“Enough,” said the Spider. It raised its metallic hand in the air and I felt my throat close up, and I struggled to speak but nothing came out—
It smiled coldly. “It appears that the king has a special curse in mind for you,” it murmured. “I had the pleasure of performing it on your father before I killed him.”
Fury pounded through my blood, and I opened my mouth to scream, but my throat was frozen, and Devendra snickered—
“So I shall deliver,” the Spider continued. “Should you attempt magic against King Jahan’s wishes, my curse will kick in. And then, I think you will find yourself hard-pressed to disobey him.”
Before I could react, the Spider raised its limbs in a metallic flash.
Right before the curse hit me, I caught its slithering voice: “Let’s see if this Bookweaver is made of stronger stuff than her father.”
The pressure descended on me all at once, concentrated at the pearl on my neck, which burned like fire. My eyes were popping in their sockets, my ears caving inwards, a soundless scream fighting to push through my lips—the magic was forcibly ripped from my veins, leaving me shriveled, desiccated—
All of a sudden, she was standing before me.
Nina’s face was dark with rage. "Reya," she said, and somehow, she managed to inject those two syllables with more hatred than I thought was possible. "A sorry excuse for a friend."
Fury colored her words. "You abused my friendship, destroyed my future, wrecked my every chance for happiness."
Terrible guilt washed through me, and I tried to protest, but Nina cut across. "You're the reason I was forced to live as a fugitive, captured, and nearly killed a thousand times over! It was you!"
This was not the Nina who I loved and trusted, but a creature wearing her face and carrying her voice. Her words tore apart closing wounds, replacing my blood with fire.
"That's not true!" I cried. "I love you, and all I wanted was to save you."
Nina's lips spread into a mocking smile.
"You love me," she repeated, sneering. "You love me, and yet you couldn’t even get it together to save me from Sharati’s spell. You dragged me on this suicide mission, and then you abandoned me after you killed your precious father."
Tears stung my eyes. "Wait!" I screamed. But Nina had morphed into another woman: my mother, back from the grave. Kamala Kandhari was more beautiful than I remembered, but more terrible. Her eyes were frigid.
“Mother?”
"Get back," she said, her voice deadly. "I'm not your mother, beast."
She crossed her arms. "I gave birth to a monster, and I regret it every day. I gave up my life to save you, a girl who’s caused the death of hundreds before her sixteenth birthday."
I bit my lip. "Mom—" I hadn't called her that since I was three. "Mom, come on. It's me, Reya!" But she shook her head.
"This is not the girl I was willing to die for seven years ago," she said dismissively. "The girl I see is a killer and a menace, a tarnish on our family name." She paused. "Except I don't have a family. My husband is gone, thanks to you, and you’ve long since been dead to me."
My mother turned on her heel and walked away. A scream of frustration escaped my lips—an inhuman, desperate scream, just as another scream blossomed from somewhere to my right.
Roshan was on his knees, pounding on my father’s lifeless body. He looked up at me, grief etched on every line of his face. "You killed him!" he screamed. "I loved my brother. He's dead!" My uncle buried his face. "He's all I had! He's all—"
Behind him stood another man—Niam, and next to him, Aisha. Their faces were contorted in rage, covered in the blood of their comrades. “They’re all dead!” he shouted. “Hundreds of brave men, for you?” Aisha strung her bow, pointed it at me, and I felt an arrow pierce me, but the physical pain had nothing on on the guilt pulsing in my gut—
Devendra stood over me, scowling, and I blinked frantically, tears clouding my vision. "Aisha—" I croaked.
“Get up,” Devendra said. “We’re done here.”
The Spider floated into my periphery, jerking me back to reality.
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?" I screamed. "WHAT DID YOU—"
“The curse is complete,” said the Spider calmly. “Cast any spell that defies the king’s wishes, and your magic will eat you alive once again.”
"You're getting into my head, making me see things," I snarled. "But they're not true. My friends wouldn't give up on me like that."
The Spider eyed me carefully.
"I conjured those visions, yes. But I didn't make any of that up. I only showed you the darkest fears nestled in your heart. They've been there the whole time."
My breath escaped me with a hiss. "Stop toying with me," I said, my voice shaking uncontrollably.
The Spider smiled. "The curse only attacks what already exist within you,” it said. “You know it's true. You know that you bring nothing but pain to those who love you. You take their love and then burn everything in your wake."
I tried to stand up, but I couldn’t—the curse was burning into my skin. Devendra’s face faded, the shadows thickened, and everything went black.
—
There was a firebird singing in the distance when I woke up.
Around me, our garden grew lushly, perfumed like springtime. Jasmine, my mother’s favorite flower, sprouted in all corners, and thick ivy ensnarled the walls. My heartbeat quickened. I was home.
The firebird landed on the edge of the fountain, and I froze, trying my best not to startle it or disturb its song.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” asked a warm voice.
I turned around slowly, not daring to believe my ears.
My mother was strolling along the garden path, wearing an elegant sari in the precise color of the jasmine around her. Her brown eyes shone as she walked, her bare feet making indentations in the soft almost-summer earth. She hugged me, and I breathed in the familiar scent of lily perfume.
“Mother?” I whispered.
She smiled at me, and her presence blanketed me like a quilt. “I’m here, Reya,” she said. “You know that I’m always here.”
Together we watched as the firebird, startled by her voice, opened its small wings in flight. I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. My mother didn’t think I was a beast. How could I have doubted her for a second?
“Reya, you grow lovelier by the instant,” she said, and I blushed in spite of myself. She stroked my hair, smiling absently. “Well, come on for lunch. Your father has made the only dish he knows—curried okra and saffron rice. Can you smell it?”
Just then, someone else stepped into the garden. Handsome and carefree, my father tossed back a mane of gray-free hair, as though trying to impress my mother. We exchanged glances, and she waved flirtatiously at her husband.
“Kamala, the feast will be cold soon,” he called. He grinned at me and added, on second thought, “Or gone, since I’ll have eaten it for you.”
Unconsciously, I touched my neck. The pearl was smooth and whole, gleaming with robust light.
“Honestly, Amar,” said my mother with mock-severity. “You could eat a mountain and still be hungry. I was just looking at how beautiful our daughter was.”
Father looked at me, scrutinizing me from all angles, his dashing features contorting into the most ridiculous expressions, so I couldn’t help but laugh.
“There it is,” he said. “She looks infinitely more beautiful with a smile on.” He turned to Mother and took her hand. Together, they strolled back towards our bungalow. Mother turned back and extended her free hand invitingly.
“Come on, Reya,” she said.
I ran towards her, my hands outstretched, eager to join her once more. Just as my hand reached hers, she disappeared into darkness, and I was floating.
Something brown swam before my eyes, and I reached up for it, desperate for something to hold.
“Mother?”
Kira’s face cleared before my eyes—the brown
was her hair, hanging loosely from her face. I tried to sit up, but the mattress beneath me was too soft, and I felt myself sink back into the pillows.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “You’re safe. You’re in your chambers now. I’m here to watch over you.”
“My chambers?” I repeated. “No, I ...”
But even through my sleep-fuddled eyes, I could tell that I wasn’t in a garden. Instead, I was in the drafty chamber that I so hated, mid-afternoon sunlight streaming through the window. Despite myself, I felt the familiar pinch behind my eyes.
“You don’t get it, Kira. She was right here!”
Kira sighed. “The aftereffects of the curse might have made you hallucinate.”
I gestured wildly, trying to make her understand. “She told me that I was beautiful—there was a firebird—”
Kira looked me in the eye, and something in her voice seemed to break me. “Reya, your mother is dead.”
She seemed to sense the harshness of her words, because her eyes were soft as she helped me out of the bed. “Naveen told me what the Spider did to you,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
I stared at the opposite wall. “Occupational hazard of being the Bookweaver, I guess.”
“Still, you were cursed,” she said. “I don’t know as much about magic as my brother does, but I know it must have been hard.”
I glanced at her. Kira really did resemble Naveen, with her delicate features and bright brown hair. But where his eyes were multicolored, hers were a flat warm copper.
“We talk so much about me,” I said at last. “What about you, Kira?”
She looked surprised. “If Jahan had never taken over,” I pressed. “Who would you be? Who would you have wanted to become?”
“I’m not sure,” said Kira quietly. She started folding my sheets, and to my relief, she did not protest when I moved to help her. “Even though working as a palace maid is horrible, I’ve always loved to serve people. To help make their lives better.”
Kira looked up at me, and I saw a real smile on her face. “So to answer your question, I think I would’ve wanted to be a healer.”
“A healer,” I repeated, tasting the word on my tongue. It was a gentle sort of word. It suited Kira, with her encouraging smiles and small acts of kindness.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’d want to be at the Kasmiri-Indiran border, helping people who were hurt, no matter whose side they were on. There are enough fighters in this kingdom. Sometimes, you just need somebody to bind up the wounds.”
I thought about all the wounds I had created. Kira was everything I’d always wanted but never managed to be. Because where she was healing and compassionate, I was destructive and vengeful. Would things have turned out differently if Kira was the Bookweaver and I was her servant?
My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. We both looked up to see Lady Sharati standing in the doorway.
“Bookweaver, his Majesty has summoned you to the courtrooms,” she said. “We have to leave now.”
I glared at her. “Why?”
Sharati pursed her lips. “Because it’s time for the trial,” she said. “The trial of the most infamous traitor Kasmira has ever known. Nina Nadeer.”
CHAPTER sixTEen
My foot drummed incessantly against the pew in front of me. Rushes of emotion hit me like waves, staggering and unending—a ripple of nerves; a surge of guilt; an ebb of anger that crested into fear. Because somehow, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this might be the last time I ever saw Nina Nadeer.
To calm myself, I thought of what I knew, repeating it like a mantra in my head.
My name is Reya Kandhari. I am the Bookweaver’s daughter. Nothing else is what it seems.
With every passing minute, the crowd grew thicker. Soon the pews were filled with nobles, all muttering nervously. I could sense the undercurrent of fear beneath the hushed tones—years of forced peace had been shattered when Bharata rebelled.
To them, Nina was more than just a fugitive. She was a threat.
I could see King Jahan’s private pew, cloistered in an alcove above the court. He was veiled by a purple curtain, but if I squinted, I could make out his haughty silhouette, like the shadow puppets I’d made with my fingers as a child.
My name is Reya Kandhari. I am the Bookweaver’s daughter. Nothing else is what it seems.
A gong sounded, and the entire court went silent. The excitement was palpable as the gong’s last vibrations echoed across the room, bouncing against the walls until only the faintest hum remained.
Lord Raksha strode down the pews into the center of the room. His eyes travelled across the courtroom, lingering briefly on me, before he unrolled an enormous sheaf of parchment.
“I present to his Majesty the case of Nina Nadeer,” he announced. He glanced up at the lofty pew as he said it, but there was no movement or acknowledgement from the king. Raksha seemed to hesitate for a moment, and he nodded to the soldiers. “Bring her in,” he said.
On cue, the doors swung open once more.
I turned towards them eagerly, desperate for a glimpse of Nina. I wasn’t alone—there was a collective creaking as the entire courtroom leaned forward in its seats. A dozen armed imperial soldiers marched into the courtroom. Shuffling between them, dwarfed by their enormous weapons, was Nina.
The nobles roared and jeered as one, and Raksha banged the gong halfheartedly to stop them.
My stomach squeezed, because for the first time, Nina didn’t look like the unconquerable girl I had always known her to be. From up in the pews, she looked gaunt and fragile, smaller than I’d ever seen her before.
I could see her head turning, searching for someone. At last, her eyes met mine, and their expression was what truly scared me. Her irises were no longer gray. They looked black.
Nina took me in—almost doll-like in my lavish sari, surrounded by servants—as I beheld her: bare feet dirty, hair limp, shrunken by oversized robes. Something in her expression closed off, as though she no longer recognized me.
“The accused has been produced,” announced Lord Raksha. He had to shout it several times before the room quieted down. “I call upon Prince Devendra Zakir to present the charges.”
Devendra stood up, and I noticed that he was dressed in full military gear: purple turban, glinting lapels, sword sheathed. His cloak billowed impressively behind him as he walked, making him look larger than he was. The soldiers all lowered their heads in respect as he passed by.
“As imperial commander of Kasmira, it is my duty and honor to bring this traitor to justice,” said Devendra pompously. “The charges against Nina Nadeer are as follows.”
He smiled coldly at Nina, who glared back, and I saw the mutual hatred in their eyes. With a shiver, I remembered how Nina had humiliated him in Bharata. Now was his chance for revenge.
The crown prince took Raksha’s enormous parchment and began reading from the list. “Truancy from the Fields. Evasion of arrest. Assault against my soldiers on numerous occasions. Collusion with public enemies. Attempts to undermine the regime.”
Each charge struck me like a blow, only worsened by the cruel relish in Devendra’s voice. He paused delicately, allowing the courtroom to quiet down before he read the final charge.
“Militant insurgence.”
The shouts erupted again. Down below, Nina looked like she was carved from stone—it was only because I knew her so well that I noticed that her shoulders were trembling.
“Miss Nadeer, you are surely aware of what the penalty is for such crimes,” Devendra continued silkily. “You’re clearly not the brightest, but I know you’re not that stupid.”
Even from fifty pews above, even before Nina opened her mouth, I knew what she was going to do, and I knew I couldn’t stop her.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Nina with awful coldness. “There’s a fine line between stupidity and bravery. Not that I’d expect you to know anything about the latter.”
Devendra
sneered. “Bravery?” he said. “You call your half-baked little rebellion bravery?”
“I do,” Nina snarled. “And it’s a hell of a lot braver than threatening an entire city of innocent people, just because you couldn’t keep ahold of two peasant girls.”
Her voice gained momentum, turned mocking. “You’re a coward, Devendra Zakir. You blew up a mountain of better men than you because you couldn’t take them head-on. You kicked a defeated city when it was down. You—”
“Shut up!” said Devendra angrily. Whispers rippled through the courtroom, and I saw Devendra redden. He tried for a more placating tone. “Why are you still trying to martyr yourself for a lost cause?”
“Why are you still trying to be your daddy’s lapdog?” Nina shot back.
She had touched a nerve. There was a zinging noise as Devendra drew his sword in a rush of fury. “You filthy little peasant—”
“Go ahead,” Nina taunted. “Kill me. Prove to your father what a man you are, attacking a girl who’s swordless—”
“Enough,” Devendra said. His face had bypassed red and turned a sickly shade of blue as he shoved his sword away; he missed the sheath in his anger, and his blade clattered onto the floor. Embarrassed, he stooped to pick it up.
“You’re right. I should kill you,” he spat. “But luckily for you, peasant, my father wants to offer you a second chance.”
He, too, glanced up at the pew where his father sat, but the king said nothing. Devendra’s smirk faltered for a fraction of an instant, and he wheeled back on Nina.
“If you renounce the Renegades and pledge your loyalty to my father,” he said, “his Majesty will welcome you back into the kingdom. No questions asked.”
From the renewed whispers in the courtroom, I knew I wasn’t the only one who was completely shocked by Jahan’s offer.
Down below, Nina looked bewildered, all anger evaporated from her face. Her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand—”
“Renounce the rebellion, and your life will be spared,” Devendra said. “My father is not without mercy. You have the power to save millions of lives, including your own, by disavowing the resistance and joining the right side of history.”
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