“Told you he was important,” Amira murmurs.
“Moolchand,” Juhi repeats with a frown. “Why is that name familiar? Like I’ve heard it before.”
“You have heard it before,” Amira says. “Dukal had a zamindar of the same name, remember? We found Gul in his stables two years ago.”
“He was also my brother,” Brigadier Moolchand says quietly. “Rani Shayla had him executed earlier this year for protesting the new land tithes.”
No one speaks for a moment.
“The true king waits,” I say, breaking the silence.
“The true king waits,” everyone echoes.
“Now listen,” Queen Amba says. “Once you’re in the Walled City, make your way to the yellow district, to the smallest house at the base of the stairs. My loyal servant Yukta lives there. She will help you—provided you don’t get caught. Ever since Amar sent out his letter, the Sky Warriors have grown more vicious about cracking down on anyone suspicious.”
She turns to me. “Call for your mother once you get out of the tunnel. The kalkothri and this tunnel are protected with spells that the living specters can’t penetrate for long periods of time. She told me that once you emerge from the tunnel, she can offer some protection in the form of invisibility.”
“You spoke to my mother?” I ask, relief rushing through my limbs.
“Who else do you think told me the prison was on fire?” Amba asks wryly. “Your mother heard you when you called for her with that green swarna. Don’t lose it. It was difficult for Govind and Vaid Roshan to smuggle you a new one.”
With that final note of warning, she presses her hand against the wall. We watch it glow for a brief moment before seeing her melt through it—a spectral feat that I’m sure would have impressed Latif.
“Come on,” Juhi says. “We don’t want to lose our head start. Cavas, keep communicating with your mother through the swarna. It might help her keep track of us.”
I nod, removing the green coin from my pocket, and whisper to Ma from time to time as we follow Juhi and her lightorb through the run-down passage, its broken tiles interspersed with muddy pits seething with bloodworms. I ignore the stings on my bare feet and calves, pull a bloodworm off my ear, and throw it against the mossy wall. Blood-sucking insects are the least of my troubles at the moment. Farther up, the passage narrows, forcing us into a single file.
“Hold on to each other,” Juhi instructs. “The ground ahead is uneven.”
Amira grips Juhi’s arm, while I clasp the brigadier’s shoulder. Unsteady on our feet though we are, we keep moving. The smell of sewage seeps into the air, thick as humidity, fouler than the waste pits near the tenements. And soon enough, we see the evidence in the dark puddles on the ground.
“Zaal’s beard, this is disgusting!” Amira exclaims.
I force my eyes straight ahead, focusing on Juhi’s blue hair instead of what my bare feet are sinking into. Ahead of me, Brigadier Moolchand’s breaths turn into wheezes, while Amira lets out a string of curses that would blister the hardiest of ears. I’m so nauseated by the stench that I barely notice Juhi coming to a standstill.
“I think this is it,” she says.
The lightorb dissipates, revealing thin shafts of light entering through a circular grille, its latticed bars encrusted with dirt and saints know what else. Sounds seep in as well: the hum of voices and loaded carts rumbling overhead, carrying supplies to Ambar Fort.
I hold the green swarna close. “Ma?” I whisper. “Are you there?”
“I’m outside, son,” my mother says. I squint, making out a shadowy figure beyond the grille.
“Ask her if anyone is around,” Amira says.
“I can hear you, you know,” Ma says, sounding amused. “And no. No one is here. But that may change soon.”
After some hunting, we locate a rusty latch at the top. Amira aims the spear at the latch, loosening it with a spiraling gold beam. The grille opens with a creak, and a few heartbeats later, we step out into the sunlight, blinking against its sharp sting. I turn to face my relieved mother, who wraps me in a chilly, yet comforting embrace.
“I stink,” I mumble.
“You tolerate my chill; I tolerate your smell,” she replies.
The others watch me with odd expressions. It must look a little strange to see someone hugging an invisible person.
The brigadier appears nonplussed. “I … I’ve never met a living specter before,” he stammers.
“That’s all right,” Ma says, the smile on her face showing up in her voice. “I am not as terrifying as legend claims.”
“Rani Amba said you can make us invisible,” I say. It’s something I should have guessed myself, having seen the specters protecting the boundary in Tavan. “But do you think you can do it for us when we’re moving?”
“I can, but it will be very difficult. You will need to walk together, slowly enough for me to revolve around you. Also, invisibility will not mask other aspects, like muddy footprints or how you smell.”
“I think your mother is politely reminding us that we came through a sewer,” Juhi says with a brief smile. “Will we be able to see ourselves go invisible, Harkha ji?”
I start on hearing my mother’s name, but then I recall how Juhi once said she knew Ma as well as Papa.
“Yes, you will, Juhi ji,” Ma says. “You will also feel my presence. It will be a little … cold.”
Juhi and I laugh. The others do not; they are likely not aware of the chill a spectral presence can cause to living bodies. After some discussion, it is decided that we walk as a cluster—Amira and the brigadier at the front, and Juhi and I at the back. My mother floats around us and it makes me dizzy to look at her.
We are, as Ma promised, invisible. The only way I know anyone walks ahead of me is by holding onto Brigadier Moolchand’s shoulders and spying the faint brush of footprints in the red sand feathering the ground. The Walled City is built in tiers, its districts divided by houses and staircases of different colors. High-ranking servants, such as Govind and Yukta Didi, live in the yellow district, which lies exactly opposite to where we are now, beyond the main square.
At one point, the crowd’s collective voice rises, freezing us in place.
“Keep moving,” my mother commands from overhead. “No one is looking at you.”
She’s right. Everyone’s attention is drawn to a circle of over a dozen men and women raising their arms in the air, spinning a lightorb made of blue flames. The man in the center of the circle leads the group in a chant: The sky has fallen, a star will rise! The sky has fallen, a star will rise!
“Move!” Juhi whispers. We shift to one side, narrowly dodging a Sky Warrior and a group of thanedars, who are now marching toward the demonstration, their lathis glowing purple at the tips.
“Get out!” the Sky Warrior shouts. “You are not permitted here!”
“Long live the Star Warrior!” the man inside the circle chants. “Long live the true king!”
A cold hand touches my shoulder, startling me.
“Come on,” Ma urges. “Now is our chance.”
We sneak past the guards, who are attempting to restrain the demonstrators with spells. Voices rise from the surrounding crowd—“Sitamgar! Sitamgar!”
The word is still echoing in my head as we reach the house at the base of the yellow staircase. My limbs begin to thaw, and I realize that we’re visible again. Juhi is about to knock at the door when a woman in an orange palace-issued sari approaches the house, pausing a few feet away. My instinct is to immediately duck somewhere and hide, but it’s too late—she’s seen us.
“Don’t worry,” my mother whispers in my ear. “That’s Yukta. I will see you again when it’s time to leave.”
I bite back a protest as my mother turns, disappearing into thin air. I turn to face the woman in orange again and soon enough, she confirms what Ma said.
“I’m Yukta,” she tells us. “You may call me Didi, if you wish. Rani Amba sent me here on the pret
ext of an errand, and I came as quickly as I could.”
Yukta Didi seems an appropriate way to address this stern-faced lady with her hammered silver hair and watchful green eyes. Her small house, painted a pale, sunny yellow on the outside and the inside, is completely spotless. A motif of latticed blue and gold moons hangs over the main wall, surrounded by hollow, triangular nooks. Oil lamps placed in the nooks sizzle to life the moment we enter the sitting area, releasing the odor of sandalwood and frankincense. Colorful rugs pattern the earthen floor, along with a plain but pristine white mattress for visitors to sit on.
I hesitate at the threshold, aware of how filthy I am.
“In the house, boy,” Yukta Didi tells me. “Don’t look so worried, and don’t bother taking off your shoes. Dirt can be cleaned. There’s a washing area out back. I’ll find you some clean clothes.”
“Juhi ji, you are the eldest, so you should go first,” Brigadier Moolchand offers.
“Sau aabhaar, Moolchand ji,” Juhi says with a twinkle in her eyes. “You are most kind.”
“Why do Cavas and I draw the short straw on this?” Amira demands. “We are the youngest!”
“I don’t mind,” I say. As foul as I feel right now, it’s still a relief to be inside a place where I’m not counting down the seconds to my next torture session.
“Don’t take ages, Didi!” Amira calls out at Juhi’s retreating back. Juhi is quick, returning freshly washed, in a clean brown sari and no longer walking with a limp. Brigadier Moolchand follows suit, and eventually, so does Amira. When it’s my turn, Yukta Didi leads me to an outhouse in the back, where a steaming bucket waits for me, along with a change of clothes—a simple homespun tunic and dhoti.
“I kept these for Rajkumar—Raja—Amar, when he was younger,” she says. “The clothes are a bit small for you, but they might still fit.”
“Sau aabhaar,” I say, meaning it. I am grateful—a hundred times and over—for any kind of help in this moment.
The water smells like lemons and sluices through the dirt much faster than I expect it to, much faster than water ordinarily would. The very feel of it seems to revitalize me, ridding me of exhaustion. Magic? I wonder. But in this instant, I don’t mind. After cleaning myself up and dressing in Amar’s old clothes—which barely fit, as Yukta Didi said—I enter the sitting room again, where the others are eating bowls of cumin rice and hot yellow daal.
Yukta Didi gives me a bowl as well. “Take a seat anywhere you like. I was telling the others that I took the liberty of mixing some sphurtijal with your bathwater. It’s a magical potion that infuses the body with vitality,” she explains when she sees my confused expression. “It won’t last very long, but you’ll be able to eat your meal without collapsing in exhaustion.”
It’s strange being inside a magus home, being treated like a guest instead of a servant. I forget my awkwardness, though, the moment a morsel of lentil-softened rice hits my mouth, the taste so good that it’s an effort not to simply attack my food.
“Go slowly,” Yukta Didi cautions us. “You don’t want to throw up.”
There does come a point when Yukta Didi snaps her fingers, and I freeze, wondering if she, too, shares the same views as many other Ambaris about half magi. My tense body uncoils, though, when she gestures to my bowl: Her finger snapping magically refilled it with fresh rice.
As I eat, my body slowly awakens, and I grow aware of the faint but distinct buzzing of a sound barrier in the walls.
“Now that you’re here, let me update you a little on what’s happening,” Yukta Didi says. “There was an attack on the southern tenements, where Raja Amar was recently hidden.”
“We heard about that in prison,” Juhi says. “So it’s true, then. They disguised themselves as Samudravasi soldiers and fooled the Sky Warriors.”
“It was a terrible idea, in my opinion,” Yukta Didi says, frowning. “Considering how well-trained the Samudravasi soldiers are. Had it not been for the tez-addled cavalry and the Samudra rani’s letter to Raja Amar, the whole plan would have been a flop.”
“Wait. Rani Yashodhara sent Amar a letter?” Juhi asks sharply.
“Yes.” Yukta eyes Juhi warily. “She promised an alliance, troops if we needed them. However, when called upon to bind herself with a magical contract, she refused. Even when Raja Amar gave his word to free you from prison.”
For a moment, Juhi’s black eyes look furious. Then she releases a slow breath. “My sister and I were close as children, but never enough to get between Yashodhara’s love for her kingdom. It’s a trait of hers I’ve both admired and despised.”
There’s a long silence as Juhi’s words sink in. Growing up, I never thought once that I’d pity a magus—especially a royal. Now, though, after hearing Juhi’s story, I find myself grateful for Papa. Poor as we were, I never once doubted his love for me.
“I will always fight for you, Didi,” Amira says firmly, placing a hand on Juhi’s. “So will Kali and the Sisters. You gave us a home when we didn’t have one.”
“Gul will fight for you, too, Juhi ji,” I add. “She never stopped thinking about you and Amira when we were in Tavan.”
Juhi blinks several times, and I notice that her eyes are moist with tears. “I am not going to cry now after so many years,” she says, making us laugh. “I’m glad that Amar and his army saved themselves. But I don’t blame Yashodhara, either, for refusing to sign a contract. She is queen of Samudra, after all, and Amar is Lohar’s son. Blood follows blood, as the old saying goes. Not that I always agree with it,” she adds when Yukta Didi opens her mouth to protest. “Either way, now there is no place for Amar to hide.”
“Raja Amar believes it’s time to come out of hiding anyway,” Yukta Didi says. “He and the Legion will likely be marching toward Ambarvadi as we speak. It’s where I’m planning to send you four—to a safe house—until they get there. Raja Amar has supporters in the capital—indeed, many more supporters than we first realized.”
“He will need a bigger army than what he has now,” Brigadier Moolchand says, looking thoughtful. “Rani Shayla is not likely to repeat her mistake with the tez.”
“We might still have some women in Javeribad,” Amira says. “The Sisterhood—”
“Javeribad was razed by the Sky Warriors a few months ago,” Yukta Didi interrupts. There’s a compassionate look on her face. “People left it in droves. It’s little more than a ghost town now.”
“That was my fault.” I feel the guilt of it eating away my insides. “I sent the Sky Warriors there. I put them on the Sisterhood’s trail to get out of the kalkothri.”
“You did what?” Amira shouts. “How could you?”
“Shhhh, Amira! He had no choice,” Juhi says, glancing at me.
“Why? Because they tortured him? We didn’t give up anything and we were in that hellhole longer than he was!”
“It was my idea!” Juhi says sharply. “I told Cavas to feed the Sky Warriors information about Gul and engineer a way to get out of the kalkothri. If you want to blame anyone, blame me!”
Amira’s face crumples. She buries it in her arms, shaking off Juhi’s consoling hand.
“I’m sorry, Amira,” I whisper, my shoulders caving. No one responds.
Yukta Didi breaks the silence. “Life makes fools of us, at times, forcing us to betray others in ways we never would otherwise. I wasn’t much older than you, Amira, when I was betrayed by my own—an illiterate aunt who loved me dearly but unwittingly sold me off to an Ambarvadi merchant to pay off a debt. In those days, the flesh market in the capital was much the same as Havanpur. No rules or regulations. A free-for-all, if you wish.”
Amira slowly raises her head, her reddened eyes focusing on Yukta Didi.
“Years passed before I could forget the horror on her face—or forgive her for what she had done,” the older woman continues. “You are young, Amira. As an old woman, I can only advise you to forgive Juhi and Cavas. Not for their sake, but for your own. Grief is a heavy enough burde
n to bear without the added weight of a grudge.”
Amira’s hard face softens momentarily. She still does not look at me, but somehow, I feel the hostility in the air ease, a lull settling over the room.
“You said that soldiers from the Amirgarh cantonment were willing to mutiny at your command,” Juhi says to Brigadier Moolchand. “Do you think they will fight for you, if they know you’re still alive?”
“I can’t be certain,” the brigadier says. “I had people loyal to me, of course, but I also had my enemies.”
“You and the kabzedar rani are alike in that sense,” Yukta Didi says. “Luckily, she has more enemies than all of you put together. By this time tomorrow, goddess willing, you will be at the safe house in Ambarvadi, talking to some of them.”
We slip out of the yellow house at dawn, my mother casting an invisible shield around us. A few steps in, Amira nudges me in the back.
“I’m taking Yukta Didi’s advice for now,” she whispers brusquely. “But if you hurt Gul, you’ll be on the receiving end of my spear. Understood?”
I bite back a smile. “Understood.”
43
GUL
The road to Ambarvadi lies plagued with bounty hunters—men and women who have an uncanny way of tracking our campsites despite Amar’s best precautions. A trip that should technically take us four days on foot is delayed by nearly two weeks of fighting and staving off people trying to capture or kill me. Amar, who is in more danger than I am, remains under constant guard, awake and asleep—also while going to relieve himself in the bushes behind our tents.
“An embarrassed king is better than a dead one,” I tell Amar once, earning a glare from him in response.
Not a single Sky Warrior appears, which makes me wonder if they’re stationed in the capital or at Ambar Fort. That we haven’t been able to get in contact with Rani Amba or anyone else over there is also a problem. The only bit of good news that arrived through the specters was that Cavas, Juhi, Amira, and Brigadier Moolchand escaped from prison and are now at a safe house somewhere in Ambarvadi.
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