A Crown of Wishes

by Roshani Chokshi

  “Which he seems quite accustomed to,” added Kubera. “You will see him shortly.”

  “And Aasha?”

  Kauveri lifted an eyebrow. “Have you grown to care for the vishakanya?”

  I nodded.

  “She is well, child.”

  Relief flooded me. I lifted my hand over my stomach, feeling for the wound inflicted by the Nameless when I stopped. My hand. It wasn’t mine anymore. I raised my right hand to my face, blinking at the glass replica that moved and glinted as if it were flesh and blood. I stiffened my arm and watched the small muscles along my forearm tense. I thought about moving my fingers and the glass hand danced to my thoughts.

  “Like it?” asked Kubera.

  “You took my hand,” I said breathlessly.

  “It still works,” said Kubera. “Although it will not pick up any weapons.”

  I reached for the dagger clasped at my hip. The glass hand felt no different from my other hand. A pulse ghosted through its cut-crystal shape. I could even feel the texture of my dress beneath my translucent fingers. But the moment my hand touched the dagger, the glass became … glass. Stiff and brittle. It hit the metal with a dull clink.

  I tried again. Clang. I smashed my hand into the dagger, wanting it to shatter and getting nothing but a sore shoulder. My whole arm ached. The horror of my hand poured through me, slow and thick.

  I couldn’t fight.

  I. Couldn’t. Fight.

  I shook my arm, trying to dislodge it. As if it were an insect. But the hand stayed. It stayed. The crystal caught the light. Held it. My throat tightened. Fighting was the last connection I had to Maya. Her stories made me brave. They made me see the world differently, fight for the world I wanted to see instead of the one I had. And my hand, even if it was only a part of that dream, had been … important. A flurry of goodbyes I’d never be able to utter choked me. I’d never know the weight of wielding both daggers at the same time. I’d never catch the scent of iron on my palm after a practice session. I wouldn’t even have the chance to worry calluses at my hands, because the glass would never wrinkle.

  “This is my sacrifice?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

  My skin felt tight with shock. Fighting was my solace, my grip on control that couldn’t be taken from me. In Bharata, the battlegrounds were the only place where I could be myself. And Kubera had stolen that peace.

  They nodded.

  “But … but you said you would only take something that would already be taken from us. How would I already lose my hand?”

  “You did not lose your hand.”

  I waved my hand. “Having lived with it for eighteen years, I can assure that it did not start off as glass.”

  “You did not lose your hand,” repeated Kubera.

  “You lost your sense of control,” said Kauveri.

  “How do you know I would have already lost that?” I demanded. I knew I sounded as petulant as a child, but I couldn’t help it. This wasn’t something I had been willing to give.

  Kubera smiled, and I hated knowing that I had his pity.

  “You began to lose your sense of control the moment you accepted magic into your life. You lost it when you lost your throne and jeopardized your best friend,” said Kauveri. “You lost it when things repeatedly happened to you and you could do nothing but react. Your reactions still belong to you. It is not such a bad sacrifice to make, dear princess. You would have lost it anyway.”

  “And you did win a wish,” said Kubera.

  “What good is that without an exit?” I asked. I turned to Kauveri. “My lady, I know that—”

  “I grant you an exit,” she said smoothly.

  I stared at her, dumbfounded. But the Nameless had stolen the vial of the Serpent King’s poison.

  “You think I wanted the poison because I yearned for control over my sister’s husband?”

  I nodded.

  “No,” she said. “After you exchange so many harsh words with the person that you love, sometimes it is impossible for them to trust you once more. The Serpent King’s poison was supposed to be a gift of trust and faith. But you and I were both beaten to it. Only a deity could harness the ability to control him. I never sought to do that. I only sought to show her that I wouldn’t. Sometimes the greatest power comes not from that which we do, but that which we do not. And I had my wish. You did me a great service, Gauri of Bharata.”

  I looked behind Kauveri to the small podium where the Kapila River and the Serpent King stood with their arms wrapped around one another, beaming in the direction of Kauveri.

  “What does that mean for the Nameless?”

  “They will continue to have the Blessing of vishakanyas for another hundred years. The Nameless thought they were fighting for the permanence of something. But nothing lasts forever. Eventually, the poison will fade.”

  “Your wish is yours,” said Kubera.

  Even though I knew we were still in Alaka, I couldn’t sense the magic in the air. There was no curious weightlessness to the world, as if it were waiting to draw back its curtains and show me the wonder beneath the rot. The world stank only of death. Iron and salt and once-bright roses. Water strung through fish bones. I thought that the moment I’d won, my breath would catch and stars would pave my path. Instead, all I could think of was my own bone-weary exhaustion and the fact that I didn’t know myself anymore.

  “Be careful with your wish,” said Kauveri. “Even a good wish may have its repercussions. A wish for rain to slake the parched throats of a field may turn to a flood that will steal away an entire village. A wish made from a wicked heart to maim another person may end up saving a thousand lives. I do not make those decisions.”

  After all this time, I realized that I didn’t even know what I would wish for anymore. It had changed. I wanted my throne and I wanted Nalini’s safety, but at what cost? My desires had trapped me. My fears had tried to devour me. If I acted on them, knowing how easily everything could turn against me, would I end up doing more harm than good?

  “You don’t have to make your wish now,” said Kubera. “But when you return, remember to tell a good tale. Make up details! I do love that. Perhaps you can tell the world I was a giant! Or that I rode on the back of several eagles. Actually, no. I never liked heights.”

  “Was it all just a story for you to collect?”

  Kubera tilted his head to one side. “It is impossible to collect a story. After all, the intersections of a tale and its consequences are far larger than you might ever imagine. May I tell you a tale?”

  I nodded, and he spread his hands as the imagery on the floor shifted.

  “Some tales that never end start with something as simple as an act of impulse and end with something as evil as an act of love.”

  41

  A SELECTION OF BIRDS

  A BIRD WITH BLUE FEATHERS

  A courtesan dances before a group of kings.

  Her heart is young, so full of light that no thorns have grown to puncture her innocence.

  A king who had never heard “no” took notice. The courtesan fights. Loses.

  Not because she was not brave.

  But because bravery cannot buy breath when furious fingers wrap ribbons around a throat.

  A BIRD WITH BONE FEATHERS

  Grief wields a dangerous magic.

  Three sisters sink into the shadows.

  Their hands tremble over a broken courtesan’s body on the floor.

  Now she is dead.

  But she was other things before: beloved, beautiful, sister.

  Those things do not change.

  They take the silk of her scarf—blue as veins—and tie it around their throats.

  This is their shackle.

  They trade the magic of their names for enchanted venom.

  For vengeance.

  And they act as all vengeance acts:

  Blindly.

  A BIRD WITH SCALE FEATHERS

  A serpent prince slithers beside the rive
rbanks, caught on a song.

  It lulls him from the winter waters.

  Smitten, he longs to walk beside the singer, not crest over the waves where she sits.

  He yearns to speak in her tongue.

  A trade.

  Legs for enchanted venom, language for vengeance.

  He does not think twice.

  The Kapila River regards him with pale eyes

  So pale and bright, they rival unfinished stars

  So clear and knowing, they see straight through his tainted blood

  And into his heart

  Where neither blood nor ichor fills his veins

  Only her song.

  A BIRD WITH GOLD FEATHERS

  Blue-silk around their throat

  Death at their touch

  A group of kings slain

  One villainous

  The rest innocent

  Killed not for their treachery

  But their timing.

  In a realm tucked in the Kalidas Mountains,

  the vanara queen falls to her knees.

  But a heart broken too sharply is like a glass flower dropped.

  Sift through the pieces, and one can find a weapon.

  She seeks vengeance, but none will champion her cause

  And if she cannot find vengeance, then she must grow it.

  A BIRD WITH NEEDLE FEATHERS

  The world ends, not with a snap but with a sigh

  A tether cut loose: before and after, beloved and bereaved, wishful and widowed

  Rich loam for heartbreak.

  Richer loam for demon fruit.

  A body.

  A bone.

  A bounty of tears.

  That is how the world ends

  And curses begin.

  Years pass

  Names are dropped and picked up again

  Kingdoms creep closer to the shadows, waiting.

  And a queen turned to rock waits for a kiss.

  42

  HONEY-SPUN FLAMES

  VIKRAM

  He waited for her in the courtyard of Alaka. Now that the Tournament of Wishes was over, everyone had moved. The vishakanyas’ tent stood empty, the enchanted silk pennants lay strewn across the grass. The orchards had been stripped of their fruit—no musical instruments or jeweled apples sparkled beneath dark branches. No yakshas or yakshinis floated by on gauzy wings or tossed horned heads in his direction.

  The quiet was unsettling, but freeing. He had imagined victory a hundred ways. He thought he might ride golden elephants into the city. Or maybe appear in a shower of coins in the middle of a council meeting. Perhaps not the last idea, for fear of the golden coins smacking him in the head.

  Before the Tournament of Wishes, he knew the shape of victory—wide and casting a shadow that seeped through the pages of history—but not the feel. The feel was something glittering and urgent pressing against his bones, pushing him to make space for a new version of himself. He didn’t know how to accommodate this new Vikram, or the weightiness that came with having a former self and a new one.

  Vikram had lost all sense of time as he stood before Kubera and Kauveri, watching as the stories undulated above him. Before he came to Alaka, he dared to hope that he was meant for something more. Now he dared to hope that he could shape that meaning for himself. All this time, he had expected that magic would stitch his future together. But all magic had done was show him how to stitch it together for himself.

  He glanced at the enchanted document in his hand. Not even a wish was a solution. Although it was certainly a start.

  “What do you wish for, Fox Prince?” Kubera had asked.

  Before magic, the answer had seemed simple. He believed that the throne of Ujijain should be his and he thought that the magical tournament somehow validated that wish. But that was silly. All he had ever wanted was the potential in himself recognized. He couldn’t magically shore up those deficiencies overnight. They needed to be earned, just as he needed to learn.

  “I wish for others to see the potential in me.”

  Kubera had smiled. The next moment an enchanted document was neatly sealed in his hand.

  “Show it to your council,” he said. “And remember to tell a tale that is worthy of us.”

  Vikram smiled, holding the parchment close to his chest along with Kubera’s other gift: a snake that constricted at the sound of a lie. He had named her Biju, for “Jewel,” and spent most of the hour testing her lie-detecting abilities.

  “I am the most handsome prince in the world,” he said.

  Biju constricted.

  “Mind your manners, Biju. I’m the true heir of Ujijain now. Or something like that. Certainly not a puppet anymore.”

  Biju did not constrict. His heart leapt.

  “I am the most handsome prince in Alaka?” he tried.

  Constrict.

  “I am the most handsome prince in the courtyard?”

  She did not constrict. Vikram took a look around the garden, which confirmed that he was not only the lone prince, but also the only person in Alaka’s courtyard. He frowned.

  “Your sense of humor reminds me of someone else,” he said. “She’s also called a Jewel, but I don’t think she can detect a lie.”

  Biju made no response except to slither around his neck and catch her tail in her mouth. He could have sworn he heard a resigned snake sigh. He turned to the entrance, his nerves dancing. Why wasn’t she here yet? Had Kubera lied? Before, his belief would have been ironclad. But in a short month he’d learned something that would never leave him:

  Doubt.

  “Gauri is alive and unharmed,” he whispered to the snake, praying that it wouldn’t move.

  He heard a soft laugh.

  “Are you gossiping about me to a snake?”

  Vikram froze. Gauri stood in the entrance. Tall and imperious, backlit by the sun as if she’d snatched a handful of its rays and decided it looked better on her than the sky. Gauri had a way of shoving out the elements, scaring away the air so that Vikram felt there wasn’t enough for him to draw into his lungs.

  “I would have gossiped to you about yourself, but you weren’t around,” he said, showing off Biju. Gauri looked at the truth-telling snake with a touch of envy. “Where were you? Walking the fine line between life and death?”

  “As one does,” she said, crossing her arms. “And you? Last time I saw you, you had a knife in your back.”

  “And last time I saw you, you had your arms around me.”

  Gauri looked exasperated. “Is that the only detail you remember? You were dying!”

  “I was falling on the ground.”

  “… To your death.”

  “To a questionable limbo of existence that was, admittedly, painful.”

  She laughed. And Vikram, who had never wanted for his life to slow down but only to move faster and faster to the next thing, found himself craving to live in this second. They stood there, watching one another. He felt as if he could sense her replaying everything that happened the night before the feast of fears. The smile froze on her face, now propped up out of habit rather than joy. As she reached to brush a strand of hair from her face, a handful of crystal caught the light and refracted it, nearly blinding him. He squinted against the sudden brightness before realizing that it wasn’t a handful of crystal at all, but Gauri’s hand.

  “That’s … new?” he said, pointing at her fingers.

  Gauri’s mouth formed a tight line. “It will be hard to forget the sacrifice I made.” Pain sparked behind her eyes. “No glass limbs for you?”

  He shook his head even as his heart thundered in his chest. Who was he to say that Alaka hadn’t replaced some part of him with glass? Maybe it was his heart. Looking at Gauri, it felt far clearer than it ever had been. Like a shard of glass. Just as translucent. Just as easy to shatter.

  “Before the Parade of Fables, you asked me what I wanted.”

  Gauri bit her lip. Waiting. He felt the words shuffling impatiently inside him. He tr
ied practicing how to say them while he waited, but now that she was here, the light of her—brilliant and fierce—sent the words scattering as they tripped out of his throat.

  “I want time with you,” he blurted out. “I want time where we’re not looking around our shoulders and wondering what’s going to trap us.” Had he taken a step closer, or had she? Or maybe the ground had leapt out of their way. “I want time where we’re not running from or racing to anything but each other. I want time where holding you has nothing to do with trying to deceive anyone around us, celebrating a holiday or fending off the echoes of whatever horror just tried to kill us. Again. All I want is a day where there is nothing in it but you and me, and definitely desserts, but mostly—”

  She grabbed him. He was already tilting toward her, and so when she grabbed a fistful of his jacket, he nearly went sprawling. Her lips met his. He lost his balance all over again. This close, she was intoxicating. All honey-spun flames and crackling lightning. He could taste the lingering in her kiss. The reluctance. And he knew, even before she broke away from him, that this was what she offered him. Not time, but a memory.

  “Mostly that,” he added with a weak laugh.

  She rested her forehead against his chest. “I want that too.”

  Vikram waited, worrying the ends of her hair between his fingers. He wouldn’t forget this.

  “This place changed me,” she said hoarsely. “I need to figure out who I am after all this. There are people waiting on me to take them out of chaos. I don’t know how long that will take. I don’t know how long it will be before I know who I am and what I need to do and … I need every part of myself for that fight.” She looked up at him. “Especially my heart.”

  He knew what she would say, but hearing it didn’t make it any better. Even bruised, he admired her. It was almost more than wanting her. He took in the dark silk of her hair and winter black of her eyes, memorizing her. And then he noticed something at her neck—a small curve of light resting right beneath the sapphire pendant she always wore. He frowned.

  “Is that—”

  She reached for her necklace, smiling. “I don’t need it.”