“You refused to speak to us, to tell us of your plans,” said Arjun. “You shunned us, Gauri. And Skanda showed us the truth. He showed us how you wanted Nalini out of the way and proved what you’ve been doing with all your time.”
I remembered Nalini falling to her knees, the knife pressed to her throat. Skanda’s words—so carefully chosen—I know what you want. I thought … I thought he meant that I wanted her safe. But he’d performed to both sides.
How many times had Arjun begged to speak to me in private after I had rescued him? All this time, I had assumed he wanted to speak about what he had seen, the traumas that had held him captive. I didn’t pay attention. It was too risky, too much of an open declaration that we were in league with one another. I told myself that I would be there for him as a friend later, that right now I could spare neither time nor security. The callousness that had saved me so often had destroyed me too.
“I begged Skanda to send you to an ashram where no one else could get hurt. I begged him to spare your life, even after everything you’d done to hurt us. Why did you come back?”
Before I left Alaka, I told Vikram I didn’t know myself. Now I was staring at the depths of what that meant. Heroine. Savior. Villain. What were those words but different fistfuls of a tale that all depended on who was doing the telling? You see, a story is not just a thing told to a child before sleep. A story is control. I saw it now. Felt the talons of that truth scrape through me. I saw how I had laid down the bones of Skanda’s story: a tale of a turned heart and insatiable greed.
“Skanda lied to you,” I said, my voice breaking.
I sank to the floor, my head in my hands: one glass, one flesh. One translucent. One opaque. One that could wield a knife and one that could not. Past and present. Alaka had cut my life in half. When I looked forward, the hand that had been my horror became my hope: transparency. Nalini breathed sharply. Arjun tried to hold her back, but she crouched beside me, cradling the glass hand.
“What happened to you?”
I laughed. “I cannot even begin to tell you everything.”
“Try,” urged Nalini. “Arjun was sent to fetch you, but I couldn’t … I had to see you…” She stopped, blinking back tears. “You know your brother will send another attendant soon.”
I tried. I told them about what I had felt the day I emerged into the throne room to see the soldiers cut down and Arjun standing at Skanda’s side. I told them about being thrown over the Ujijain border, my mouth gagged and my wrists bound; the months of silent torture while the empire decided what to do with me. I told them how Vikram changed everything, about the invitation to the Tournament of Wishes in the city of Alaka down to the moment where I earned escape. I didn’t tell them about the wish though. Knowing Arjun, he would want a demonstration, and I couldn’t risk giving away the last weapon I had. When Nalini held Kauveri’s gift, her eyes narrowed from uncertainty to awe. Even Arjun stopped frowning to hold the dagger. The dagger shimmered in his hands, transforming into a trident of water. From where I sat, I could feel the rush of an invisible river, the magic of a powerful wave brimming through the room and roiling with energy.
“Why would I come back just to be killed?” I said when Arjun turned away from me. “This whole time I thought that you had turned on me. I don’t know how else to prove—”
An attendant knocked at the door.
“General Arjun?”
My pulse raced. The attendant was knocking on my door. So why was he addressing Arjun? Arjun spoke through the door.
“I wasn’t able to comply with the Raja Skanda’s directive,” he said. “Her travels have worn her and it seems that one of the servants gave her a sleeping draught to calm her nerves. Tell the Raja that I will escort her to the throne room.”
“Very good, General.”
Footsteps echoed and disappeared down the hall.
“… He sent you here to kill me?” Arjun’s mouth tightened to a cut, which was all the answer I needed.
“I wouldn’t let him,” said Nalini. “Not without seeing you. Or hearing why you did what … what we thought you did.”
My heart leapt. “You believe me?”
Nalini held my gaze. “I don’t know what to believe.”
I reached for her hand, but Arjun stopped me.
“We need to go,” he said tightly. “We can confront Skanda ourselves.” He yanked me to my feet. “You have one chance to make me believe you. Otherwise, I’ll follow through with the order.”
And then he turned to Nalini, cupping her face between his palms and kissing her gently on the forehead. How blind had I been before now? All this time, I thought Arjun hadn’t loved Nalini enough to protect her from Skanda. The truth was that he loved her so much that he had betrayed me. Nalini watched us as we walked to the door, her eyes never leaving my face.
“Thank you,” I said when we started walking down the hall.
“For what?”
“For not killing me, for starters. And for keeping me safe when you didn’t have to.”
“I didn’t do it for you.”
“Arjun, I know how it looks. But we were like siblings—”
“Exactly,” he said cuttingly. “We were like siblings. And then you changed. Skanda can set this record straight.”
“Skanda is a liar. The things he’s done and made me—”
“That’s what you said before to make me pledge you soldiers. I did it because I trusted your word until you kept proving you weren’t worth it. But did you ever once prove that he did everything you said?”
Weakness is a privilege.
I had never told him. I thought … I thought I was keeping myself safe. But sometimes weakness wore the face of strength, and sometimes strength wore the face of weakness.
“You may not believe me, but surely you’ve seen some of his deception ever since you became his second-in-command? Has nothing he’s done convinced you that he might not be innocent?”
Arjun faltered. Skanda may be an expert storyteller, but even he couldn’t keep up a ruse of innocence for too long. Pausing before the throne doors, Arjun fixed me with a dark look.
“Don’t try anything.”
I held up my hands in surrender. “I won’t.”
Inside the room, Skanda reclined against silk pillows. I scanned the room: no attendants. Not even a servant to answer his thousand insignificant needs. He looked as if he wanted this to be informal, but it felt calculated. On a glass tray stood goblets full of cold thandai. My mouth watered. I could smell the vetiver seeds and rose petals steeped in the milky drink.
“You used to drink this every time you came home from one skirmish or another,” said Skanda, his voice swelling with mock brotherly pride.
I sat in front of him, mindful of Kauveri’s dagger slung against my hip. I had placed it on the left side, hoping that Skanda would interpret it as a sign of peace and not a sign that my right hand refused to hold weapons. Arjun sank into the pillow next to Skanda, one hand protectively on his dagger.
“Now, now, Arjun, no need to be so aggressive. After all, the Princess Gauri has come back from a long and arduous trek. She was so weakened she could hardly stay awake.” Skanda flashed a thin and oily smile. He held out cups of thandai to me and Arjun. I took mine gingerly, breathing in the spicy scent.
“May I see that dagger of yours, sister?”
“Later,” I said. “I tire.”
He smiled. “Of course. For now, let us drink to your health and your return.”
I lifted the drink to my lips, but didn’t sip the liquid until Skanda took a swig. I took a sip and bit back a grimace. Whoever made the drink had added far too much almond extract. Arjun downed his drink in one gulp.
“I am sorry that we had to have this meeting under such circumstances,” said Skanda, with another small shake of his head.
The thundai tickled my throat. I coughed and drank some more. Warmth spread through my limbs. An itch burned right behind my calf.
“But
you left me no choice.”
Beside me, Arjun began to cough. He reached for a glass of water, but his trembling fingers knocked the glass aside. Skanda reached for something in the folds of his sleeve, drawing out a knot of leaves, which he chewed immediately. Arjun stared at him, wide-eyed and furious, clawing at his throat.
“What have you done to him?”
I grabbed Arjun, thumping his back. He began to shake. His face paled.
“You can’t let him die, Skanda!” I screamed. “Give me the antidote!”
But Skanda didn’t say anything. He just stared from me to the cup.
“Why are you still speaking?” he whispered.
The doors to the throne room crashed open. A swirl of silks and jangling silver clamored for volume over Arjun’s violent coughing. Nalini whimpered. She reached for him, tilting his face to hers as she felt for the pulse at his neck. He convulsed. Sweat beaded his skin.
I lunged at Skanda, holding the dagger with my left hand to this throat. “I will let you live if you tell me how to save him.”
Skanda pressed himself against the cushions, his fat face shining and his eyes widening in shock.
“He … he can’t … I took the only antidote.”
Shoving Skanda aside, I turned back around to Nalini and Arjun. She was crouched over him, her whole body shaking. Arjun lay in her lap, his lips parted and eyes staring blindly at the ceiling.
He was dead.
45
TO ECLIPSE
GAURI
Skanda turned to me. “Why aren’t you dead?”
A vague burning sensation lit up my whole leg. And I knew, even without looking, that the small blue star from the poisoned waters of the Serpent King had saved my life. I thought of the accusation from the Nameless, the way they called me “marked.” I couldn’t kill someone with my touch, but somehow I had been granted immunity from poison.
“You killed him,” whispered Nalini. “How could you?”
The screams had alerted the rest of the guards. One by one they filed into the throne room.
“The Raja Skanda has poisoned General Arjun,” said Nalini, her voice strong but trembling.
“No!” screamed Skanda. “The Princess Gauri was the one behind it! She drank the poison and wasn’t even harmed. It’s unnatural! Seize her! You saw what she did outside the gates. She’s a witch of some kind. It’s not even her—”
“I can vouch for the Princess’s innocence,” said Nalini. Now her voice was pure steel.
I could hear the world holding its breath. The ultimate test of loyalty. Arjun had led the soldiers, given them reason time after time to trust him. Nalini was his wife, beloved by him as much as she was the soldiers. But Skanda was still the king. Then again, what is a king but someone that others say is such? He wore a crown. Just as I once did. But power is something you earn. Seduce. Maybe the circumstances of my birth gave me the skeleton of power, but it was up to me—my story, my voice—to put flesh on those bones and make that power live. Arjun knew that. Every day that I had known Arjun he had made himself worthy of power. Two guards stood behind Skanda. He looked up at them, furious. Expectant. A choice hung in the air: Which power to follow? They chose. Two of the guards pulled Skanda from his nest of cushions.
“Your Highness?” said one of the guards, turning to me.
Out of habit, I looked to my brother. But they weren’t talking to him. They were talking to me.
I was queen.
For so long, the wants I had held in my heart—my kingdom wrested from Skanda’s control, a reign secured with no bloodshed, Nalini alive and well—felt like seedlings of a future out of reach. Now those hopes grew roots inside me. I hadn’t needed an army to reclaim my country. I hadn’t even needed a wish. I had only needed to return and be honest.
I found my voice. “Take him to the prison cells and send a healer.”
Skanda roared. “I am your kin! And you would kill me?”
I tilted my head, staring at this beast I shared blood with. “I’m not going to kill you.”
He relaxed. “Then—”
“I am going to eclipse you,” I said quietly. “I am going to bury your name in the dust, not with your death, but with my might. I am going to give you a fate worse than death, brother. I am going to erase you from memory.”
They left, and Nalini stared at me, tears streaming down her face. “You know he’s dead. Why summon a healer?”
I knelt beside Nalini and reached behind my neck for the clasp to my necklace. When I pulled it out, the unused wish glowed brightly. I closed my eyes, remembering Alaka as the images of the story birds whirled away into darkness.
“So will you make a wish?” asked Kauveri.
Beyond them, a river splashed diamonds into a bright gray sky. There was magic and hope in that space of sky and sea where a new tomorrow would haul itself into the world with the same sun and a changing moon, and all the secrets in its stars. I chose a new kind of bravery. One with a future I chose to earn, rather than demand.
“No.”
Part of me almost uttered the wish I thought Nalini wanted. But I wasn’t going to assume anymore. She deserved that chance and choice. When I looked at Nalini, Aasha’s face loomed in my thoughts. The life she hungered after, the choices that had been denied. I closed my hand over the bright wish, and placed it in Nalini’s palm.
“Here,” I said. “I think it was always supposed to be yours.”
“What is this, Gauri?” asked Nalini, opening her hands.
Light bathed her face, pouring gently over Arjun’s unseeing eyes.
“A new beginning.”
46
TELLING A LIE
VIKRAM
The emerald snake tightened around Vikram’s arm. He winced before patting the jeweled snake on the head.
“That’s enough, Biju. You’ve proven your point.”
Biju relented, flicking a forked diamond tongue at Vikram before sliding across his shoulders. Her tail gracefully swung from his neck to his shoulder. She bit the end, and immediately grew cold. Morning light glinted off her scales.
Unless she was detecting a lie, Biju preferred to live out her existence as a marvelous garland of polished emerald stones carved into the likeness of real snake scales. Sometimes she switched to sapphire. Once, she was even ruby. But green was her favorite color. Last week Vikram had called her “exceedingly predictable.” She had responded by coiling into a vise around his arm. Her way of saying: You tell a lie.
Vikram started each of his mornings with a lie. And every day, it was the same lie. He would stand in front of his mirror and say, “Today, she is ready.” And every day, Biju would tighten into a vise, which assured him that he should hope for no such thing.
Today, like every day for the past two full moons, had been no exception.
After returning from Alaka, he thought he had sated his hunger for wonder, but something still growled in need within him. He glanced out the window. Morning had barely touched Ujijain. Shadows hugged half of the city. Once the city bells rang out, he would begin his endless procession of meetings. It was a routine that gave him comfort. The meetings, the research, the debate. The fact that after all this time, his voice finally mattered. He had a purpose and a place. He even enjoyed complaining about his sore feet and his headaches, but suspected that the novelty would soon wear off.
Vikram set off for the Menagerie, but he had hardly walked five steps down the hall when a voice called out:
“Your Majesty!”
It took him a moment to realize he was being addressed. He was still getting used to his new title. “Emperor” tasted too weighty and bittersweet on his tongue. He stopped walking, allowing a fresh-faced courtier to catch up to him.
“May I walk in your shadow, Your Majesty?”
You used to run from it.
“Of course,” he said, sweeping the air like an invitation. The courtier fell into step beside him.
“It was an honor to hear you speak
at last week’s assembly.”
Oh, you were listening? When I saw your head thrown back and drool falling from your mouth, I thought otherwise. My sincerest apologies.
“I’m grateful you listened.”
“I only wish that we had the opportunity to be enlightened by your intelligence earlier.”
“I gave you multiple opportunities.”
The color drained from the courtier’s face. “Your Majesty, I did not mean to remind you of such … irresponsibility and ignorance from the council in the past.”
Yourself included.
“But surely, Your Majesty, you saw how the council changed the day you returned. You astounded them. They were awed.”
“Showing up with an Otherworldly treasure tends to do that.”
Two full moons ago, he had returned to Ujijain and walked straight into a council meeting with nothing but the enchanted document in his hand and Biju around his neck. His wish had been for all who looked upon the document to recognize his potential, but it had the unpredicted benefit of allowing all who looked at the piece of parchment to see potential not just in Vikram, but also themselves. He told them about his travels in the Otherworld, demonstrating the truth with Biju. Little by little, his circumstances changed. Half the council credited Vikram’s monthlong disappearance into the Otherworld as the reason he had risen to power and shrugged off the puppet ruler title. The other half credited themselves for finally noticing the Prince’s “remarkable mind.”
“I suppose you’re right, Your Majesty,” said the courtier. “However … I do believe that even without magic, they would have changed their mind. I’ve read your reports in the past, and you always provided the most creative solutions.”
Vikram looked at the courtier a little more closely. “What’s your name?”
“Chandresh.”
“And who are you?”
Chandresh mulled over his response. “I was a fool of the highest pedigree before Your Majesty’s return. I am the courtier who sleeps through most meetings. I’m also the courtier who provides the best feedback. I closely read the meeting’s notes after.”
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