Sisters of the Snake

by Sasha Nanua

  Gently, I raise a palm and offer her my hand. “The truth is, I’m not done, either.” An idea springs to mind. “We showed each other our memories before. What if we can do it again?”

  Ria’s body trembles. “I’m scared—”

  “But we can do it,” I insist. “We did it before through our most vulnerable emotions.” I think of the shock we both felt when we met, the way the memories burst forth at our first touch, as if releasing from a locked cage. “Show me, and I’ll show you. All we need to do is feel. Like that first time we met.”

  “I can’t,” Ria says.

  “Just try,” I tell her. I take her hand in mine. “Close your eyes.”

  After a moment, Ria follows suit, and I sense that power thrumming through our veins, beating hungrily, unchecked. Orange bursts flash behind my eyes. I’m seeing everything. A servant girl with braids flying behind her. Ria riding on a mare next to Saeed. Ria reaching into the Snake Pit. Amara telling the raja and his council of her conscription plans. A woman with a soft smile and round cheeks, taking care of Ria before being dragged away by Charts.

  Then, a voice, rising like steam from the Pit. “Return to my hiding place, the gift in the cobra’s mouth . . .”

  I rip my hand from hers, unable to take another second. We’re both gasping for air, processing each other’s memories with lightning speed.

  “What did you see?” I ask her.

  “You,” she breathes. “Amir. And another man . . .”

  She reaches for my hand again, and clenches it in hers. Her heartbeat races through her fingertips, matching my own. Then we’re hit with another flood of memories. Mother and Father, peering deep into the Fountain of Fortunes. In the rippling waters are a younger me and Ria, nose to nose. Eyes hardened. I watch us growing up, training to become queen, but instead of the sisterly bond I expect, we battle against one another. We disappear from the water just as I hear something: the Memory Master’s voice tied to the fountain, speaking to our parents.

  Sisters of the snake shall be born from Abai’s royalty,

  Twins of opposing forces, one of light and one of dark.

  While they train to become queen, a long-held battle will spring anew

  Their kingdom shall fall, destroyed by one.

  The girl of light will perish at the other’s hand, while the victor survives.

  Only one can reign.

  My blood is cold as the voice fades. How can this be true? Shock and incredulity are written on Mother’s and Father’s faces.

  “This cannot be,” Father says. “One of them will destroy the other. Destroy . . . the kingdom.”

  The vision changes, lurching into a new scene. Now Mother and Father are pacing his office. Mother holds back a sob, cradling her stomach. I have never seen her this way. Not for me, the daughter she never wanted. No—this is for the daughter she never knew.

  Mother stumbles, falling to her knees. “They’re coming.”

  The vision dissolves. Words fall from Mother’s lips, but they perish into nothingness. The visions fade, and I lurch back to the present. Ria shivers in front of me, stumbling back.

  “W-what did you see?”

  “Our parents,” I say gravely. “They found out the prophecy from the fountain. . . .” I glance at my birthmark. Next to Ria’s, the full image makes a snake rising from shadows. Sisters of the snake, just like the prophecy said.

  “It said we would harm each other. That we’d destroy this kingdom. I knew it, I knew they got rid of me because there was something wrong with me—”

  “No.” I shake my head. “This can’t be right. We aren’t meant to destroy the kingdom; we’re meant to save it.” Saying the words aloud feels like sending a wish into the skies.

  My stomach coils as Ria says, “Our parents never loved me. They gave me up because of a stupid prophecy. And for what? For my safety?”

  If my blood was cold before, it has turned into ice.

  “We’re not going to harm each other. I promise you,” I tell Ria. She looks at me through glassy tears.

  “Now I know why I was given up. That I was given up,” she says with resentment.

  I place my hand on hers again. “No matter what this prophecy says, I don’t believe it. We’re stronger together.”

  “How would you know?” That cynical Ria voice I first heard on Diwali night in the palace returns. She wipes off the tears. “They gave me up because one of us would be too powerful. Maybe we were supposed to be apart. Maybe I never should’ve done this.” Ria paces, frazzling her hair as she speaks. “Could’ve been past the border by now if I’d stuck to who I really am. A thief.”

  “You’re wrong,” I tell her. I push on, determined. “You’re far more than that. You’re my blood, Ria. I don’t want to forget you.”

  Ria hesitates before she says, “I don’t want to forget you, either. But sometimes I feel like I’m not the old Ria anymore. Like I’ve lost myself.”

  “You’ve changed,” I tell her. “So have I. And what you’ve learned on the streets will help you handle Amara better than I ever could have. Don’t underestimate yourself.”

  It takes a moment, but she nods in agreement. Her gaze travels behind me, and I wonder what she discerns, for I have seen her world and I am sure she is seeing mine. Does she see the jungles I’ve stepped into? The campfire where her friend sleeps soundly?

  “Amir?” she asks. I spin around.

  Sound erupts behind me. The dreamscape world melts away. Ria’s body disappears before me, and the mind link shatters like broken glass.

  A hand takes hold of my shoulder and I whirl, grabbing it in the darkness and jerking it away, those fighter instincts Irfan taught me kicking in. Reality is painted anew. The darkness of the jungle is so different from the dreamworld.

  “Ria, it’s me!” Hands spin my waist. “We were calling to you! Didn’t you hear us? What’re you doing alone in the jungle?”

  I sigh with relief. It is only Amir; Ria had seen him, too. “What is it?” I cannot help the ire in my voice. I might have had a few more minutes with Ria if he hadn’t broken our link.

  Yet Amir does not look furious with me; in fact, he seems afraid.

  “What happened?”

  In the distance, a hundred sounds come to life. I think again of the palace I saw in the dreamscape: a prison holding stiff walls, thin smiles, cold commands.

  It all comes rushing back to me when I hear the marching boots.

  “Amir, what’s happening? Where are Jas and Sanya and Irfan?”

  “They ran to the nearest tavern for safety. We need to hide. They”—he catches his breath—“they’re here.”

  “Who is here?” I ask carefully.

  “Them.” His body is still as glass except for one finger, raised to the jungles before us. “The Charts.”

  29

  Ria

  Rani fades away, and the world comes back in splotches—and pain with it, shooting up my wrist and down my back. It feels like my body’s splitting apart. I yelp from the agony, but that fiery feeling begins to cool. Another sensation begins to take hold: light, snaking through my chest and around my heart.

  “Enough,” I gasp out. I grip my wrist. Two faint puncture marks slowly fade to nothing. The pain ebbs away, leaving behind a cool, crisp feeling. Then, there’s only warmth. I feel what Shima feels. Past pain, future anticipation. And in the present: peace. Maybe even a bit of smugness.

  Shima’s slitted, curious eyes come into focus. She slithers back, and it’s clear the connection—the mind link—has worn her out, in both mind and body.

  What happened? she asks.

  “I saw Rani. We heard a prophecy, but the connection broke too soon. And Amir . . .”

  My voice fades as I recall what Rani told me. Amir’s sister.

  Amir never told me anything about a sister. He never told me anything about his family, except that his parents died.

  Why would Amir have lied to me? I guess it wasn’t a lie so much as an om
ission. It’s not like I told him much about Mama Anita. And I didn’t tell Rani I kissed her betrothed, either.

  “Rani,” a chilling voice says. “A word?”

  I slowly turn to find the raja himself, dressed primly, eyeing me and Shima. Nearby, his snake, Samvir, lurks. His scales are striped red and black, like he can’t decide one color to settle on.

  “My adviser has told me that you abandoned the party. This is the second time you’ve left improperly.”

  I gulp. The first time was the dinner when I stomped off.

  The raja looks at me with disdain.

  My father. The one who gave me up.

  “I’m sorry . . . Father.” I can hardly get the word out. Tears threaten to return, and the prophecy haunts my mind. My next words rush out of me without care. “Why do we give so much trust to the fountain? Would you give up your whole world—your whole life—for some vision? Something that’s supposed to seal your fate for good?”

  “What? Where is this coming from?” he scoffs. “Rani, don’t try to change the subject—”

  Angry words rise to my lips. “Don’t you remember? You got rid of me like a scrap of unwanted silk. And you won’t even admit it!”

  Something like fury flames in the king’s eyes, then sizzles away. He turns and signals for me to follow, leaving his snake behind. A Chart appears at my back, as if making sure I won’t run away again. Her golden sash winks in the light. Rows of golden buttons and tassels cover her left breast pocket, symbolizing years of work. Years of hatred.

  The raja’s office looms ahead. He pauses at the doorway, one hand on the knob. The office I broke into.

  He sweeps in and takes a seat before his desk, gesturing for me to sit. The Chart bows and leaves.

  The raja slides on a pair of eyeglasses attached to a beaded chain. The beads clink together harmoniously. “I understand your frustrations,” he begins as I take a seat.

  I gape. Is he going to admit it?

  “I have let you down,” he continues. “When I let Saeed take over as your tutor, I never checked on you or acted as a father does. I was always busy. But I promise,” he says, leaning in, “that I will become more involved in your training to become queen. It is as your mother told you: we’ve noticed a great change. We are proud of your efforts, Rani. But these childish flights of fancy must end—when you are queen, you will be expected to see these functions through to the end, no matter how distasteful you find them.”

  He speaks to me without pretense. Is this the Ruthless Raja? The bloodthirsty king Amir and I have always feared?

  “Now,” he continues at my silence, pulling out an envelope with a broken purple wax seal. It’s a crest depicting an eye, beholding the viewer with strange intensity. Haven’t I seen this symbol before? It hits me: My second full day at the palace, I’d seen the eye on Amara’s cuffs. Then again, the day Saeed and I snuck into the rafters.

  “I did not want to ruin tonight’s festivities, but a few days prior I received this note from a Kaaman messenger hawk. I’d like you to read it.”

  My hands shake as I take the note. The handwriting looks familiar, but I can’t place it.

  Meet where the kings’ truce came to be, the waters imbued with magic . . .

  It’s an invitation of sorts. Not the kind to a party, but the kind inviting a fellow raja to war. To battle.

  On the eve of the truce’s end when the sun has set . . . our Warriors will be ready.

  Signed by none other than King Jeevan, a name whispered across every town and village of late. We all know the name of the man Abai’s meant to go to war against. If this envelope came from the Kaamans, then the eye must be part of their kingdom’s crest, a symbol of the Memory Master whose descendants built Kaama from the ground up. An eye makes sense as their seal, something to show visions of past and future. But if that’s the case, why does Amara have the enemy kingdom’s crest on her jewelry? And why does she wear it so freely around the raja?

  I look up at the king. Bone-deep exhaustion lines his eyes. I’ve never seen my father up close before, never thought about his own thoughts, feelings. He’s always been the Ruthless Raja. How could he be anything else?

  “We will need fresh blood in our ranks. An induction ceremony,” he tells me.

  I hold my breath. I think of my name on those conscription lists. Did he know his own daughter was drafted? Or did he leave conscription for the Charts to sort out?

  It doesn’t matter. The raja’s drafting more people. This time, children.

  “But fresh blood in our ranks will not be enough. I will have to provide Amara another trip to Anari Square to get the supplies. We’ll need snake venom to tip our Charts’ swords with, if we are to win this war.”

  Anari Square. Is that the place where Amara gets her venom for Saeed’s tonic?

  “We must focus on the future of our kingdom, acha? The Kaamans, they will not hold back.”

  “But . . .” I find my voice. “There must’ve been a time when you didn’t want war.”

  The raja peers at me, and his eyes flicker like a cloud has lifted, before they become stern again. “Certainly, when I was a boy. But these past few years, things have . . . changed. The war is greater than you might realize, Rani. When the time comes, we will have a weapon on our side that will change the course of history. And we must, if we are to survive.”

  The Bloodstone. Something that could create chaos in the wrong hands.

  “You want to destroy Kaama.”

  “No. I want to obliterate the entire memory of it.”

  My head spins. Kaama has always been the king’s enemy, but it’s full of people. Men and women. Children. Flesh and bone. Hearts that beat.

  I’m a princess, and with that, I have a power greater than magic. I have a voice. I must find a way to prove to the world who I am. Who I really am.

  Without second-guessing myself, I say the words that have been taunting me since the moment I discovered my and Rani’s secret. “Do you remember the day I was born?”

  This time, the hopeful glint in his gaze is gone, and he drills his eyes into mine. He licks his lips slowly, then says, “I do.”

  “W-was there anything special about it?”

  “Of course. Your mother loves to tell everyone.” He smiles, the first I’ve seen on his face. “You were born on Diwali.”

  The date of Diwali changes every year, usually in late autumn. That’s the time of my birthday, according to the orphanage papers.

  “I know,” I say. “But was there . . . something else? Anything unusual? Did I scream a lot?”

  “Quite.” He tilts his head to one side, scanning my face. “You screamed enough for . . .”

  My breath catches in my throat. If anyone knew the difference between twin daughters, it would be their parents. Can the raja tell I’m not Rani?

  But he blinks and the moment is over. “Now that your engagement celebration is over, you have other things to focus on. As I have said, I expect you to fulfill your role as future queen, not run away from your tasks as you have before.”

  “But—” At the raja’s look, I find the strength to nod. If following in Rani’s footsteps will make the raja trust me more, maybe I’ll be able to get him to open up to me. Tell me what’s really going on with the Bloodstone—and with my birth.

  When I’m back in Rani’s room, I’m shaking. Tonight, I saw my father—my real father—for the first time. In his presence, I was struck with a fact more chilling than Amara’s revelations in the council room. The raja, my own father, couldn’t acknowledge my existence. Almost like something was preventing him from remembering . . .

  But that couldn’t be true. Still, this whole engagement night has taught me nothing is as it seems, and there’s still a whole lot for me to uncover.

  The day after the engagement is alarmingly quiet, and so is the one after. Servants dust away the remnants of the party, and Amara and Saeed are nowhere to be found. So I spend my time with Shima, quite literally mapping the b
oundaries of our magic. I nearly make it thirty feet through the palace before our connection breaks. After what we pulled off with the mind link, I know my magic is strong. Each time I use it, I feel it come more naturally to me, like a muscle gaining strength.

  A crackling fills my bones now, like the snake magic is trying to free itself from my skin.

  I remember what Shima told me the first morning here. Rani has spent many years learning snake magic; yours seems as natural to you as thieving.

  What if the prophecy was right—what if I would’ve grown too strong, too powerful? Would I have killed my own sister?

  Is my magic a curse? The reason I grew up in filth and spent nights shivering in alleyways?

  No. My sister’s words float back, settling my thoughts. I would never hurt her. I’m never letting that damned prophecy come true.

  Last night, I found Aditi in the library. We pored over books until midnight, keeping a paranoid eye on the door. Thankfully, Shima was our lookout. Amara’s threat toward Aditi lingers in the air, and I refuse to give her more ammunition. Though Aditi’s been doing research on Amara’s roses, so far we haven’t found anything fruitful.

  Now, on the second evening after the engagement party, the throne room is bustling. “Charts’ induction ceremony,” says a feminine voice. It’s the queen, sporting a magenta sari. Her hair has been pulled into a tight bun. Freshly dyed, from the looks of it.

  The raja hasn’t spoken more with me since Rani’s engagement, either, too busy in meetings about the upcoming battle.

  It’s like our chat never happened.

  I face the king and queen. We exit the throne room and pause at the entrance to the Western Courtyard. I spot the ancient-looking tree I sat under the night I met up with Aditi to give her the book. In front of the tree, the courtyard is filled with silk-curtained chairs. The seats face three large thrones, covered in scarlet drapes. As if this is a celebration. More like a funeral. The death of those whose lives might have been different, had they never become Charts.

  The air grows cold with discomfort. The queen heads for the raja just as a warm gasp of air comes from my right. Shima slithers up toward me and settles at my feet.