Ginger Johnson - The Other Side of Luck

Also by Ginger Johnson

The Splintered Light

BLOOMSBURY CHILDRENS BOOKS

Bloomsbury Publishing Inc., part of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018

This electronic edition published in 2021 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY CHILDRENS BOOKS, and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

First published in the United States of America in July 2021 by Bloomsbury Childrens Books

Text copyright 2021 by Ginger Johnson

Illustrations copyright 2021 by Lucy Rose

All rights reserved
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Johnson, Ginger.

Title: The other side of luck / by Ginger Johnson.

Description: New York : Bloomsbury Childrens Books, 2021.

Summary: Ignored because she is a girl, First Daughter Una sets out to find the silva flower, and her path crosses with Julien, a pauper hoping to free his father by finding the same flower.

Identifiers: LCCN 2020054298 (print) | LCCN 2020054299 (e-book)

ISBN: 978-1-6811-9655-8 (HB)
ISBN: 978-1-6811-9656-5 (eBook)

Subjects: CYAC: Fantasy.

Classification: LCC PZ7.1.J615 Oth 2021 (print) | LCC PZ7.1.J615 (e-book) | DDC [Fic]dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020054298

Book design by Jeanette Levy

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To mother and son,

the helper and the helped

For they too are gatherers of fruit and frankincense, and that which they bring, though fashioned of dreams, is raiment and food for your soul.

Kahlil Gibran

In a small stone dwelling on the edge of the city Antiquitilla, a child waited to be born. The child who would become Julien knew the rhythm of his mothers heartbeat, the music of her blood flowing through her veins. He knew the trod of her footsteps and the creaking of her chair as she sat down. He knew the muted music of her voice. It was the tune he heard while floating, enfolded within her.

But on this particular spring morning, the sounds changed. Her heartbeat sped up, her footsteps slowed down, there were cries of pain, and the steady hum of his existence was traded for a shockingly loud sound. When Julien recognized that the sound came from him, he grew quiet and still, searching for his mothers heartbeat.

From above, he heard the low whine of the wind whistling through the cracks in the doorway.

From below came the sound of a beetle scuttling across the floor.

From left and right came the steady vibration of life, an unrelenting swirl of sound: a tree stretching upward, a sparrow settling into her nest, a flower bursting into bloom.

None of it was the familiar and comforting sound of his mother. Her hum had faded into silence, leaving a void that the small infant Julien did not understand.

Into that void, Julien heard another heartbeat, one similar to his mothers, but larger, if a sound could be larger. That heartbeat came with a pair of broad, steady hands that scooped up Julien and held him close.

This gentle touch should have been comforting, but another sound emerged from this person with the large hands, a sound that was jagged and fragmented. The sound settled into Juliens heart, sensitive and new. It was too much to bear alone for either of them, and so little Julien began to cry with him, his voice ragged and uncertain, but growing in intensity. The two grieved, their broken hearts knit together by sorrow.

In the center of the city of Antiquitilla, at the Official Residence of the Magister Populi, another childa girlwas born in a more efficient birth and to grander circumstances. On Unas first day of life, she inhaled 85,324 breaths. And in each of those breaths, she drew in a new scent: the sunlight dancing on leaves, the water tinkling in the fountain, the blood pumping through her heart. She could smell an excitement surrounding her, though she didnt understand what it meant, not yet knowing she was the first child of the Magister Populi.

On that day, one scent rose above all the others that flickered around her. It was a scent that blanketed her with feathered softness. It was a scent of sanctuary, a scent of the divine, like an archangel had just flown by. It was the scent of her mothers love, and it held her attention until her father, the Magister Populi, came to see her. His laughter rose from deep inside as he studied her face, her little toes, and her tiny fingers curling and uncurling. Although Una wished she could control her fingers, the smell of her fathers laughter was almost as delicious as that of her mothers love, and she was delighted by it.

It was, however, the holy scent of her mothers love that accompanied her as she learned to sit, then stand, then walk. This was the steady scent that traveled with her as she grew, explored the gardens, went to her lessons, and wandered through the hallways and courtyards of the Official Residence.

When six years had passed, Una noticed that her mothers scent shifted slightly. It was a subtle change, as if the archangels flew a little lower. And indeed, her mothers panels of silk seemed to grow more voluminous than they already were, and her belly gradually pushed outward. Una didnt understand what this meant. She only knew that there was no room for her to sit on her mothers lap anymore.

Days before Una turned seven, her mother said to her, Dear one, tomorrow I will go to the birthing room, and a baby will join us. You will always be my dear one, though.

You will come back? Una had said, placing her hands on her mothers belly, her brown skin a contrast to the pink silk.

Yes, dear one. I will come back.

But she didnt come back. Not all day. Not the next day or the next. Una asked Ovid, the old man who served her mother, when she would return. Your mother wont be coming back, he had said.

Why not?

She is gone, child, he said in a soft voice, and he pulled her into his arms where his familiar smell surrounded her like a covering of warm syrup.

All that her mother left behind was a squalling baby boy who was whisked off to the nursery to be coddled and raised as the next Magister Populi, far from his older sister.