Had he forgotten? Or … had it not mattered?
Aasha opened the door to my bedroom.
“Do you want me to come with you to Ujijain?” she asked.
I nodded. I would have asked Nalini to come too, but she was out of the capital.
“Perhaps you should pick out your attire? That always helped my sisters when they were nervous.”
I nodded, pacing my room. I had brought some of Alaka back with me. The ceiling was painted with songbirds in midflight. Traces of gold foil hugged the paintings, so that when I went to sleep, the world above me was a shimmering thing tilting into magic. When I had it commissioned, I thought it would be a reminder of bonds formed through challenges. But the person I had wanted to remind never ended up spending a night beneath this ceiling.
“Perhaps blue?” suggested Aasha. “You don’t want to steal too much attention from an emperor on his coronation.”
You do like dramatic entrances.
I can’t help myself.
I lifted my chin. “I’m wearing gold.”
Aasha flashed a knowing smile. “As you command.”
48
A WORLD IN WAIT
GAURI
For the next three days, we rode hard. The horses foamed at the mouth when we finally arrived. With only a night left before the coronation, there was no time for the usual political ceremony and veiled talks. My retinue and band of traveling soldiers had little more than a handful of hours to enter the palatial villa that Ujijain had prepared, take refreshments and prepare ourselves for the coronation.
I stood before a gilt mirror. I was moving slower than normal, as if my swollen heart had somehow weighed down my limbs when I wasn’t looking. As I reached for the chest of cosmetics, I thought of Mother Dhina. She had died a month into my imprisonment with Ujijain. A small memorial waited for her spirit in the garden: a shrub of dusky roses with a water pipe buried beneath the roots. I stared at my reflection, biting down on my cheeks as I would for any battle. Contemplating my armor.
I darkened my eyes with kohl. Because sometimes my life felt framed by shadows, and yet I had changed how I looked at the world, and found beauty.
I rubbed a rose petal concoction on my lips and cheeks. Because I wanted my words, fanged as they might be, to wear the cover of sweetness.
I dusted crushed pearls over my collarbones and through my hair. Because I would be my own light. No matter what.
The golden sari clung to my figure, and I had draped the silks to cover my right hand. Before I left, I unclasped Maya’s necklace. The sapphire slid off my neck, leaving me a little colder. I rubbed my fingers over the pendant, kissing it once. Maya cropped up less and less in my thoughts. Not because I didn’t love my sister or didn’t think of her, but because I no longer worried for her the way I once had. Sometimes I remembered a dream from Alaka—a white hall and a cold kingdom, a room where my sister waited with a sad smile. For whatever reason, the image gave me peace.
“I am ready,” I announced to the empty room.
* * *
Ujijain had beautiful grounds. Not as lovely as Bharata’s, I thought with a prickling sense of pride, but there was something beloved about the place. Ujijain’s grounds celebrated its past and its present. Four statues of beautiful women adorned in the garb of empresses stood in the shade of gentle firs. Sapphire reflection pools lined the walk to the ceremonial pavilion where the coronation would take place. Everywhere, the scent of fresh marigolds and mint hung drowsily in the air. A sliver of gardens peeked out behind a veil of trees.
The crowd for Vikram’s coronation was, as expected, huge. Diplomats and distinguished royal guests had poured in from every corner. Sweat stamped my palms. A nervous energy spiked through me. A servant offered me a quartz goblet and a pang lit up my chest. What were the chances they were serving bright memories?
“Your Majesty, we are so honored you chose to attend,” said a diplomat at my elbow. “Would you mind accompanying me? The Emperor Vikramaditya has some time before the coronation and wished to meet with you alone and without either of your respective retinues.”
We prefer not to have an audience.
I schooled my face into a blank mask. “Lead the way.”
I think I lived and died a hundred times in the time it took to walk to the private garden path. Anger, fury, excitement and hurt raced through me. Every part of me felt gathered and strung taut. I kept imagining the words that would come out of his mouth, his gentle way of saying that Alaka had been an experience out of time that he never wished to repeat. Another thought, worse than anything, clawed at me … that I’d waited too long.
Here, the sounds of the coronation party never reached the trees. Everything was still. Silent.
“His Majesty is at the end of the garden walkway.”
The courtier delivered a final bow before leaving me alone.
I’d never seen a garden like this. Most royal grounds favored sculpted lawns and elegant arrangements. This place felt like … whimsy. Above me, small moonstone thuribles were strung through the trees, an echo of the great banyan tree in Alaka where lights lit up the leaves and frost sleeved the branches. Small silk pennants dangled wind chimes through the thousands of branches. When the wind combed its fingers through the trees, music fell through the air.
I had always loved walking in gardens, but since returning to Bharata, I couldn’t stand how the loneliness bared its teeth and announced itself at every turn. But here … here I felt a comfort rooted not in my senses, but in my soul. It was like recognizing one’s bedroom in the dark. You didn’t need sight to know it was yours.
Roses grew in colors I’d never seen—lush green and deepest blue. The fragrance moved like a song through the air, unhurried and haunting. Small tree saplings carved from mirrors were placed around the garden walkway, drinking in the light and casting its own illusion of reflections. Golden fruit sparkled beneath the branches of a tree. I peered closer, and saw that the golden fruits were ornaments. Not magic. Or maybe it was magic. What was magic anyway, but the world beheld by someone who chose to see it differently?
I walked faster. Sprouting from the dirt, the tops of swords sliced through flowering bushes. My breath caught.
If you could grow anything in your garden, what would it be?
Swords.
And there they were.
I took another step and looked up to see silver bowls hanging from the trees where the scent of syrupy gulab jamun clung to the air.
I just want to pluck it off the trees and eat it on the spot.
I remembered Vikram laughing when he heard that all I wanted to grow were sweets and swords. What had he called me—
“Beastly girl,” he said. I looked up, realizing that the words had been supplied not by my mind but by the person standing a short distance away.
My heart leapt. I knew that if I looked at him immediately, my emotions would be plain on my face. So I looked at him in parts. First, his hands. Still steepled. Not quite as scholarly as they once appeared. A scar ornamented his left hand. Then, his shoulders. Ruling suited him. He held himself differently—his shoulders broad and thrown back, an emerald jacket clinging to his lean body. Biju, the snake, hung around his neck like a necklace. Finally, his face. His Otherworldly features remained the same. Handsome, maybe even unbearably so. There was the same tilt to his mouth, as if he were on the verge of grinning. He stood, half in shade and half in sun, mischief and temptation given form.
It was hard to look at him, as if I couldn’t hold the sight all at once.
“What do you think?” he asked. “Does it look like the garden of your dreams, swords and all?”
“You did this for me?”
He nodded.
“But then why did the delegates tell me that you were—” I faltered, the words catching in my throat.
“Mostly to make you visit. I had to work on the timing too. I didn’t want you to miss the event, but I also didn’t want us stuck in an eternity of ce
remonies for Bharata’s first visit to Ujijain,” he said casually. “And I thought about going to Bharata, but I couldn’t bring the garden to you and even if I did, I doubt your guards would have taken kindly to me stabbing swords all over the lawn—”
“You never said anything about the gift I sent you,” I blurted out.
“The wooden crown?” he asked, picking it up from a table beside him. “It’s my favorite toy. I have made good on my word and thrown it at people. Except the leopard seems to think it’s a chew toy and that’s—”
“Why didn’t you say anything about it?”
He stared at me, his brows pressing together. “How was I supposed to know you wanted me to say something?”
“I give a gift. You give a gift back. That’s how gift giving should work.”
“That is not how gift giving works. You give a gift. I accept it.”
“You could have said thank you.”
“You made it very clear to me when I left Alaka that you needed time and space to figure out your reign and yourself,” he said, his voice rising. “I didn’t want to clutter your thoughts by inserting myself into them and reminding you, once more, that I was over here looking out windows and sighing like a heartsick fiend who just discovered tragic poetry.”
I stared at him. “What?”
Vikram crossed his arms. “You think I string desserts and lights through trees because I have nothing better to do? I can’t believe you have the nerve to be mad at me. I was doing what you wanted me to do and giving you space!”
“I didn’t want that much space!”
“How was I supposed to know if you never told me?” he demanded, throwing his arms in the air.
“You would have known if you responded to the fact that I sent you a present.”
“It was a wooden crown.”
“So you don’t like it?”
“I never said that!” he grumbled.
My whole heart felt like a tangled ball of thread. At once, delight danced inside me because he had called himself a “heartsick fiend.”
And yet, he had tricked me.
“You manipulated me here even though you didn’t know how I felt—”
“I would never do that to you,” he cut in fiercely. “I didn’t manipulate. I encouraged. My council does want me to get married. I just thought that we’d grown so used to annoying one another that we might as well do that for the rest of my life and I would have preferred to ask you when you stood in front of me and not through a series of treaties! And I say the rest of my life, not ours, since this just confirms that you will be the death of me. And as for knowing how you felt, I knew because I asked.”
He held up Biju.
“You told me to wait until you were ready. Day and night, I asked Biju. Day and night, she revealed that you weren’t. Then, one day, I asked and she revealed that you were ready. I waited, Gauri.” His eyes cut to mine and there was such fierce longing there that I felt it in my heart. “I waited day and night for you to say something the way I thought you would. You never did. I didn’t want to wait for you anymore, so I asked Biju if you even felt the same way about me.”
Biju flickered, turning from a necklace of jewels to an actual snake. She turned her head to watch me, flicking her forked tongue.
“Watch,” he said, his voice low. “You feel the same way I do.”
Biju didn’t move. Truth.
“You were ready for us to see each other.”
Truth.
“I love you.”
Truth.
At that moment, the rest of the world slipped quietly out of sight. All I felt was the tug of something between us, a thread of a tale not yet finished. A beginning—or maybe it was an ending, or maybe there was no such thing as either—curled its fingers to me. Beckoning. I held out my arms to Biju and she slithered onto my shoulders before hanging from my neck and turning a deep shade of gold. Vikram tracked every movement with his eyes. His jaw clenched, face inscrutable.
“I believe you,” I said.
Biju held still. Truth.
Vikram waited. A small muscle worked in his jaw. He was furious with waiting just as I was. And then I said the words I had known all along, the ones that haunted me as I slept and danced in my dreams as I woke.
“I love you.”
Truth.
He didn’t wait after that. He stepped forward, closing the space between us and pulling me into a kiss. We swayed there in that strange garden of sharp and decadent things, of ornaments that held the memory of magic but were remade with our own enchantment. He kissed me until the light moved slowly over the garden and even far away from the coronation ceremony, a murmur of confusion began to reach us.
“I wonder if this is what Kubera wanted,” he murmured into my hair. “As an ending for us.”
“Not an ending,” I said, raising my head. “A beginning to our story.”
Above us, something fluttered. I looked up and caught the edge of a scarlet wing. From here, I couldn’t tell whether one of Kubera’s story birds had followed us or whether it was just an ordinary bird hopping through the trees. But I did know that somewhere our story was taking flight. Maybe it had already traveled, from mouth and ear to mind and memory. And perhaps that in itself was the great secret—not just for legacy, but also for life. You could carry a story inside you and hold it up to the light when you needed it the most. You could peer through it, like a frame, and see how it changed your view when you looked out onto the world.
A new world awaited us outside the garden. A world with new dreams and worn hopes. A world waiting to be filled with stories that would spread pale roots over time until they became indistinguishable from history. Vikram held out his arm, and I took it.
Together, we walked into that new world.
GLOSSARY
Apsara: Celestial nymphs who danced in the kingdoms of the heavens.
Gurukul: A kind of residential school where pupils lived near their gurus (teachers).
Makara: A sea dragon commonly used as a vehicle for water deities and represented as guardians of a temple.
Raksha: A legendary kind of demon, not always entirely good or evil.
Vanara: Monkey-like beings with god-like powers who were created to fight battles in the ancient Indian epic, the Ramayana.
Vishakanya: A young woman fed on poison until her touch becomes toxic. Reputedly used as an assassin against powerful enemies in ancient India.
ALSO BY ROSHANI CHOKSHI
The Star-Touched Queen
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ROSHANI CHOKSHI is the New York Times bestselling author of The Star-Touched Queen. Her work has appeared in Strange Horizons, Shimmer, and Book Smugglers. Her short story, “The Star Maiden,” was long-listed for the British Fantasy Science Award. You can sign up for email updates here.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue: The Invitation
Part One: The Girl
1. To Be a Monster
2. Burning Roses
3. Winter Black
4. The Fox Prince
5. A Golden Apple
6. Dream Seedlings
7. A Bite of Vengeance
8. Deepest, Darkest Selves
9. The Beast Princess
10. A Bowl of Lush Memories
11. A Poisoned Spoon
12. Threadbare Heart
13. The Truth of First Light
14. A Scaffold of Silence
Part Two: A Game
15. The Taste of Bread
16. The Gate of Secret Truths
17. Cold Honey, Caught Magic
18. Three Is a Very Nice Number
19. The Feast of Transformation
20. Of Rubies And Sisters
21. The Glass Garden
22. No Touching
23. The Serpent King’s Invitation
24. A Planted Heart
; 25. A Talisman of Touch
26. The Seven Brides
27. A Broken Song
28. Eating Poetry
29. To Share Your Shadow
30. Unfastened World
31. A Meal of Desire
32. A Bellyful of Snow
33. A Feast of Fear
34. A Whiff of Sacred
Part Three: A Tale Worth Telling
35. A Crouching Storm
36. A Different Song
37. The Parade of Fables
38. Dark as Dusk
39. Belief was Bread
40. The Glass Hand
41. A Selection of Birds
42. Honey-Spun Flames
43. Rustling Feathers
44. A Turned Heart
45. To Eclipse
46. Telling a Lie
47. Unspent Daydreams
48. A World in Wait
Glossary
Also by Roshani Chokshi
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A CROWN OF WISHES. Copyright © 2017 by Roshani Chokshi. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Danielle Christopher
Cover photographs: castle © Mark Owen/Arcangel Images; woman on horse © Collette Storkel / Arcangel Images; sky © Guschenkova/Shutterstock.com
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-08549-8 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-15609-9 (international, sold outside the U.S., subject to rights availability).
A Crown of Wishes Page 29