“Why not?”
My father sighed. “It was a complicated time. Sikander had just taken over the throne. Macedon was in a volatile state. And she came from a family that actively questioned the leadership. It was an unstable period for all of us.”
Nothing he was saying made any sense to me. “But you were friends,” I whispered.
My father shook his head. “A long time ago, we were friends. And then we . . . weren’t. My understanding . . . my hope was that Sikander had changed. I haven’t seen him or spoken to him in years. But it’s becoming increasingly clear to me that he hasn’t changed. And that you . . . cannot marry him.”
“What does that mean? I thought you had an agreement. We can’t simply break it, can we?”
My father opened his mouth to speak again, but it was no good, what he was telling me. It was too late, and there was so much I didn’t know, and even though his words about breaking the promise of marriage to Sikander sent a shot of relief through my nerves, I was too terrified to get my hopes up only to have them shattered.
“It doesn’t matter,” I realized aloud, getting up and pushing my chair in. “In a few weeks, I’ll be in Macedon.” My stomach turned at the thought of leaving home, of marrying Sikander, even of the regret I knew my father would feel, perhaps for the rest of his life.
And yet I was still furious with him; I couldn’t help it. Only one thing kept me going. “I’ll find her myself,” I said before I turned on my heel and walked out of the Map Chamber, leaving my father behind.
¤
I saw it as I approached my chambers. At first, I wasn’t sure what it was. Wedged into the doorframe of my bedroom, a slip of parchment. A note. I unfolded it, recognizing the handwriting immediately.
The Mango Grove. Come find me.
Despite everything that had happened, I couldn’t help but smile. I looked up and down the corridor with its high ceilings and open skylights. Not a soul in sight. Mala’s door, right next to mine, was closed.
Quickly, I shuffled to the back stairwell at the edge of the east wing. I threaded the maze of the servants’ quarters, slipping out the kitchen door, as Arjun and I had done a million times before.
Only this time, it felt illicit. Recently, I had noticed that my heart pounded like a drumbeat as I approached these meetings with him, so loud that I was afraid it would wake up everyone sleeping in the palace.
I considered for a moment that no one in the palace was sleeping tonight. Papa’s advisors were strategizing, their heads negotiating a million political calculations a minute, even as they rested on silk pillows. It was unlikely that Papa was sleeping either, considering the conversation we just had.
But I left this fleeting thought behind as I exited the stone walls of the palace residence and emerged on the grounds, met by a balmy breeze that smelled like a mixture of jasmine, mango, and cut grass.
The grounds were quiet, empty. And the sky was a navy quilt embroidered with diamonds. I tiptoed quietly on the trail to the mango grove, noticing the arrows made of jasmine petals that Arjun had most certainly left behind for me. The moonlight illumined silver spiderwebs between the leaves of trees. Mangoes hung like ornaments from delicate branches that looked like fingers in the dark.
I continued to follow the arrows. By morning, the groundskeepers and the breeze would have swept them away, but right now, they were the kind of gift that was precious precisely because it was ephemeral. Arjun had always specialized in such bequests—the kinds that required thought and effort but ultimately existed only for a moment before they were gone, leaving behind a memory slipped into one’s heart like a parchment note left in a doorframe.
I followed the arrows into the cut grass that tickled my bare feet. It was about fifty more paces till the edge of the grove, and once there, I could see a light glowing in the center of the thicket.
All of a sudden, I felt nervous. My stomach fluttered as I caught a glimpse of him seated on a mirrored cushion amid a nest of patchwork blankets and throw pillows, waiting for me. He was surrounded by lights—at least fifty diyas and a handful of lanterns. I wondered when and how he had found the time to set all this up.
I sat down beside him, feeling too shy to speak. Luckily, he was quiet too. It was as though we both understood that something had shifted between us. Perhaps it was the knowledge of my departure bringing things to a head, and yet, despite the jumble of thoughts and emotions churning within me, I still wasn’t sure how to act or what to say.
I opened my mouth, and as I did, I knew that I was somehow squandering this moment, killing the magic in the air.
“I can’t believe my mother’s still alive,” I said. “I can’t believe Papa never bothered to tell me. I feel like my mind has been caught in some sort of storm, like I’m in the eye of it, and if I don’t find her, or at least find out what happened to her, I know the storm will ravage me.”
“You’ll find out. I’ll help you,” he said, laying a hand on my arm. His fingers felt electric as they slipped between mine, taking my breath away. I tried to appear nonchalant to hide my fear, my excitement, the whirl of a million feelings roiling within me.
“I want this to be over,” I said to him.
“If only so we don’t have to dress like characters from a Persian fairy tale,” he whispered, making me laugh out loud.
“Shhhh . . .” Arjun squeezed next to me, his arm against mine. “We don’t want to wake anyone.”
“My father says Sikander’s trying to create a wedge between me and him.”
Arjun nodded, his eyes on me the entire time. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his thumb trailing my neck, leaving behind a line of goose bumps. “I think he’s right.” He paused for a moment before he added, “You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he said.
“Anything?” I teased. I wanted to ease this tension between us. It felt so dangerous that it couldn’t possibly be good for either of us, like attempting to light a fire stick near a field of hay. But then again, it was Arjun, whom I had known my entire life. My best friend.
“Anything,” Arjun insisted.
There had never been any space between us, any hierarchy. That’s how my father and Bandaka were too. Bandaka had grown up within the compound of the palace, and his father had been my grandfather’s advisor. My father and Bandaka had played together as children.
It was just the same, I told myself. We were just like them.
Until Arjun’s fingers slipped into my hair. Gently, he tilted my face back until my eyes met his. The only thing I could hear was my own heartbeat, startlingly loud in my ears.
There was no decision, no reflection, only impulse. An impulse so clear that it was as though it had been there all along, all these years, waiting for us to uncover it.
And we did.
I lifted my face to meet his, noticing everything about him as if for the first time, the curve of his lips, the plane of his jaw, his warm, dark eyes. His hands clasped my thigh, pulling me closer and closer until our bodies were entwined.
And when we kissed, I was stunned by how soft and yielding his lips were, eventually giving way to a ferocious urgency, a desperate need to hold me and never let me go.
Five
“EVERY KINGDOM has its traditions,” Sikander announced.
It was morning, and we were convened in the gallery once again—Papa, Sikander, their advisors, and of course Arjun and me. I wondered if anyone could tell from the dark circles under my eyes that I had been up all night with Arjun in the mango grove, talking, laughing, kissing, until the first rays of dawn chased us back into the palace to get dressed for another day.
A day that I could face only because I knew I would see Arjun again. And yet I also lamented this fact. How many days did we have together, now that we had discovered this magnetic alchemy between us?
He had held me tightly against him
outside my chamber, his face meeting mine.
“It’s not over,” he whispered to me. “This is just the beginning.”
“But how?”
“We’ll figure it out. You and I . . . we can do anything together,” he said, kissing me one last time before returning to his quarters.
But what we could do was still up in the air, unclear, at least to me.
I turned back to Sikander, who was loudly pontificating to us.
“In Bactria, negotiations begin after everyone observes a circus show. In Anatolia, there is the sacrifice of an animal. Considering the union that will bring our two kingdoms together,” he said, nodding at me with a patronizing smile that showed off the mouthful of gold, “I’d like to bring a Macedonian tradition to Shalingar.”
“So it starts,” mumbled Arjun under his breath.
It took everything in me not to look at him when he said this. I leveled my gaze at my father, whose face was stern and unmoving. “Please go on,” he said.
Sikander’s mouth twisted into a mischievous grin. “As you know, Chandradev, I love to surprise.”
I wondered what he meant by this, but my father’s face gave nothing away.
“I come bearing gifts,” Sikander continued as he nodded to some members of his retinue who disappeared for an instant, only to return with hundreds of large golden chests. One by one, they were placed before my father and me.
“There was no need, Sikander.”
“Come now, old friend. You wouldn’t refuse a gift for your daughter, would you?”
And then, at a mere inclination of Sikander’s head, his footmen opened the chests to reveal troves of jewels—cut emeralds, sea-blue sapphires, rubies the color of blood. Gold coins, shimmering in the light of a thousand diyas, illuminated the Durbar Hall. Reams and reams of buttery silks spilled forth across the marble floor.
More footmen arrived, carrying pots that contained unusual varieties of flowers—horn-shaped and bell-shaped poufs of purple and magenta, others that looked like flames. “The first gift.” Sikander nodded. “The gift of beauty. For your daughter,” he said, smiling at me. “The greatest treasures the world has to offer.”
He smiled again, and I tried not to stare at his teeth.
“Sikander, you’ve outdone yourself—” my father began, but Sikander interrupted him.
“It’s the first time I’m meeting this little one in sixteen years,” he said, smiling at me.
I bristled at being called that. My mind flashed to the night before, Arjun kissing me, undoing my blouse, his hands on my stomach, his fingers dipping into the waistband of my petticoat.
Stop, I told myself. I could tell that my face was reddening, and I wondered again if everyone in the room could tell what had happened between Arjun and me.
But Sikander merely turned back to his footmen. “The second—a gift of power. A cavalry of trained horses—for your army. Just outside the palace,” he said, waving his arm toward the grounds.
My father’s chin lifted, his eyes narrowed. “I thank you for your Nawaazish, Sikander.” But Papa’s cold tone told me that he was dubious of this gesture of generosity.
Sikander smiled a circus-master’s smile, but something about the way his mouth twitched, or the way his eyes scanned the room nervously, made me slightly anxious. “And the last gift, of course, is the most important one.”
Once again he gestured to the door, but his eyes were still on me, inspecting me carefully. I looked away self-consciously as four footmen, led by a man with sharp features that appeared as though they had been chiseled in stone, brought in a large golden box.
“Nico, my head of security, has been guarding it with his life the entire journey to Shalingar.” Sikander pointed to the man with the sharp features. Nico bowed before us, and his eyes lingered on me for a moment before he turned back to the box.
“Well, open it.” Sikander smiled, glancing from my father to me. He rocked on his heels, his arms clasped behind his back. He looked like a magician, delighted at his own tricks. Something about the amusement on his face made a chill go up my spine.
I looked at my father, and he nodded. I stepped forward, reached for the latch on top, and flung it open.
Inside the box, something moved. I jumped back, startled.
Sikander smiled.
I stepped closer. Inside, the creature writhed. Skin, hair, fingernails. A mouth. It was a person. When she looked up, her eyes squinting into the light, I realized that she was a girl. A girl my age.
My heart began to race.
Her skin was pale, practically translucent. Her hair was woven into copper-colored braids. But it was her eyes that struck me. They were lavender, and they flashed fear.
I backed away till my shoulder bumped Arjun’s. He grabbed my elbow, but his grip did nothing to reassure me.
“An oracle,” Shree whispered. “I’ve never seen one before.” Her eyes widened in shock.
“Sikander.” My father’s voice was tense. “You are truly”—he stopped, took a deep breath—“too kind,” he quickly said. “But you must know we don’t keep slaves in Shalingar.” I could see from his eyes how disturbed he was at the sight of a girl my age chained and trapped in a box.
“Not a slave.” Sikander shook his finger vehemently at my father. “A gift of vision. An oracle. Some say they’re anomalies, freaks of nature. But I say they’re quite magnificent.” He grinned at my father. “Come now, Chandradev, I remember your fondness for prophecy.” He stressed the last word, and my father’s eyes flashed anger at the sound of it.
“She can’t stay here,” my father tersely responded.
“Of course she can,” Sikander went on, ignoring him. “She must be kept in darkness. She needs silence. Solitude. Her gifts are only effective under such conditions. And with the chamak that your kingdom trades in, her powers are magnified.”
“She cannot stay here!” My father raised his voice.
“Are you refusing my gift?”
“She’s not a gift. She’s a girl. A human being. What exactly is the meaning of this, Sikander? Are you threatening me? Are you threatening my daughter, my kingdom—”
Sikander smiled, his voice even. “I’m merely offering you a gift. The best my kingdom has to offer.”
“If the best your kingdom has to offer is its cruelty to human beings, a lack of democratic values, slavery—”
“It’s not his gift to refuse,” I cut in, my voice surprisingly calm. Everyone in the room turned to look at me. My eyes met my father’s, but I was speaking to Sikander. “Your Majesty, I thank you for your . . . generous gift. What is her name?”
Sikander was silent for a moment. He turned to his man.
“Her name is Thala,” Nico responded.
“I will take Thala to her chamber. You said she needs to be kept . . . in darkness?” My voice was flat, unaffected.
“Answer her, Nico,” Sikander commanded.
“She’s most useful when she’s kept in darkness,” Nico sternly replied. I tried not to cringe.
“Well, that’s settled.” Shree smiled a tense smile. “Now, shall we convene to the State Room for discussions, Your Majesties?”
My father was glaring at me, but I knew I had done the right thing. Someone needed to take control of the situation, and my father was too emotional. I had never seen him like this before.
I gripped my bracelet tightly, thinking through my next steps. All I knew was that there was no way I could leave the palace with this cruel man.
I bowed before Sikander, thanking him again. I waited till Papa and Sikander and their advisors had left the room.
“I’ll have the guards escort the two of you,” Shree mumbled to me before she took off to join them.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Arjun whispered in my ear.
I shook my head. “I
’ll find you later,” I said to him. Once he was gone, I released a terrified breath.
I couldn’t keep my eyes off the girl. Her thin shoulders trembled, but no one had reached out to help her. Somewhere in the palace, someone slammed a door with a loud bang, and she flinched at the sound. I noticed that her small hands were bound in rope and that she had cuts on her wrists, bruises and burns on both her arms and legs. On her left shoulder was an image—a tattoo of a swirling, living thing with tentacles. It took me a moment to realize that it was a tree. Her eyes scanned the space around her until they met mine. And even without her saying the words, I knew what they conveyed.
Please, they said. Please help me.
Six
I TRIED TO SEE OUR WORLD through her eyes, and I felt as though I were observing the palace grounds for the first time. What struck me was how vibrant and expansive they were, even on a gray day like this. Rolling emerald greens, peacocks with their shimmering train of turquoise feathers tipped with a million yellow eyes dancing in the light drizzle. Large palms swaying in the wind. Plumes of hibiscus, groves of ripe yellow guavas. I plucked one off a tree and offered it to Thala.
She looked at me as though she didn’t know what to do with it.
“You can unshackle her,” I said to our guards, and they removed the iron shackles from her feet, the rope that bound her hands together. I tried to look away from the cuts on her arms and legs, but it was impossible.
She was stumbling more than walking, so much so that the guards had to prop her up.
“Are you all right?”
I tried to hand her the guava again, and she stared at it for a long time, finally taking it and turning it in her hand.
When she looked up, I noticed her eyes were rimmed red and looked faraway. Chamak. I recognized it. I had witnessed these symptoms only in the ascetics who came the palace grounds once a year, asking for alms, blessing the palace, and occasionally delivering messages from the Sybillines, but Thala’s eyes resembled those of the saddhus—hollow and red, her pupils dilated.
The Library of Fates Page 4