Sisters of the Snake

by Sasha Nanua

  I imagine I am sitting in a grand hall with candlelit tables. I imagine a maid running her fingers through my tresses. But today, there is no crown on my head.

  “Where is your tray?” I ask Amir.

  “That’s for both of us. What—not enough for you, Princess?” He licks his fingers like he wants more.

  Hardly, I think, but refrain from speaking it aloud. I swallow the pride itching to escape me, the part of me that wakes only to finely brewed chai and freshly baked breads. How could anyone survive on such meager portions?

  Meanwhile, Ria is likely gasping at the spreads at the palace. How does she feel, being locked up in the palace the way I was locked up my entire life? I’ve spent a day out here in the wilds of Abai, walking more than I ever have, seeing more than my eyes have ever seen. It all hit me when I fell asleep last night, and now, at nearly high noon, my body craves the palace’s cool climate.

  “Just a little famished is all,” I manage. My stomach growls, and a pang of hunger, like an aching cramp, seizes me. I am reminded of the days when I first practiced snake magic. My gift was so weak that the nurses had to give me a daily tincture of venom to build my strength, even if it made me sick at first. The cooks laced my food with it to build my immunity, until I turned thirteen and performed my Bonding Ceremony successfully. I still take the tincture every now and then to boost my magic.

  “Famished?” Amir laughs. “This is more than we’ve had in days!”

  “You ate the apple,” I remind him.

  “So? That was hardly anything. And you were supposed—” He stops himself.

  “I know. I didn’t steal anything.” My voice is sharp as a blade.

  Amir huffs quietly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. We’re just usually so in sync, y’know?”

  I bite my lip. Why can’t I be more like Ria? This charade would be much simpler if I were.

  Slowly, Amir reaches a hand across the table and covers mine. “You’re still the best thief in Abai. And my best friend.”

  My heart thuds. Even though he speaks of Ria, a pleasant warmth fills me. And for a second, I understand what thieving means to them. It’s not simply a performance. It’s a code. And it’s survival.

  A voice knifes into our conversation. “Looks like you two sleepyheads woke up late. We already ate our breakfasts.” Sanya. She tips her head at Irfan, who now sits across from me. Amir leans back.

  I offer a practiced smile at her as she takes a seat. “Your spirits are up,” I gibe. My gaze falls to her fist, gripping her beaded necklace with ferocity. Each bead is made from mango wood—the same wood that adorns Father’s office. A faint pattern swirls over the beads, drawn in white ink.

  “Your necklace,” I say to Sanya. “Those markings look familiar.” I know what the symbols are—but I wonder if Sanya understands them in the same way.

  “They’re said to be drawn inside the Glass Temple. Symbols of magic. The necklace belonged to our mother.”

  Sanya thumbs the heirloom. Every royal knows about those markings and the Glass Temple. Now we rarely speak of the magics those markings represented. In the Old Age, people would go to the Temple and pray to their Master. But the location of the Temple was lost to time, and thus, the Temple itself was mostly forgotten.

  “Those markings remained on the Temple’s walls to remind us of a time when all magics thrived,” I say. “The ones drawn on your necklace depict devotion to the Earth Master.”

  Sanya’s gaze flicks toward mine. “Where’d you learn that? I only know about this magic stuff because of Ma.”

  “I . . . had a tutor at the orphanage.”

  “Since when do orphanages have tutors?” Amir challenges.

  Thankfully, Sanya cuts in before I have the chance to speak. “You know, we wouldn’t need a reminder of magic if we still had it. Rumors be damned.”

  “Rumors?”

  Amir stiffens. “No one really believes magic still exists.” He looks at me for confirmation. “People’ve been whispering in the villages. Saying some are showing rare signs of powers.” He waggles his eyebrows at me for good measure.

  Rare signs? I think of what Ria mentioned to me—the fever children. Kids showing an inkling of power. Could there be truth to these rumors?

  Sanya, for once, agrees. “Damn the royals. It’s their ancestor’s fault that most magic’s been wiped out. You know, I bet that the raja is the real killer, not just the snakes. He probably lures his prey into the palace’s Snake Pit and kills his victims with his own fangs.”

  “You truly believe those stories?” I snap. “The royalty might speak to snakes, and they may share similar attributes, but they are not serpents themselves.”

  “I’d have to see a royal to believe it,” Sanya says, wearing a cruel smile. She seems to enjoy my discomfort.

  Believe me, I think, you already have.

  “Enough,” Amir says. “Can we eat our food in peace without any bickering?”

  Sanya shuts her mouth. I stuff mine with food before I can say something out of turn. At least with the table now silent, I can ponder Irfan and Sanya’s hushed conversation from early this morning. I overheard them at dawn, chattering about no longer wanting to be wanderers, and needing horses. . . .

  Sanya had mentioned yesterday that the barkeep was barely giving her shifts. And after getting changed this morning into some of Sanya’s spare clothes, I noticed that Irfan and Sanya had already packed their bags. Like they were prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. Perhaps they were ready to look for a new place, a fresh start.

  I inquire of Irfan, “Have you always been a nomad?”

  “Not always,” he says mysteriously. “I’ve been looking for others to join me. There’s strength in numbers.”

  I’ve dreamed of living life with no chains or shackles. Free. It always felt like a fantasy, a dream too far out of reach.

  Sanya cuts Irfan a talwar-sharp look. “Are we sharing all of our hopes and wishes with each other now? Telling each other our life stories?”

  I eye Irfan, wondering about his familiarity, though his silver irises mark him as a stranger in this kingdom. “We know your story. You disobeyed the royals to help others. Now you’re fugitives.”

  “What’s it to you? It’s been months since we last offered passage to—” He cuts himself short. “Those days are over.”

  What had he been about to say? I thought they’d only brought villagers food. Yet his eyes tell me there is more to the story: he didn’t simply forget his lawless ways; he abandoned them.

  “Sanya told me last night that if she had the chance, she would go back, help villagers like you used to.” At my words, Sanya’s eyes turn to red-hot coals, steaming into mine.

  “Why—” She pauses, glancing around the tavern, and lowers her voice. “I told you, we stopped when the Charts noticed what we were doing.”

  “But you didn’t want to stop.” It’s a statement, one that clearly resonates. The two exchange a long glance.

  “If you help us, it’ll be like old times,” Amir reasons, catching on. “You’d be helping us, and we’d be helping you.”

  “How?” Irfan retaliates.

  “I heard your conversation this morning.” My voice is so quiet, the wind whistling through the tavern nearly takes it away. “You want horses for transport out of here, don’t you? We could help with that.”

  Amir catches on. “We’re thieves, and damn good ones.”

  Sanya harrumphs. “And how would we help you?”

  “Amir said you know of the Mailan Foothills,” I tell Sanya. “We don’t want money. We want knowledge.”

  Sanya crosses her arms tightly. “I’m guessing Amir never told you? We lived there—with our parents when we were children. We left about ten years ago.”

  “What?” I turn to Amir. “You told me you’d only heard of the Foothills, not that you’d been there.”

  Ria’s friend bites his lip. “I’d nearly forgotten about the place before you brought it u
p. After our parents . . .” His gaze flickers to Sanya’s. “Well, it was more Sanya’s dream than mine to go back there.”

  Sanya’s glowering softens.

  “You see?” I press. “Our goals align.” I can’t give up this opportunity. This is the only way I can get to the Foothills. I might be on this mission to prove something to Father, but Tutor also asked me for his help. I need to remember what Tutor told me, to come into my own the way Queen Amrita did. I’m more than just the Snake Princess. I’ll prove it.

  Sanya blows a breath. “Truth is, Irfan and I didn’t just steal food. We—we smuggled people. We helped them escape the draft. Kept them away from a life as a soldier.”

  “What? You didn’t mention that yesterday,” Amir says.

  “Well, the less you knew, the better,” Sanya says spitefully. “I remembered the way, so I led people through secret routes to the Hidden Lands. It’s a safe haven for people, for families who were desperate.”

  “It’s been half a year since we last went,” Irfan divulges. “When Sanya found me, she made me realize this war is big but not too big for us to stop. They expect us to die, but the best revenge is to live.”

  The words settle into my bones.

  Amir’s eyes widen. “So why are you guys staying here? In the tavern?”

  “I was saving up the money for Jas Auntie,” Sanya says stubbornly. “And now the barkeep is kicking me out. I barely have enough coins to keep a bed at the tavern. As for the passports . . .” She gazes at Amir. “Every time I thought of them, I remembered you. How much you wanted them for us. So I convinced Jas to start making fake passports for people we brought to the hills. So they could escape if need be.”

  “Jas Auntie?” Amir asks. “Making . . . fake passports?”

  “Yeah, that’s why we need the money—to get materials.” Sanya must notice my confusion, because she clarifies, “Jas is an old family friend in the Mailan Foothills. She helped my parents out for a while.” The memory offers a flicker of yearning in Sanya’s eyes. “Amir and I met her as kids. Over the past year, I returned to her a few times with as much money as I could muster. But now even if I wanted to go back, we can’t afford a new steed. Sold our last one.”

  “You don’t need to pay for a horse when we can steal ’em. Maybe this is our best bet,” Amir convinces. “Do you really wanna sleep on the streets like I have? Sanya, we both dreamed of more than this.”

  Sanya’s eyes go glassy with remembrance, but she shakes her head. “We shouldn’t do anything else to draw attention. Charts are on our tails as it is. And if they’re looking for the stone Samar was after . . .”

  The air itself freezes. My heartbeat is in my fingertips. “The Bloodstone,” I say. I hadn’t known villagers were knowledgeable on the subject.

  “So you’ve heard of it, huh?”

  “Just a bedtime story.”

  “Not all stories are make-believe,” Sanya huffs. “The Bloodstone is very real, very powerful, and very hidden.”

  And my first clue to finding it is in the Foothills, I think. Tutor handed me a clue—the ring. The ring with the leaf from the plant that grows in the Foothills. I need to follow it.

  “Rumor is, the raja’s got the Charts out looking for the stone—he wants it before the war starts. To win the war,” Irfan says.

  I am startled by his words. Father has been preparing for this battle against Kaama for years, inspired by King Amrit’s cold-blooded fervor. If he found a stone that could change the fate of Abai with just one wish . . .

  Perhaps Father wants to do what his great-grandfather could not. Find a way to become the most powerful king to have ever existed.

  Is this why Tutor left the palace four years ago? Did Tutor know the king and his soldiers were looking for the stone?

  This situation is more dire than I thought. We need to leave, now.

  “Look, Sanya.” I add a layer of vigor to my tone. “Right now you need horses, yes?”

  Dejected, Sanya nods.

  “Then you’ll both need a thief’s hands. And two thieves would be all the better. We’ll steal a few horses for transport and get to the Foothills.” I reach into the pouch hidden in my cloak, offering a few shining coins. “I don’t have much, but you can get all the materials you need. Do we have an agreement?” A part of me wants to keep the money—I’m running out quickly—but I need these two on my side.

  It takes a moment for Sanya and Irfan to consider the offer, but with no other choice, they agree.

  Now I have two strangers and a thief on my journey, and time is ticking away. I won’t waste a second of it.

  “So, what’s the plan, Princess?”

  Amir’s words nearly make me jump out of my skin, but I quickly remember the nickname to be a jest.

  We’re standing in a village—Vadi, I remember from my lessons—and a poor one at that. It looks nothing like Anari, the capital, with glittering spires and flourishing markets; here, everything is coated with a fine layer of dust, even the air we breathe. A newsboy in a green kurta rushes by, reminding me of palace servants in their jade attire. But while the palace gleams like a diamond, the huts here are dull like aged sandstone. A deep sense of unease starts to grow in me as I take in the squalor around me, so far from the opulence I grew up with.

  As I step forward, I realize the ground is cracked and uneven. “Has a drought passed through here?” Even the air feels stagnant, sticky.

  “Not that long ago,” Irfan says, eyeing me as if the answer should be obvious. “Hundreds of years without tidesweepers have cost us.” He sighs. “The balance in our world isn’t the same. Everyone’s noticed, even if they don’t realize the cause.”

  Shame burns my cheeks. How could I have never known that magic has ripped my kingdom of its resources? Cost my people their lives, their comfort? If tidesweepers still existed, water would not have to be such a limited resource. With flametalkers, heat could be restored with just a touch on a cool winter’s night. All I have ever known is snake magic, and the lives it can so easily take. I’ve never thought of the good magic could do.

  The good I could do.

  “Follow me,” Irfan says, urging us out onto the dirt-paved road. I train my gaze ahead, though I see heads turning, as if they sense something amiss with my too-perfect features, or the healthy glow of my cheeks.

  Men and women plow their wheelbarrows through the dirty streets, faces lined with grime. The air is smoky, filled with fog and mist, secrets and sorrow.

  The stables are in my line of sight. Irfan’s plan echoes in my ears: head to the east quarter, find the stables, distract the merchant. Simple enough, Amir had replied. Except for the fact that I am certainly not the best thief in Abai. I am no thief at all.

  “Ria? What’s wrong?” Amir says at my silence.

  “Nothing,” I snap harshly. Too harshly. I glance around, watching Irfan and Sanya head to the crest of the Moga Jungle. “I’m a bit on edge is all. Maybe we could just, I don’t know, tempt the horses out of the stables with food?”

  “Horse food?” Amir laughs. “You need to relax, Ria. Stealing is like being in quicksand. If you panic, you’ll drown.”

  Although Amir’s advice is sound, nothing can stop the fear rising in my throat. “Perhaps you should do it.”

  Amir’s brows scrunch in confusion. “You mean . . .” His eyes light. “I knew you had a plan brewing! You’ll distract the merchant while I get the horses to Irfan and Sanya.”

  “Um, well—”

  “Perfect,” Amir says. Before I can utter a response, Amir spins me in the other direction. Everything blurs together; I’m a fish without water, a princess without her throne. A girl in a beautiful sari about to become a horse thief.

  But I must look like I know what I’m doing. Ahead of me sits a gate to the merchant’s stall, behind which stands an endless array of horses. Amir is nowhere to be found, already moving like a shadow.

  Distract the merchant. Do not get caught. The words sizzle in my bones li
ke one of Father’s cold commands. I approach the stall as though I am the raja: confident, poised, calm. Tutor’s words ring to mind. To be royal is to act royal. Be poised, be precise, and you shall be unquestionably a leader.

  “Good day,” I say, keeping my voice light and regal. The more attention I attract, the better.

  The merchant stands as tall as he is wide. He’s got at least a head on me, his arms bulky and roped. Fine gray hairs sprout from the crown of his head.

  “Whaddaya want?” Merchant Man asks.

  “I’m afraid I’m very lost,” I say, turning my voice to a whimper. “I was wandering through the jungles with little food when I found Vadi. I haven’t much coin to spare, you see.” Exhausted as I am, I call upon the magic in my veins, praying my voice will be as luring as a snake’s rattle.

  “Yeah?” He narrows his eyes. “Where’d ya get those earrings?”

  “I am humbler than you think, sir. A gifted jeweler from Nabh offered me this.” The words taste sour, but they slip off my tongue easily.

  “I am quite lost,” I repeat. “Perhaps you could help me.”

  “I ain’t a map.” He juts his thumb behind him. “Scram.”

  I sneak a glance at the stables. One horse gone. Keep the charade up a while longer. But I cannot think of what else to do. I need to think like Ria—like a thief.

  “You don’t seem to understand,” I say, drawing out the words. I reach into my pouch and fish out a coin, quiet as a whisper. I slide it to the merchant and lean in.

  “I’m looking for information on an artifact,” I begin, voice low, “long believed to be a fable.”

  “Could be anything,” the man says, though his gaze sharpens as he observes the coin, curious. Wondering what kind of game I’ve orchestrated. He slides the coin to his side of the table and examines it in the light. “You know the name of this object?”

  I swallow, thinking carefully. “I believe it to be called . . . the Bloodstone.”

  The man laughs, his lips forming a mocking grin. “Yeah, that thing only exists in people’s nightmares. Rumors pass around here all the time, though. A man was searching for it, thinking the bloody thing existed.”