Sisters of the Snake

by Sasha Nanua

  I turn back to Aditi. “You can’t. But you can do this—don’t treat me like a princess. I’m no one special. I’m just me, and you’re just you.”

  Aditi presses a fingertip to her small, pointed nose. “I gave everyone nicknames back at the orphanage.”

  My eyes snap up at those words. “You lived in an orphanage?”

  She nods. “There, I had friends. But here—”

  “When did you leave?” I ask curtly.

  “I was no more than a few summers old,” she says. “I can hardly remember anyone. Just a few of my friends. I nicknamed one Fox and knew a boy called Tiger. They called me Mouse.”

  I smile sadly. At the orphanage, I didn’t have enough friends to warrant a nickname. I only had Mama Anita.

  “Well, Mouse,” I begin. “What should be my nickname?”

  Aditi thinks. Grins. “Lynx.”

  A lynx and a mouse. The most unlikely of pairs but then again, so is a servant and a princess.

  Aditi peers up at me. Part of her is still afraid of me.

  “I’ll make sure you have your servant duties cut down over the next couple days, so I can come look at the book with you.”

  “Th-thank you.” Aditi finds my gaze. “But Mistress Amara wouldn’t like me being away from her for very long. She needs Master Saeed’s tonic, and her roses—”

  “Roses?” I say. “But she doesn’t really need a rose.”

  Aditi shakes her head. “She does, miss. She requires them every night. I serve them on my tray. It’s why I had to leave the other night for my delivery.”

  She had left in a rush. I didn’t question it at the time.

  “Aditi, do you think you could look into where those roses come from? Maybe do a little more research in the library, just in case?”

  Aditi nods firmly, sure and steadfast. “I’d do anything to repay your help. When should we meet next . . . Lynx?”

  22

  Rani

  “You can be more than what the stars wish for.”

  Tutor stands before me, eyes soft blue, forehead wrinkled. I reach out for him, wishing to feel his fatherly touch, the warmth of his hand on my head. Is this a dream? He looks alive, his dimpled cheeks plump and rosy.

  “You must keep going,” Tutor says, “for I cannot. You must find the stone.”

  “I will,” I say, lips wobbling.

  Tutor’s hands grasp mine. But they’re cool as ice. I see him falling, falling, falling. Into a pool of ashes and nightmares.

  I gasp awake. The tent is empty, and Amir’s cot is cold beside mine. There is a dent in the mat from where he was sleeping softly; he likely woke up a while ago. A soft quilt that wasn’t there when I fell asleep covers my body. Had Amir left this for me? It still feels warm from his touch.

  I shake away the dream and reach for the clothes at the foot of my bed: a tunic, matching leggings, and a chunni. When I’ve changed, I scratch at the rough fabric, so unlike the palace’s silks. Thankfully, the clothes smell fresh, like the palace gardens’ potted turmeric plants.

  Outside, the Foothills are alive with smell and sound. Men pass by, carrying hefty bags of grain on their backs. From the nearest firepit, a line stretches for breakfast.

  “Ria.” Sanya swims into view, resting on a log near a firepit. She holds out a cup of tea.

  I approach her and take it. The taste of the chai is sweet, and too strong for my taste. If my maids had given me this, I would have spit it out in a heartbeat. Yet now I take another gulp, and another—the very act a sort of rebellion against my past.

  The spices, familiar to me as the palace throne room, invigorate me. Cinnamon, clove, cardamom. Shima once taught me that spices help reset the magic levels in my blood; now I feel my magic swim through me, alive and ready.

  “They fit.” She nods at the clothes.

  “They do.” What was the polite thing to do? Whenever someone spoke to me, they bowed, but that felt wrong with Sanya. I settle for a simple nod of thanks.

  “Come,” Sanya says. “Jas has been waiting for you.”

  “For me?” I wonder. She didn’t seem to want to be near me last night.

  “Yeah.” Is that resentment I hear? But Sanya simply guides me away.

  The morning light washes everything with gold. The sandy plateau ahead looks dipped in honey, the rocky pathway steeped in a gilded elixir. We crest over the steps and climb until we reach the plateau.

  When I look down, my stomach churns. It’s dizzying, the swarm of bodies, the low-hanging clouds. The familiar smells of paneer and daal cooking in a patila waft up to me. Far out from the Mailan Foothills, I spot a glittering lake and the caps of the jungle trees swaying in the wind.

  “In here,” Sanya says, gesturing to a grand scarlet tent, the same one I’d visited yesterday. Inside, I overhear a voice speaking, “I don’t even know what I want anymore.”

  It’s strange how easily I can recognize his tone. I peel back the rough canvas and step in. Amir quiets, turning. He almost looks princely in his white kurta. I can’t quite place what about it is so regal. Is this the first time I’ve seen him in new clothes?

  Jas sits at her wooden desk, working carefully with a feather pen and sporting slender glasses. Her hair is woven in an intricate bun at the top of her head, and her clothes are simple: a suit the color of a ripened plum, bangles that clink melodiously as she moves. In the sunshine streaming through the tent’s opening, I can make out the details of her features better than I could last night. Her face tells a story: a partially cleft lip; eyes both warm and cool; a slender, upturned nose.

  “The passports are nearly ready,” Jas says without looking up. She refills the ink of her pen and finds me standing before her at the threshold. “You came.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” I approach the desk, strewn with passports. “Your handwork is marvelous.”

  Jas lowers her pen and stands, both hands flat on the table. “I was trained professionally at the Academy a long, long time ago.”

  “Academy?” Amir asks. “Never heard of one.”

  “Not in Abai,” I clarify. “Retan. They’re known for their calligraphers and scholars alike.”

  “Very smart.” Jas looks surprised when I speak but nods approvingly. “Knowledge is a bridge to all things, you know.” Her eyes twinkle as she massages her wrists. “I know much of the Foothills, too. Samar was a very smart man, and we shared our knowledge.”

  A low pang hits my stomach. Jas is not wrong about Tutor. He taught me nearly everything I know. But I’m learning every day that there is still so much more I have yet to discover.

  “They’re nearly done, free of charge.” Jas smiles.

  “But—” Amir begins.

  “The passports aren’t the only reason I called you here.” She turns to me. I briefly wonder: What was Amir talking about before with Jas?

  “You, dear Ria, are the first person to mention the Bloodstone to me in a long, long time.”

  “But—you thought me a fool,” I start, utterly caught off guard. “You thought—”

  “I thought I was right,” Jas says. “I’ve been waiting here in these tents, having forgotten the importance of everything my husband loved. Then you gave me his book, where we used to write each other notes. . . .” Her eyes turn misty.

  “The notes in the margins were written in code,” I tell her.

  “Indeed. Samar and I used to write messages in our own sort of language. The symbols ensured that if our notes were intercepted while he was away working, no one would know of our true intentions with the Bloodstone.”

  “That’s . . . kind of brilliant,” Amir remarks. “Making up a whole language.”

  “It was simplistic but held up.” Jas pulls out the book and offers me a glance. There are symbols of the sun, a gem, a small hut, and a strange square with lines drawn through it diagonally.

  “What do those mean?”

  “I believe . . .” Jas pauses. “He was writing down the location of the Bloodstone. The ge
m represents the stone, the square a piece of glass. The sun, a symbol of Amran.”

  “And the hut . . . a house. A home.” The pieces click together. “Do you mean to say Samar believed the stone was in the home of Amran?”

  Jas nods. “The Glass Temple. He even wrote a possible route of how to find it.”

  She points at more symbols, explaining the strange code further. “He left instructions, details about the Temple. Perhaps for himself . . . perhaps for me.” She shutters the book closed.

  “He knew?” All this time? A painful memory of his death resurges. The words on his lips. What if he died before he could tell me more?

  “He had a hunch,” Jas confirms. “Even I had my doubts, but he once told me of the Temple and its forgotten importance to our world. This journal reminded me that the search for the stone should never have ended. My husband wanted more than adventure—he wanted freedom. For a while, I forgot what it was like to see that commitment. That courage.”

  I hold my breath. Commitment? Courage? It certainly took some of that to run from Father and speak my mind. But my intentions were selfish. They still are. I seek to show my father the truth. To prove to him my worth.

  But Tutor, Amir’s parents—they struggled for something far greater. Something that was not just for them. It was for Amir, with his scars and stories. For the woman with the missing tongue. Even Sanya helped others find the Foothills and escape a worse fate.

  The realization settles heavily on my shoulders.

  Jas takes my hands into hers. “If my husband entrusted you with his ring, that could only mean one thing. The Charts are close to finding the stone, and we must stop them.”

  “You truly mean it?” I ask her, hope bubbling inside me.

  She lists her head to one side. “I know what I said last night, and I know what I’m saying now.”

  “You want to go after it?” Amir peers at her quizzically. “My parents died on this quest! Your husband died! How will this time be any different?”

  Jas purses her lips. “Because this time, we’ll have new blood in our search.” She smiles an elderly smile, one that’s seen both love and hardship. “Thieves.”

  Amir laughs, as though he cannot quite believe our conversation. “I’m not special. There’re hundreds of thieves out there.”

  “Don’t you wish,” Jas says, “that for once, you could live a life where you could be handed what you desire instead of taking it?”

  Amir grows silent, but the answer is plain on his face. Yes.

  Jas squares her shoulders and looks at each of us intently. “With just one wish, the Bloodstone could create vast destruction—or be used for peace. It is not difficult to see which one the raja prefers. If we were to retrieve the stone before the Charts, we would get a chance to have what we wish. There might not have to be a war at all. No fighting about the Masters, no waiting for destruction after a hundred years of peace.

  “All I ask is your agreement.” Jas’s steady gaze finds mine. “I’ve spoken with Sanya and Irfan. They agree this mission should not be left unfulfilled. And I believe this journey will grant you more than just the passage you desire. It is up to you.”

  She holds out the passports. Pages that represent nothing but freedom. Amir takes hold of his, eyes hungry. Everything he ever wanted.

  He slumps onto the nearest seat. “And let’s say we do go looking for this stone. How long would that take?”

  I think back to the fountain’s fortune, how it led us to Sanya—with Amir’s help, thank Amran. Its prophecy is still clear as day.

  “Seek the place of stone and glass, where emptiness hides and fire flames . . .” I recite the start of the prophecy.

  “What’re you saying?” Amir’s brows dip.

  I bite my lower lip. “Remember how I told you I saw a girl in the fountain? The girl who turned out to be Sanya? Well . . .” I inhale deeply. “I think maybe the fountain told me something else. A prophecy.”

  “What did it say?” Amir prods. Even Jas looks at me with great interest, as if she cannot believe I have peered into the Fountain of Fortunes itself.

  “It mentioned something about magic and a lost ancient guard. A lurking magic you will find, through the ancient guards’ lost ways,” I recite, turning to Jas. “Do you have any idea what such a prophecy could mean?” It’s clear I cannot learn all the answers myself; Jas will be my looking glass, my flame in the darkness, to help me decipher the mysterious code.

  “The guard,” Jas says, nodding. It is as if something has flicked on in her mind. She paces toward her desk and shovels through piles of parchment until she lands on the right one. “Of course. This is it.”

  “What is it?” My words are impatient, too high-pitched to sound like Ria’s voice, but right now that is not my care. My pulse pounds in my ears.

  “Samar always told me stories—fiction, I had once thought—of a group of ancient warriors,” she begins. “He said they protected the Glass Temple. What they protected inside, however, I wasn’t certain . . . until now.”

  “You think they are protecting the Bloodstone?” I supply.

  “Perhaps.” She turns to Amir. “Which means retrieving this stone will not be easy. Our minds must be sharp, our bodies prepared.”

  “There’ll be Charts everywhere,” Amir reminds us. “They’re desperate to find draft deserters and the Bloodstone. How will we be safe?”

  He’s thinking of his parents again. Instinctively, I take his hand, squeezing slightly. “We can’t know for certain. But . . .” An idea springs to mind. “There won’t be as many Charts around in the coming days. Not with the princess’s engagement party coming up. They’ll be pulled back to the palace.”

  I count the days in my head. My own engagement, and I will not be there to celebrate.

  Jas nods, and even Amir looks a bit relieved.

  “I will have to continue decoding Samar’s notes—there are directions here, but they’re unclear. I will determine the route he found to the Glass Temple.” She stares at the both of us with stern eyes. “The only question now is, are you two up for the task?”

  Amir works his jaw. He glances over at me, as if this is all one grand jest.

  That could not be further from the truth.

  “It’ll be just like stealing naan,” I tell him. “Except . . . bigger.”

  Amir stares deeper into my eyes, over my face, as if memorizing my features. He seems to be mulling over the prospect of finding the stone, but I can’t help but wonder if he, too, wants to somehow fulfill his parents’ dying act. The same way I am enacting Tutor’s dying wish.

  Perhaps we are more alike than I had originally thought.

  “I never thought you’d be the savior type,” Amir jokes at me, but I know I’ve won this round when his smile tips up, and I catch myself staring. His eyes linger on mine for a beat longer, then he shakes his head as if to clear it, turning toward Jas. “Yeah. We’ll help.”

  Jas nods resolutely and takes both of our hands into hers. Amir’s warmth mingles with Jas’s motherly touch. I barely remember a time my own mother touched me with this kind of warmth.

  “Before you go,” Jas says, “I have something for you, Amir.”

  “Me?”

  Jas fishes for an object in her belongings. She produces a cloth wrapped with twine. It must be fragile by the way she holds it—or sentimental in some way.

  Amir carefully takes the cloth and unwraps the package. He gapes at the sight of it: a gold timepiece with the initials A.B. on the back.

  “Amir Bhatt,” he says. “Who did this?”

  “Your father.” A twinkle lights up Jas’s eyes. “He meant to give it to you for your birthday, but he—”

  “Couldn’t,” Amir answers, voice strangled. He turns to me. “My family was descended from goldsmiths. Papa knew the tricks of the trade . . . even wanted me to learn, eventually. But life doesn’t always go according to plan.”

  “I hope you know how much you meant to him,” Jas says
. Her fingers graze the timepiece. Amir wraps up the chain and tucks the object into the cloth. I wonder if I see tears welling in his eyes.

  But he smiles all the same. “I do.”

  Outside, Sanya paces vigorously, like a tiger with a swaying tail. Her belt is lined with daggers. “Did she tell you?”

  “Yes. The Glass Temple,” I whisper, even though no one else is within hearing distance. Stories of the Glass Temple are nearly fables. Could the fountain have been pointing me there this entire time?

  Memories of Tutor weave back into existence: the lessons where he told me of the famed Glass Temple, forged where the Masters first touched the earthen grounds.

  Not even my father, nor any of the past kings and queens, knew of the exact location of the Temple. Some believe it to be a place royalty of neither Abai nor Kaama wanted to visit until the truce had finished. But Tutor had been in the palace a long time. I wonder just how much he learned from the palace books; about the history of our world, of the Temple. Of the Bloodstone.

  Enough to fill a book’s worth in code.

  “You’re really doing this?” Sanya asks Amir. “You don’t have to. Ma—”

  “Didn’t die for nothing,” Amir finishes. I haven’t heard this tone before. He gulps. “You and I’ve been running away for so long. But now I wanna run toward something.

  “You’ve always been there for me, Sanya. Even when I wasn’t here for you.” His final words are rushed, whispered, but I catch them on the wind. I think of Sanya and Amir, having lost their parents too soon. The comfort she must have found in Jas and Tutor.

  “I suppose you’re right.” Sanya maintains a cool distance from her brother. Something about her has softened, but Amir’s sentiment is not enough to wholly defrost the iciness between them. “Then I guess it’s time.”

  “For what?”

  “Training. Last time we came to the Foothills, Irfan forged weapons and taught people self-defense.” She pats her belt of daggers. “C’mon, he’s already waiting.”

  Sanya heads back down the cliff. For a moment, Amir and I pause and survey the world around us.

  “We should go,” Amir says, but I stop him.