by Sasha Nanua
“Light steps,” he reminds me. “Angle yourself like this,” Saeed shows me. We resume the steps: forward, side, back. I’m dizzy by the time Saeed finally calls for a break.
“Thank the skies,” I huff. Saeed lets go of my hand like it’s as hot as iron sitting in the sun.
“Forgot your steps?” he asks me. I can’t tell if I hear sarcasm or genuine care in his voice.
“Why do you care?” I snap. I wish I could clamp those words back into my mouth; I should be helping Saeed after what I discovered last night, not berating him like Rani once might’ve.
At the flash of hurt in his eyes, I say, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve said that.”
“That’s all right, Princess.” He stares out the jalis, but there’s the faintest twitch in his jaw.
I puff my chest. “No, it’s not,” I tell him, “and it isn’t fair for me to treat you this way.” If I want Saeed to listen to me, I need him to trust me. Which means burying all this stuff with Rani into the dirt. “It’s like the bridge between Abai and Kaama. Just because they failed to finish building it doesn’t mean it was meaningless. If they tried to build toward peace, why can’t we?”
“You mean . . . we should start over?” Once it’s out in the air, that concern on his face blossoms into hope. A hope I could never fulfill as an orphan-thief. A fake princess.
I nod. Stuffing down my guilt. It’s not like I mean to toy with his emotions.
“You know, there was more to that story,” Saeed says. “If you’re willing to continue our history lesson.”
“Yes,” I say a little too eagerly. History was always my favorite subject with Mama Anita; it made me feel like I was part of something bigger than just the orphanage. More than a nameless girl with no past and no future.
Saeed smiles. “Despite the fact that the bridge was not fully built, two lovers, one Abaian and one Kaaman, would try to meet halfway across the bridge. They would see each other in the distance but could never come close enough to reunite. Legend says they never stopped trying, until finally, in their old age, they leaped toward each other, and clasped onto one another so that they could at last be together in death.”
His gaze holds mine. It’s a tragic, romantic story, but it’s more. “Their bond shows that there truly isn’t a good kingdom or an evil one; just two kings with opposing beliefs, and their people, caught in the middle.”
Saeed gazes at me intently, a spark of something in his eyes. It’s like he’s excited to see me—Rani—this way. Maybe Rani would’ve scoffed cynically at the story and missed the deeper meaning; maybe I would’ve too, once. But something about Saeed’s teachings enraptures me the way Mama Anita’s stories once did.
“You’re a good tutor, you know,” I tell him softly. I don’t realize how close we’re standing until I notice the dark circles ringing the underside of his eyes. Curling in front of his eyes is a dark lock of hair, lush and soft. I’m tempted to sweep it back, and before I can stop myself, my fingers brush the strand instinctively.
A dark residue comes off on my hand. The curl, once black, now looks . . . white.
“Y-your hair—” I begin.
Saeed quickly sweeps back the curl and grimaces. “Stress,” he answers, too quickly. “I’ve been covering the strands with Mother’s special powder.”
He’s right; it was black powder that came off on my hand, revealing the white underneath. But stress? I touch the side of his face, a thumb gently pressing to the deep purple bloom under his eyes. He winces, like he’s not sure if he should give in to my touch or step back. “You look tired. Is it the dreams again?”
Saeed sucks his cheeks in. “I’m taking the tonic.” It’s not a question, though his tone lilts, and I can sense the lie sitting on his tongue.
“Every night?”
He nods after a beat. “My dreams aren’t going away, just becoming less clear. Like something’s clouding them.”
The tonic. It must be affecting Saeed’s mind somehow, the snake venom. He has to know the truth. “Saeed, what your mother is giving you—it isn’t a sleep tonic. Unless sleep tonics use venom these days.” I grumble the last part.
“What do you mean?” he asks innocently. “Mother consulted a physician in Anari. Song beetle juice, valerian, lavender . . .”
How do I put this gently? Skies take it, maybe the best way is to rip off the bandage. “I meant she’s giving you something else. It’s snake venom.”
“I don’t understand.” Saeed steps back. But I’m dead serious, and he can read it on my face.
“It’s hardly noticeable to someone without snake magic,” I say. These powers might be new to me, but I feel them simmering in my blood, ringing true. “Saeed, I think she’s poisoning you.”
Saeed starts, a bit of anger in his eyes, the first time I’ve seen such from him. “Rani, this is my mother we’re speaking of. How can you make such an accusation?”
Maybe I shouldn’t’ve been so up front about it, but Saeed deserves to hear the truth. “If you don’t believe me, give me a chance to prove it.”
He shakes his head, still in disbelief.
“Trust me. I’ll explain everything. I can show you I’m telling the truth. Will you meet me tomorrow after our lessons?” I ask.
“You’ve told me enough,” Saeed says, though his voice is one of curiosity.
“Just give me a chance.”
Saeed’s hazel eyes touch mine, and out of nowhere, he takes me by the hand and resumes our dance, spinning me out. I loop back to him in twirls until he catches me in his arms and lowers me back toward the floor, his face inches away from mine.
“A chance?” he asks, but his gaze isn’t on me. It’s on my lips, so dangerously close to his.
“I . . .” I’m dizzy from all the spinning, the blood rushing to my head. “I think there’s more going on here than you know.”
Saeed eyes me. For a second, it’s like he knows I’m different. The facade begins to slip away just as Shima shouts in my mind, Time!
I shoot up, nearly knocking into Saeed’s forehead. “Thanks a lot, snake,” I grumble. I almost forgot she was there.
Shima smirks. Saeed glances over at her and shivers, probably still afraid of her after whatever incident happened between them.
“So?” I ask Saeed.
“Your lessons come first. But . . .” He sighs. “Meet me at sunset tomorrow. The Stone Terrace.”
By late evening, after I’ve finished the rest of my lessons, the palace is still bustling. It’s like I’m back in the jungles, except instead of birdcalls, all I hear is gossip. Nobles filter through the front doors, followed by maidservants with trays of almond-shaped sweets. The servants remind me of the girl, Aditi. I scan the servants until I find her, but she’s rushing off so fast all I see is her chunni and braids as she whips around the corner. I hurry to find her until she swims back into view. Her eyes dart around with suspicion as she heads out of a separate corridor and toward a set of large double doors.
Curious, I sneak behind Aditi, hiding behind pillars until she’s standing before the doors. Adjusting her jade chunni with one hand, she rushes into the room, and with quiet footsteps, I follow. Once I pass the gilded doors, I step in—and gasp.
It’s miraculous. Rows upon rows of shelves hold books and journals. A musty scent perfumes the air, one that could only belong to the smell of old parchment.
The library.
I peer through the shelves, spotting Aditi. I inhale the tomes’ dust, my nose tingling.
And I sneeze.
Oops.
Aditi’s braids whip through the air as she turns. “Who’s there?”
My heart thuds in my chest. No more hiding now.
I step out from the shadows, a weak smile painted on my face. When Aditi spots me, she looks scared out of her wits, eyes wide and chunni hanging lopsided from her tiny frame.
“P-Princess, what are you doing here?”
I think on my feet. “I just came to the library for so
me light reading,” I squeak.
Aditi isn’t convinced. Maybe Rani isn’t the type for some light reading.
“Do you know your way around the library? I’m looking for a book that could teach me more about snake venom.”
“Of course, miss,” Aditi says. “Right this way.”
The girl scurries to a far shelf, retrieves a book, and returns to me. The tattered cover reads The Complete History of Magic by Suneel Nanda. Even in the low light, I can tell the spine is creased, pages yellowed and weathered. I can probably count on my hand how many times I’ve held a book in my life. The orphanage wasn’t so fortunate to have many resources. It’s not like the raja cared much for struggling students.
“I’ll go back to work straightaway if you wish, Princess.” Aditi’s so still, she looks like a statue among the other books. But her eyes betray her—alive, and scared.
“No, don’t.” The words surprise her. “Do you mind staying? I’d . . . like your help with this book.” Something about her presence is comforting, familiar.
Aditi nods slowly, flips through the book, and offers it to me spread-eagled. On the pages are an intricate diagram of a snake jaw and fangs. My brains swims, and I feel my serpent power emerging. There’s something to detect here. I catch a whiff of a scent emanating from the book. Very specifically, and most strongly, from these two pages—roses and chai. I think of the first moment I saw Amara, shoving her cup of tea back at Aditi—and of Amara’s constant demand for fresh rose blossoms.
I run a finger over the page. There’s a droplet on one side of it.
My breath catches. The tonic.
My mind reels back to the moment Shima and I first met, what she told me. Snakespeakers like yourself have a certain immunity to venoms. . . .
On the next page there are instructions for making a tincture of snake venom, and something below it:
WARNING: This tincture is designed to be administered to snakespeakers only, as it helps fully develop a royal’s powers. Ingestion by non-snakespeakers will have a price.
A price? I quickly read off the rest of the page. “Side effects include memory alteration, brain fog, and sleep disorders. Physical symptoms include whitening hair . . .”
Wait. White hair? Hadn’t I just seen Saeed’s hair earlier, one of the curls white? Stress, he’d thought. Or maybe something else.
Saeed’s tired eyes, the nightmares, the white hair. It’s all because of this. Instead of helping Saeed sleep, his mother is doing something else. She’s making things worse.
On purpose.
I have to tell Saeed—this is exactly the proof I needed—but we arranged to meet tomorrow. And I’m sure he wouldn’t be thrilled at the sight of me.
“Could I borrow this book from you? I promise I’ll put it back here when I’m done.”
The girl eyes me strangely. “It’s your library, Princess.”
I manage a nervous chuckle. “Of course.” The moon is high now, and Aditi’s eyes droop as she stifles a yawn.
“If you’re tired, you can—”
“My apologies, miss.” She stiffens, alert. “I shouldn’t have yawned. I’ll begin double cleaning duties tomorrow—”
“Wait,” I interrupt. “You think I’m going to punish you? For a yawn?”
“That’s what you said to the servants last week,” she squeaks. “You said if any of us stepped out of line again, our new home would be with the snakes.”
Rani said that? I shiver at the prospect of my sister threatening her own servants. When we speak again, I’m going to make sure she appreciates the people who work tirelessly to enable her fancy life.
“No need for cleaning duties.” I try to keep my voice as princess-like as possible. “Instead I want your honesty.”
Aditi looks up her nose at me. “Of course, Princess.”
“Has Amara told you anything about that tonic? The ingredients? Where she gets them from?”
Aditi is quick to press her trembling lips tight. I lower myself so we’re at eye level and she fumbles back, hitting the nearest shelf.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say. “I just need your help.”
She gulps. Fright ebbing away, she opens her mouth to speak. “Mistress Amara doesn’t like me to speak of this, or any of her business.” She lifts her hands shakily. Scars ribbon her palms. I can tell where those scars came from. Whips. I have a few of them myself.
All the same, horror dawns on me, and I hold Aditi’s hands, disgusted by Amara’s actions. What Aditi and I have both gone through.
“Amara,” I curse. “What has she done?”
Aditi worries her lower lip. “If I don’t comply, she has . . . methods. She’s only just become the raja’s adviser, but she’s been using us servants for a long time. Keeping us silent with the help of a Chart.” Her voice turns to a whisper. “She requests books from the library. I ask her, sometimes, if I can read something from here. Not research. But she forbids it. Servants aren’t supposed to read.”
“But you do?”
She shrugs stiffly. “I started reading this after Mistress Amara was finished with it. But I used to read other things, too. Books about faraway worlds and fantasies, something I could . . . escape into.”
Aditi’s voice grows small. I stayed at the palace for one reason, and one reason only: to learn more about my birth. But it seems like during my time here, I’ve been unraveling other secrets. Saeed’s dreams, the raja’s war plans. Amara’s cruelty.
My stomach knots. What have I gotten myself into?
Outside, the bells chime. Aditi quivers at the sound. “I’m sorry, miss, but I must go deliver something for Mistress Amara.”
Before I can reply, Aditi turns to leave. Her braids fly behind her as she scurries out of the library, quiet as a mouse.
20
Rani
Shock. Confusion. Guilt. With everything I feel, I cannot seem to place the right words on my tongue.
“That is all, Karan,” Jas says, and the man takes his leave. The woman pushes away from her desk and stands, an obelisk among ruins. Jewels, fake to the trained eye, lie haphazard around the room, an audience to her show.
Is Tutor’s wife truly none other than Jas, the passport maker Sanya spoke of?
In the faint light from a nearby oil lamp, I take in Tutor’s wife. Weathered lines snake out from the creases of her eyes, and dimples mark her cheeks. Her kohl-rimmed eyes are the color of still-brewing chai. A ragged quilt is draped over her shoulders, almost entirely concealing a ring hanging off a plain necklace.
It matches Tutor’s perfectly.
“What is your name, child?”
Bile rises up my throat. “Ria,” I force out.
“And how did you know my husband, may I ask?” With the few torches and firelight scattered around the tent, her eyes look like golden-brown orbs. Only now do I take in the wrinkles on her forehead and above her lips, the widow’s peak crowning the top of her head.
“It’s a long story,” I confess. “But he gave this to me for a reason. I believe he wanted me to come here—to the Foothills, and to you. He wished for me to find a stone . . . the Bloodstone.”
Vexation flashes in Jas’s eyes, followed by utter confusion. “How did you— Your search for the stone is foolish. You’d be better off forgetting about it.”
“I need your help,” I tell her. “Please—”
“Ria?” a familiar voice interjects.
I whip my head to the voice. A figure rustles through the tent entrance. Sanya appears, dressed in new garb: a simple shirt and loose trousers. “How’d you get here?” she asks me. Her voice is strained, accusatory. But her eyes soften when she finds Tutor’s wife. “Jas Auntie,” she says, rushing into the tent. She embraces Jas in a fierce hug, one riddled with familiarity and history.
Jas pulls away and tucks a stray lock of hair behind Sanya’s ear. “My dear Sanya, what are you doing back here?”
“It’s a lot to explain. I’m sorry we ever left.” Sanya�
��s mouth pulls into a frown.
Jas looks at Sanya with the reverence and love of a mother to a child. My heart spikes when I remember Mother, the queen of Abai. I’ve never been away from her this long. And it’s been even longer since she’s held me close like that.
“How do you know Jas?” Sanya asks me.
“I—I don’t,” I stutter, cheeks aflame. “How do you know each other?”
“I told you,” Sanya says. “My parents were family friends with Jas.” Sanya turns back to Tutor’s wife. “I’m so sorry. I heard about Samar.”
“It seems we have both lost the ones we loved,” Jas says tenderly. Her face hardens with memories. “Does Amir know?”
She nods. “He knows about Samar’s death . . . just not who he is to you.”
At the tent entrance, Irfan and Amir appear.
Irfan steps forward and folds Jas into a hug. “I’m sorry about him.”
Jas’s eyes darken as she pulls away. She wraps her hands around his. “Samar told me many things about you that you have yet to admit to me, Irfan.”
Irfan swallows, throat bobbing. I don’t miss his shifting eyes, nor the way he looks like he didn’t want me and Amir to overhear those words. “I’m truly sorry, Jas,” he repeats. “I did everything I could before he was taken.”
The two share a look, one filled with heartbreak and melancholy.
Two people who were connected to the man I always considered a father. There was so much I never knew about him. My heart thumps with grief.
“Jas? Is that really you?” Amir says.
“Amir,” she whispers. “You still have that boyish twinkle in your eyes.” She gathers him in a hug.
His voice cracks as he says, “It’s been so long, I barely remembered this place.”
“Nearly ten years,” Sanya supplies. “I thought you’d remember, little brother.”
Amir pulls away from Jas. The air crackles with tension until Sanya finally speaks. “Amir . . . you need to know something.”