and the fortune-teller might disappear into the night-not to be seen for another year, maybe more.
The shop was open late for once, the lantern still lit with an iridescent blue flame, and when Daya glanced at the side window she could see the faint, blurred outline of her aunt striding past. But it wasn't time to go inside. Not yet. She slipped past, shoes padding silently on the cobblestones, and around the back of the building.
To her relief the booth was still there, a hastily constructed thing of a few upturned barrels and a tent poles draped with blue and purple cloths. She'd seen him setting up just after dawn, though the window's frosted glass turned him into little more than a sunlight-dappled figure. When she'd gone to run errands later that day there had been a line; old men and mothers and a few street urchins shoving and pushing each other. Even though it was after dark the streets were still full of people, but...nobody lingered at the tent now, and the flap was still fastened to allow entry. Daya hesitated a moment, brushed away the shyness that clutched at her chest, and ducked inside.
There was barely any room inside the tent and yet, all she could see of its occupant was a pair of shoulders and a head of fluffy white curls, both illuminated by a central light that hovered above them. Then the drapes fell back with a rustle, throwing the space into darker shadows, and the fortune-teller straightened up. She caught and held his gaze; eyes of purple with delicate white eyelashes.
God, he was young. Barely into adolescence, she realised, about the same age as she. His gaze dropped to the bread in her hands, and Daya blushed.
"Here," she said, and hastily shoved the bundle at him. "You've been working here all day, and I thought you might be-this is from my favourite baker."
He looked so surprised it was almost comical, and for a moment he just stared down at the wrapped bundle.
"It's pumpkin bread," Daya added. "The best in the city. Well, I think so, anyway."
The fortune-teller unwrapped the linen cautiously. His fingers dug into the loaf, pulling it apart, and the scent of warm spices filled the tent. He closed his eyes, inhaling. A dimple flashed in his cheek.
"It smells amazing," he said, when he opened his eyes again. "You didn't have to do that. Thanks."
"Nonsense," Daya said, and sat herself on the nearest barrel. "Everyone deserves to eat. Besides, you've been bringing customers to the shop. My aunt should be thanking you."
He placed the bread on the makeshift table between them and began to tear it into smaller pieces. Half of the pieces he wrapped up and tucked away into his bag. He offered her a piece from the remaining half, and began to eat the rest enthusiastically.
"This shop is your aunt's?" he asked between bites. The bread disappeared at an alarming rate, confirming her suspicion that he hadn't eaten all day.
Daya shook her head at another proffered piece and swung her legs idly, then started as the barrel wobbled.
"Magic ingredients, potions, spells, and divination," she said. "She's been teaching me a few things."
Her lessons were supposed to have begun an hour ago, but he didn't need to know that.
The fortune-teller looked at her curiously. "You can do magic?"
"Ah, sort of. I'm still learning." She watched him pick crumbs off the table, and something like pity stirred in her chest. "What's your name?"
The flash of a dimple again. "Asra. And yours?"
"Dayana. But you can call me Daya, if you want."
"Daya," Asra said, almost to himself.
The scarf at his shoulder rose upwards, and moments later a serpent's head peeked out. Its tongue flicked, tasting the air, and it looked around with red eyes. Asra appeared completely unsurprised, glancing down and smiling.
"Who's this?"
Asra lifted one finger to stroke under the snake's chin. "This is Faust. She's my familiar."
"Oh," Daya sighed, somewhat enviously. "I wish I had a familiar. She's beautiful."
Faust yawned widely, slithered down Asra's shoulder and deposited herself on the table. He looked cautious for a split second as the snake brushed over Daya's arm, cool and smooth...then visibly relaxed.
"I'm glad you're not afraid of snakes," he said by way of explanation. "Some people are. You said you don't have a familiar?"
"Not yet. I wish."
"Not every magician finds their familiar right away, but it'll be worth it once you do."
Asra brushed the remaining crumbs off the table, then opened his hands. A deck of cards splayed out between his fingers.
"Let me read the cards for you."
"Oh, you don't have to," Daya began, pulling the barrel closer, "but if you're offering, I'll say yes."
He smiled. "It's the least I can do. Do you have a question you want answered?"
Daya shook her head and leaned forward eagerly, hands clasped on the table. She'd seen her aunt read the cards for customers before, and some of her spreads were far more complex than she could hope to create. Most people who came for fortunes, however, preferred the simple three card spreads: past, present, future.
Asra shuffled and cut the deck with practiced ease. Daya watched avidly as he laid out the cards facedown; four in a square and one in the centre.
"An archetype reading," she noted. "The five aspects of the self. The persona, the shadow, the opposite energies, the heart's desire."
"That's right." He smiled at her, and flipped the first card. An image of a snake curled around a polished wooden stick. It reminded her of his familiar.
"The Queen of Wands."
"Yes. A person of focus and passion, drawing others into her orbit." He smiled. "Or their orbit, if you prefer."
Daya shrugged. "I don't care which."
Asra flipped the second card.
"The Seven of Swords, reversed. The second card, the shadow. A secret shame, or a refusal to acknowledge a situation or a truth. This can represent...running away from a difficulty instead of facing it." Asra gave her a sly look. "An example would be avoiding magic lessons and having your fortune told instead."
There was a split second in which they looked at each other, then burst out laughing.
"You got me," Daya said, grinning widely. "I'm avoiding my aunt right now. I should have known I couldn't hide from the cards."
"Not these ones, at any rate." Asra flipped the third card. "The World. Opportunity, success, and a journey. But in this specific context…" he paused for a moment, hand hovering over the illustration. "A suggestion, to be proud of all you have accomplished thus far."
Their eyes locked again, and Daya felt a shiver run down her spine.
She wasn't new to the reading of the cards. Tarot and other divination techniques were part of her lessons: she read runes, bones and tea leaves also. And from time to time, Daya had spent her spare coin on happiness or success readings at some of the other fortune-teller booths found at the central market. Those were for idle curiosity, and the vendors little more than snake oil salesmen. She knew how to spot genuine skill, and Asra had it. Her eyes dropped to the fourth card, and she watched in anticipation as he turned it over.
"The Eight of Pentacles, reversed." This time he looked up, a mischievous glint in his eye. "A struggle to maintain focus. Do you think the cards are trying to tell you something?"
"That's the point, isn't it?" she retorted, and he laughed. Deftly he flipped the fifth card...then sat back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"The Fool," he said after a moment.
"Wow. Rude."
Asra glanced up at her uncertainly, his white eyebrows quirking. He relaxed when he saw her grin. "You scared me for a second."
"I'm learning the cards, remember? I know what the Fool means. A cliff's edge, with limitless potential for the future, if I only make the leap. Am I right?"
"Yes. You have all you need to move forward."
Daya sat back, mirroring his pose, and watched as he gathered up the cards.
"May I?" she asked into the silence.
Asra paused in the middle of shuffling the deck, and his gaze fell upon her outstretched hand. For a second she thought he would refuse. It was somewhat of an audacious request, if she knew anything about magicians and tarot. But then he smiled and passed the deck over.
"Are you going to practice on me, Daya?" he asked, teasing.
She laughed. "I can try."
Her fingers closed over the cards- then a sudden rush of wind extinguished the lantern, throwing the booth into darkness.
It was magic, she realised. Pushing and pulling within her like a tide; rolling over her in a heady rush, tingling and warming under her palms. She gasped involuntarily, squeezing her eyes shut
The light returned moments later, throwing wild, swinging shadows over the booth. Daya drew in quick, ragged breaths.
"Mmhm," Asra said. He had an air of smug satisfaction about him, as he leaned his chin on one hand. "I thought so."
She threw him a quizzical look but he said nothing further, so with a shrug she began to shuffle.
"Past, present and future," she said, and let the cards flow through her hands. She could almost hear her aunt's voice.
Relax. Empty your mind and let the cards speak to you in the silence.
She'd had trouble reading the cards most days, but this deck...this deck was special. How else could it have reacted to her magic?
Daya drew three cards, face down, and chose the far left. The Five of Cups.
"You had a great loss, many years ago," she said tentatively.
A flicker of pale eyelashes; otherwise no reaction from him.
"Someone who was important, and sometimes, it seems as if pain is all you will ever know or feel." The words came unbidden, drawn from her mouth in a whisper. "Sometimes...it's easier to keep hurting, because hurting is infinitely less terrifying than feeling nothing at all. Hurting means the loss meant something. It made them real, and it keeps them alive, in a way."
Asra said nothing. Embarrassed, Daya swiped at her eyes and let go of the card. "I'm sorry. That was totally inappropriate. Um...should I continue?"
A soft, tentative reply. "Please."
Turning the second card took more courage than she cared to admit. The Magician stared up at her in the form of a fox, a small smile playing around its mouth.
"The Magician," she said, and Asra's eyebrows rose. "For your present." Daya tapped her chin with one finger and closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. "You're...performing an act of creation, shaping something from nothing. A place of pure magic, created from and shaped by your willpower."
Asra's eyes widened. "Huh."
"I know...I'm not making much sense, I'm sorry. I still have trouble with my focus, as the cards pointed out." She turned over the third card. "The Hermit, reversed."
This time the words were easier to hold on to.
"The Hermit implies solitude, even when upright...reversed, it represents a deliberate isolation. A withdrawal from the world." Frowning, she glanced up at him. "If you aren't careful, you could lose your connections to this world...or fail to form new ones."
Asra was silent for a long moment, staring thoughtfully at the cards laid out before him. Then he smiled. There was no hint of mischief in his expression, only interest.
"I thought you might have the skill for tarot," he said, "and I was right. You're the real deal."
Daya opened her mouth to reply-then the slap of feet on cobblestones made her pause. More and more footsteps; some hurried and some leisurely. The sound of flutes floated from around the corner, clear and high and melodic. Voices growing louder.
Curiosity drew her up, and she peeked outside. Asra had picked a good spot for fortune-telling, that was for sure-the booth opened up to the wider part of the street, giving them a good view of the marketplace. Her skin prickled as she felt Asra's presence at her shoulder.
"Look," he said, pointing. She followed his gaze to a glittering carriage making its way past, headed for the town square.
"Fancy," Daya mused. "Do you think it's the Count? I've never seen him before."
"The Count?" Asra said. "I don't think so.."
There was a strange note in his voice she couldn't quite pick out, but then he brushed past her and she promptly forgot in her curiosity. She followed him out into the street and joined the crowd gathering to watch.
The carriage was close now; close enough to snatch glimpses of its passenger. A cascade of violet curls. Brown skin. A long nose and elegant fingers. Red eyes.
"She looks like a noble," Daya murmured, and Asra hummed beside her. "I wonder who she is."
"Dayana!"
The sharp, rich voice rang over the mutter of the crowds. Daya blushed violently as several people turned to look at her, then above-to the woman leaning over the balcony.
"Ah, it seems I've been caught."
Asra laughed.
A little awkwardness settled over them as they turned back to face each other. A few moments of silence, then Daya finally spoke.
"Same time next year?"
Asra laughed again, quieter this time. "Who can say?"
"Even if I don't see you..." she offered her hand, and he took it. "Thank you, Asra. I'll take your advice if you do the same for me."
"I will," he promised.
"Dayana!"
"Coming!" Daya called, and let go of his hand. An awkward smile, one more glance and he disappeared back inside the tent. The flap unfastened and fell over the entrance, and the light went out.
She went back to the shopfront, extinguished the lantern with a snap of her fingers and turned back to watch the carriage disappear around the corner. The last thought before she crossed the threshold was of purple eyes reflecting the lantern light, and a strange feeling in her chest that could have been intuition.
It wouldn't be the last time she saw Asra, though-she was certain of that.