Powers of the Six Read Free

year, and the people of Orange District have been avoiding his shop and going elsewhere. He wants to go somewhere ‘where he’ll be appreciated.’”
    Duke Ragnall turned his attention to his plate, shooing a meaty hand in Nolan’s direction. “Of course, of course. If he has the means to move, then so be it. He has my permission.”
    “Very good, sir.” Nolan rolled the parchment and slid it into his bag. After a brief inspection of the serving platters—which held far too much for only the three of them—Nolan selected a glazed pastry and placed it on his plate.
    “I also wanted to speak to you about the upcoming Tournament of Awakening,” Duke Ragnall said. “Our recent encounter with the prisoner will bring the king’s army here sooner than expected. I’ve received word that General Trividar will arrive this afternoon to question him.”
    Nolan stopped his fork midway to his mouth. Kael was coming … today? His stomach lurched.
    Duke Ragnall continued, “Considering our current circumstances, I think it might be best to deliver the summons for the Tournament of Awakening as soon as possible. Perhaps you might make them available by tomorrow at the latest?”
    “They’re already done, sir.” Nolan motioned to the bag, grateful he had stayed up to finish them. It would be one less thing for Kael to criticize.
    “Why, Nolan, you never cease to amaze me.” The duke turned to his wife. “My dear, isn’t his performance outstanding?”
    “Oh, yes,” she said. “I’m sure it is.”
    Mikayla reached over and brushed her fingers across Nolan’s hand.
    Nolan coughed and rose quickly, jarring the table. “If Your Excellency would not object, I’d like to deliver the summons myself.”
    Duke Ragnall gawked, his mouth gaped, revealing his last bite of fruit. “ You want to deliver them?”
    He gritted his teeth, wishing he’d kept his big mouth shut. It wasn’t like he wanted to run around in the horrid heat. And he could barely keep his eyes open. Nolan forced a smile. “The fresh air and exercise will do me good.”
     
    ***
     
    A puffy, gray blanket of clouds stretched the expanse of the sky like wads of dirty lamb’s wool. It covered the town of Alton and the forest beyond, and even went to the distant mountains, obstructing the tops of the rocky fortresses from view. The sky appeared as it always did in the thriving city: dark, gloomy, and depressing.
    Nolan walked the streets of the Yellow District, where every shop looked as if fading dandelions had sacrificed themselves on their walls.
    A painter worked outside the herb shop, his clothes splattered in a prism of colors. The building’s yellow hue peeled except where the man applied a new layer of pale, thick paint.
    The man’s rainbow-colored clothes sagged from his humped shoulders. His eyes met Nolan’s, but he quickly averted his gaze, too ashamed to be seen by an employee of the manor.
    Guilt gnawed at Nolan’s gut. The only reason he had a privileged job was because he secretly used his Shay to succeed. He too could’ve become a painter—one of the lowliest jobs in the whole of Adamah. The poor man had no district color to claim as his own.
    He turned at the corner. The buildings of the Orange District were always brighter than the others. Nolan passed the primary apothecary, where they made the paints each day. He shook his head. No wonder their district’s colors always appeared the best.
    He wasn’t sure why they bothered. They said it honored the different Shay abilities; each color represented one of the six powers—like the Rol’dan cared or felt “honored” by them slapping paint on their walls. Perhaps it was really because they were jealous of the Rol’dan; they claimed a color because they couldn’t have one of their own. Or maybe it was just an excuse to not get along. The color districts always bickered, always presented long and detailed complaints. Lucky Nolan got to record every one .
    He wound between rows