A shiver runs down my spine. I know exactly which window he’s talking about, having discovered it on a nighttime venture when I pretended to work at the palace.
“As you can imagine, I jumped,” Amar continues. “Unlike many other magi, I never instinctively grasped the art of breaking a fall by floating on air. Conjuring was the only magic I knew well—the only magic I could think of using to protect myself.
“As I tumbled to the ground, I shot spells in the dark, multiplying the grass on the ground below, made it thick enough to soften my fall. Luckily, I didn’t break any bones. Do you remember Yukta Didi, Gul ji?”
I nod. The shrewd old servants’ mistress always watched me as if she knew more about me than she let on.
“While the Sky Warriors scoured the grounds for me, I slipped back into Rani Mahal and found Yukta Didi’s quarters. She knew that Ambar Fort was no longer safe for me with the Sky Warriors under Shayla’s control. I used magic to turn myself invisible and Yukta Didi smuggled me out in a basket of trash headed to Ambarvadi. She told me later to make my way here, to this place, where she knew the sarpanch.”
The sarpanch? I frown in confusion. Villages and towns had their own governing councils called panchayats, which were made up of five councilors, including the head councilor or sarpanch, elected locally from the area. But Sur and Dukal lay in opposite directions, half a day away from this spot. The nearest town was farther away. Unless … wait. Can it be?
“This place you speak of,” I say. “What is it?”
“Let me show you.”
Amar turns around and slowly raises his arms. The air in front of us ripples, the scene shifting from cracked, endlessly dry plains to a cluster of houses and decrepit buildings garlanded with marigolds, the sounds of children chasing one another rising distantly in the air.
A small crowd of adults waits several feet away from us—turbaned men in worn tunics and dhotis, and sari-clad women holding sickles and hoes in their hands. Their exhausted faces tell me who they are, along with the familiar distrust I see in their eyes.
Non-magi.
“Welcome to the southern tenements,” Amar tells us.
19
GUL
Air brushes my cheeks like fabric as we cross the enchantment’s barrier, reminding me of—
“The rekha!” I say out loud, making Kali jump back with a start.
Ignoring her confused look, I turn to Amar. “This barrier. It’s similar to the rekha at Ambar Fort, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Only this one’s stronger. As I recall, a certain serving girl crossed the last one far too easily.” Amar smiles, reminding me again of the prince who preferred reading to ruling, the boy more interested in learning about the venom-extracting properties of blood bats trapped in royal cupboards. However, the lightness soon fades from his eyes.
“I never wanted to make the rekha at Ambar Fort, or keep women away from Raj Mahal’s grounds. After I became king, I lifted the spell, thinking I’d never have to do something like that again.” He grimaces.
“Well, this rekha is an improvement to the previous one. It restricts humans and part-humans of all genders equally,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.
Amar gives me a wry smile. “It’s the least I can do to protect the people here.” He gestures to the tenement dwellers standing nearby, their farm implements still raised like weapons.
“Sarpanch ji,” Amar addresses someone in the crowd. “Please come. These are friends of ours.”
A man slowly detaches from the throng. He’s short and sturdy, with a round, scowling face and thick white sidelocks. Lines fan out from the corners of his eyes, an indication of someone more prone to laughing than frowning. But the head councilor of the southern tenements isn’t laughing now. He hesitates for a moment, his eyes on Subodh, before determinedly stepping forward, his palms pressed together in greeting.
“Anandpranam,” he says, his voice neutral. “I’m Sarpanch Parvez. It is my honor to welcome the Pashu king, the Star Warrior, and her army to our home.” As he speaks, four others step forward—a man and three women, who gather around Parvez, holding tall bamboo lathis. “These are my fellow councilors.”
I keep my smile fixed and try not to look like I’ve forgotten the councilors’ names the second after Parvez introduces them to us. I’m not the only one fighting exhaustion. Several women from the Legion are slumping their shoulders. Kali is blinking rapidly again.
“We can set up tents with your permission, Sarpanch ji.” Subodh’s rumbling voice makes a few non-magi step back fearfully. “We don’t want to cause you any inconvenience. Perhaps by the reservoir?”
Sarpanch Parvez’s mouth tightens, but he nods briefly. “I’ll take you there. Our people will help you with your belongings.”
Several non-magi step forward, offering to take some of the load off Subodh, who gracefully accepts. I fall into step with Kali as we walk to the reservoir, noting the suspicious looks on the faces of many of the tenement dwellers.
“They don’t seem very happy with our arrival,” I say quietly.
“No,” she agrees. “I guess they’re worried. First harboring Raja Amar, and now us. Especially if you consider what happened in Sur.”
“What happened in Sur?” I ask, nonplussed.
“Didn’t Raja Subodh tell you? Well, it happened a couple of months ago, when we were still in Tavan. After the zamindar in Sur refused to pay the increased land tithe, many of the farmers joined him. Naturally, Rani Shayla sent her general to arrest everyone. They were tied on stakes and burned without a trial.”
I taste blood on my tongue and realize belatedly that it’s from biting the inside of my cheek. Swearing seems pointless right now.
“I wonder how they agreed to let us stay now,” I murmur, watching the head councilor slowly make his way to the reservoir. Unlike the other councilors, Parvez actually uses his lathi to support himself. At one point, it looks like he’s about to trip, when the other male councilor places a hand on his shoulder, holding him upright.
“With great difficulty,” another voice says. I turn to face Amar, who gives us a wan smile. “And it’s thanks to Councilor Rayomand over there. He and Sarpanch Parvez have been bound for several years now. Councilor Rayomand persuaded his mate and the other councilors to take me in. He doesn’t believe in divides between magi and non-magi.”
As if sensing our stares, Councilor Rayomand turns around and gives us a brief, whiskery smile.
“The sarpanch is a good leader, but he can be abrupt at times, and intimidating,” Amar continues in a quiet voice. “Rayomand is better with people.”
“What about you?” I ask curiously. “How do the people here feel about you?”
Amar shrugs. “I guess they trust me a little for now. They took me in only because the sarpanch and Yukta Didi knew each other as children. Back in those days, it wasn’t so strict—the mixing of magi and non-magi—at least here in the south of the kingdom. Yukta Didi was like a sister to Sarpanch Parvez. They stayed in touch after Parvez was moved to the tenements and sent letters to each other by shvetpanchhi. The sarpanch trusts Yukta Didi, and the tenement dwellers trust the sarpanch. Though, now that you’re here, Gul ji, they might trust me more.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re the Star Warrior, remember?” Amar says, as if this should be obvious. “For the longest time, you were only a legend to everyone, a myth. It’s important for people to see that you are real. Do you know how many shrines appeared in your name almost overnight after Shayla usurped the throne? Even here, in the tenements, there are a few shrines dedicated to you and Cavas. That you love a boy raised by non-magi and fought to save him at Ambar Fort matters to many here.”
My heartbeat quickens. People are rooting for me and Cavas. But Cavas is in captivity now—and who knows how long he’ll survive?
“Cavas is … he’s—he’s…” I can’t say the words.
“I know,” Amar says softly. “Shayla made sure eve
ryone knew Cavas was captured and imprisoned. If she means to scare people with her tactics, then she needs to think of something else. People are angry, Gul. I’ve never seen them like this before. One bad ruler after another, with no real break in between—they feel like they’ve lost their voices.”
“When we speak about people, whom are we talking about? Magi?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “If that’s the case, I’m surprised they had voices. They never raised them for non-magi, neither for the marked girls who were imprisoned in labor camps.”
Amar flushes. “I know,” he says after a pause.
I say nothing, and we continue the rest of the way to the reservoir in silence. Despite my anger, I feel a little guilty for snapping at him. Amar didn’t order the murder of my parents. Back then, as King Lohar’s third son, he had little power of his own.
I turn to face the body of shimmering water ahead of us and grow still, struck by the colors of the setting sun reflected on the reservoir’s surface, vibrant oranges and pinks brushing the sides of darkening palm trees.
“In the morning, you will be able to see the flower bushes by the reservoir bank,” Amar says. “Non-magi are ingenious, really, the way they’ve found ways to grow things without magic. They dig these pits and fill them with manure and compost and seeds right before the Month of Tears. The manure attracts termites, which tunnel underground to build nests. After the rain falls, the termite tunnels hold water for a long time, allowing plants to grow.”
Amar’s voice rises in volume the way it does whenever he’s excited about something. Soon enough, we draw other interested stares.
One of the female councilors, a stern-faced woman in a purple sari, taps him on the shoulder. “We could use an extra hand in the garden. If you’re interested, Raja Amar,” she says.
“Y-yes, C-councilor M-maya,” Amar stutters. “Of course. Though, you’ll have to forgive me for making mistakes. I don’t have earth magic in me like my sister—” Amar’s voice breaks off and he presses his lips together.
My anger toward Amar feels pointless now—a prickly emotion that gets overwhelmed by grief.
The councilor nods, sympathy flickering in her dark-brown eyes. “Mistakes aren’t fatal as long as there’s a willingness to learn. See you at dawn.”
“I’ll be there, Councilor Maya.” Amar bows, an act that I can tell surprises the councilor and the others—not for the bow itself, but for how naturally Amar performs it, as if the councilor were a revered elder or one of his own family members. It doesn’t surprise me, though. Of all the royals I met at Ambar Fort, Amar and Malti were always the nicest, never acting like they were better than the people who worked for them.
The rest of the evening passes by in a blur of activity: setting up tents, building a proper wood fire for the night. A few men and women from the tenements approach shyly, offering to bring us dinner.
“It isn’t much,” the oldest woman tells us. “Only roti and kadhi.”
“Roti and kadhi sound wonderful after a week of dust and dates,” Falak says, making everyone laugh.
“Can we help you?” Kali asks the woman, making a move to rise to her feet.
“Don’t be silly, child,” she says. “As if we’d make our guests work for us! Sit, sit. We’ll bring you the food.”
Dinner takes place on blankets under the stars: soft, warm bajra rotis, which we rip into like dustwolves, and steaming white kadhi spiced with mustard, chilies, and honeyweed. I note from the corner of my eye that the old woman brings Subodh a different, covered plate. A meat dish, I guess, from the sudden sparkle in the Pashu king’s eyes.
“May I join you?”
I startle at the sound of Amar’s voice, find him standing near me with a plate in hand. “Of c-course,” I say, moving aside to make room.
Why am I nervous?
“Are you enjoying your meal, Gul ji?” Amar asks pleasantly.
“Gul, please, Raja Amar.”
“What?”
“Please call me Gul. I’m not used to honorifics.”
“Siya didn’t mind it when I called her Siya ji,” he says, slyly referring to the false name I used at Ambar Fort.
“Well, Siya had appearances to keep up, didn’t she?” Siya had a king to kill.
The humor drains from Amar’s face.
“Are you thinking of ways to punish me if we win the war?” I ask, forcing lightness into my voice.
“I should, shouldn’t I? You had every intention of killing my father … even if you didn’t really kill him in the end.” Amar sighs, staring into the bonfire’s dancing flames. “I didn’t mourn his death, Gul. As a son, I should grieve for my father, no matter how bad our relationship was. When he died … there was only an overwhelming sense of fear. I never wanted to be king. I never planned for it. But this land…” He reaches behind us to gather a handful of earth, red dust coating his palm. “I’ve loved this land since I was a boy. The land, in turn, has loved me back and responded willingly to my magic whenever I conjured.”
As he speaks, his hand glows, particles of dust rising, molding into a miniature version of Rani Mahal. A perfect, tiny replica of rose-colored stone and glass that crumbles to dust again with a softly whispered word.
“I think of Rani Ma,” he continues. “Of Malti. Rani Janavi and Rani Farishta, who were always kind to me, regardless of their arguments and rivalries with my mother. What kind of person would I be if I abandoned them?”
“Honor above all else?” I ask, echoing his words from a long time ago.
He meets my gaze without fear. “My mother always told me that without honor, there is no respect nor trust. I want my people to trust me, Gul. It’s the only way we will win this war. It’s why I’m so grateful that you’re here. You are bringing together the people of Ambar in a way no one could have anticipated.”
It’s the second time today that Amar has mentioned my importance. It also explains why he doesn’t want to punish me. I fit neatly into his ascension plans.
“Getting magi and non-magi to unite will be difficult,” I warn. “Even with Cavas—it took me ages to gain his confidence.”
“We don’t have a choice. The first lesson of statecraft is to look for weaknesses within your kingdom and fix them. The second lesson is to look for weaknesses without, to use them to your advantage and expand your territories. If Ambar crumbles from a civil war, the kingdoms surrounding us will swoop in to scavenge the pieces. You can be sure of that,” Amar replies grimly. “That’s why I’ve been working hard to get in touch with the queens of Jwala and Samudra these past months.”
“Is it safe to contact them?” I ask, surprised. “Won’t they give information about you to Shayla?”
“The Brimlands might—considering that Shayla still holds the king’s daughters Rani Janavi and Rani Farishta captive. It’s why I haven’t contacted them. As for the others, I don’t think they will—yet. I sense they don’t particularly care for Shayla, but everyone is aware of her military prowess. From what I can gauge, they’re playing both sides now and watching what unfolds. More recently, I was able to get a message to the kingdom of Prithvi as well.”
“I thought Prithvi’s wall was inaccessible!”
“How do you think someone brought a mammoth into Ambar’s flesh market this year? Walls form cracks, as do kingdoms. We are only as strong as we are united.” He turns to watch Subodh, who has now settled by the reservoir bank, lapping at the water. “I wonder why the Pashu king aids you so much.”
“He has relationships with the women of Tavan,” I say at once. “The Pashu do not tolerate injustice. Everyone knows that. They came to the aid of…” My voice trails off.
“They came to the Samudra king’s aid to fight against Ambar in the Three-Year War,” Amar finishes. “The Pashu aren’t saints, Gul. Raja Subodh has been alive for far longer than us or our parents. To continue living among humans after being freed from my father’s spell is odd. No ruler feels that kind of obligation unless he anticipates an advantage of
sorts.”
“Perhaps not,” I say, though I hate the thought of it. “As you said, Raja Amar, it’s a war. Not everyone fights honorably.”
“Sometimes I wonder if I’m being foolish,” Amar admits. “Being so honorable.”
“Someone needs to be. How else would the world believe in goodness?” I pause before adding, “My heart tells me that Raja Subodh is like that, too. That honor rules him as much as it does you.”
Amar does not respond to the comment and we lapse into silence. Next to me, Kali rises to her feet and moves to the other side of the fire to sit next to a surprised and wary Sami. Farther ahead, the councilors are talking to women from the Legion, and children are chasing one another in the sand.
Yes, I think. I’m glad Amar is honorable.
For I, most certainly, am not.
“I should go get some sleep,” Amar says once dinner ends. “I was up since before dawn. Shubhraat, Gul.”
I think I wish him a good night in return.
I know I should do something useful right now—like planning more training sessions with the Legion and teaching them to ward off unfriendly spells. The faster I train them, the faster we can get to Ambarvadi and rescue Cavas.
But what if there’s an easier way? One that requires no death magic. One that requires no one else except me.
I stare out at the reservoir, not moving from my spot, until Falak shoos me away, telling me to get some rest.
In our shared tent, Kali and Sami are sleeping, heads turned to face each other, as if they were in conversation before. I lie down on my pallet, close my eyes, and breathe deep. In. Out. In. Out. My heartbeat slows and once again I’m within the quiet, familiar darkness of a temple. The sanctum holds two statues—the sky goddess and Sant Javer. The saint’s presence gives me hope. Maybe Latif was right. Maybe this form of communication could work.
“Cavas,” I call out. “Cavas, are you there?”
There’s a moment when I think I see an answering flicker of light, hear a susurrus in response. But before I can press any further, my eyes open the way they do after a dream—to the prick of sunlight against my lids, the sound of chatter and crackling fire, the air thick with the smell of spices and steeping tea.
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