by Sasha Nanua
This is not the same man.
“Is Headmaster Patil in?” My words are merely a formality; the headmaster only visited once a moon, and never this early in the morning.
The man shakes his head. “You looking to pick someone up?”
“Oh—no.” I’m not sure, but I think I see the kid’s face fall. Wouldn’t be the first time. “There’s something I’d like to see.”
Saeed begins, “Sir, this is the Pr—”
“Priya,” I say. “My name is Priya. I’m requesting to see the back room privately.”
“Why?”
“Important checkup from the capital. Palace business.”
Saeed is stiff next to me, as if he can’t believe the slew of lies from my tongue. I unveil the coin pouch I put together this morning, one of Rani’s velvet satchels she won’t miss, filled with jewels and a few sparkling coins.
The man greedily grabs the bag and dumps the contents in his other hand. He tosses the pouch back at me. “Got anything else?”
I huff, pull off my bangles, and hand them over, letting him believe that he got a good deal. I’d give much more to get the information I need.
The man nods with approval. “Come in.”
I avoid Saeed’s stare as we enter the orphanage. The smell is the first thing that hits me: like slowly simmering daal mixed with perfumes of dust and debris. I step around a creaky floorboard, still dented and stained.
Past the kitchen, memories start surfacing: Mama Anita, mopping the tiled floors. Mama Anita, telling me stories of myth and magic.
“Princess,” Saeed says in a low voice, “what is this about?”
“Trust me,” I tell Saeed. Even though it’s early, most of the children still asleep, I step onto the stairs with care. At the top, I squirrel around the wooden beams supporting the roof and find the largest room on the floor.
Mama Anita’s.
I carefully nudge the door open. A fluffy cat lazily pads out of the room, stopping to sniff my feet. She purrs.
I curse. Barfi. I should’ve known the orphanage pet would still be here. From the look of the cat, her fur hasn’t been shorn since I last saw her.
“She likes you,” Saeed comments, leaning down to scratch Barfi behind her ears.
Likes me? She likes anyone who gives her attention, not to mention she always tried to steal my scraps of food. As if she didn’t have enough. The cat is more spoiled than Rani!
I shake her off and find the room is empty, and nearly exactly as I remember it. White bed, lined with clean linens. A desk holding messy stacks of papers. Sunlight filters into the room, lighting dust motes in the air.
A year, and nothing and everything has changed.
“Is there something you’re looking for, Princess?” Saeed enters the room, leaving Barfi by the open door. “You gave that man your bangles. It isn’t like you to barter.”
“Do you frown upon it?” I ask him.
Saeed thinks. “No,” he says eventually. “I kind of enjoyed it, actually. Seeing you pretend to be anyone except yourself. Priya.”
I turn away to hide my blush. Does that mean he likes me? The way I act? Or seeing Rani play pretend?
I rid my mind of the thought. What Saeed thinks shouldn’t matter; right now I’m here for answers. I scope out the room, looking for anything Mama Anita might’ve left behind. Anything that might help me. The underside of the bed is empty. I grunt, turning to inspect the wardrobe. I fling open the doors. A hidden set of wooden drawers sits inside. Jackpot.
I scour the drawers and come up with some jewelry, but nothing Mama Anita wore. Saeed pulls open the final drawer a touch, but it doesn’t give. “It’s stuck,” he says.
“Let me help,” I tell him. We look for what’s making the drawer catch. A spare salwar kameez is hooked on one of the wheels. I raise the outfit carefully, bringing it to eye level. The beadwork is exactly as I remember it.
It’s hers.
“Mama,” I murmur. I hold the outfit to my nose, almost believing I can smell her fragrance. Cilantro, sweet almond oil, and cane sugar from the besan barfi she would make for me. Maybe Mama Anita spoiled me, made me feel royal when I was anything but.
I can’t help the tears that burst into my eyes. I bat them away quickly, but Saeed notices as soon as I drop the clothes.
“Rani, what’s the matter?” Concern pulls down his mouth. “You can tell me.”
“I’m looking for something. Clues that might help me figure out . . . what your mother is doing,” I lie.
“You think my mother has something to do with this orphanage?”
“I’m not sure. But the royals might.” The truth this time.
There must be something else hidden in this room, something Mama Anita wanted me to see. She’s the one who told me to go back to the start, which means there’s something here she wants me to find.
“Keep checking the wardrobe for anything out of place,” I tell Saeed. As I move, the floor squeaks beneath me, and I rock my heel back and forth on the wood. Back when I lived here, the other orphans would always hide notes, games, even extra food under the floorboards, where the headmaster wouldn’t think twice to check. That’s where I’d hide my stash from petty steals, when I was only twelve summers old.
I take a few steps backward, testing the floorboards once more, until I feel it: a weak spot beneath my heel. It’s almost impossible to notice, but to a thief’s senses it’s clear as day. I lean down and find the edge of the carpet, lift it, and spot a rusty nail in the floorboard that looks out of place. I reach down and at my touch, the floorboard gives a little pop and squeaks out. I hide a smile, remove the board, and find a tiny envelope.
There’s only one thing inside. A birth certificate.
I grip the paper, turn away from Saeed while he’s busy looking in the wardrobe, and stare at the parchment with such intensity I could light it on fire.
But the paper itself is already half burned, my last name seared away. Only a few lines remain legible:
RIA—
Born Diwali night, on the 82nd year post-truce.
Second child of the successor King Natesh and Queen Man—
Second in line to the throne after completion of the Bonding Ceremony.
My fingers curl into the paper, and I withhold a gasp. Second child? That means whoever wrote this knew the truth; the raja and queen had twins. We existed to them, both of us together, once.
My eyes burn with unshed tears.
I’m one of them. Why did my parents give me up to Mama Anita specifically? Why would they give her this certificate? Did they want a piece of me to still live on somehow, even as they pushed me out of their minds—out of their lives—forever?
I run a finger over the burn marks. It’s like they tried to erase the proof that I existed but couldn’t go through with it.
This makes no sense. But I’m not even mad anymore. With this in my hands, I can show the raja who I really am before Amara can unveil my secret—not an impostor but his daughter. And then I can tell the raja how she hurt me, and what she’s been doing to her son. He’ll finally see Amara for who she is.
Saeed turns toward me, and I hide the certificate behind my back. “Anything?” he asks, noticing the floorboard. I shake my head. But Saeed is too curious.
“Are you sure—?”
A meow sounds from outside the door.
“Shh, Barfi,” I tell the cat. The furry feline won’t let up.
Saeed abandons the wardrobe. “I think she’s trying to tell us something.”
He’s right. Footsteps echo from the staircase. Someone’s coming.
My mind is back on alert. “Put this back,” I tell Saeed hurriedly. He replaces the floorboard while I carefully roll the certificate into the pouch I brought. I don’t want anyone to know what we found here. Bribing a greedy man only works until someone else with money comes along.
“This way.” I slip aside the window curtains, revealing the open air. From the second story of the or
phanage, the ground looks far away, but nothing I can’t handle.
It’s Saeed I’m worried about.
“Let’s go,” I tell him.
“Uh, shouldn’t we take the stairs?” Saeed’s voice cracks.
“Change of plans. We jump while no one’s looking.”
“What?” Saeed shakes his head. “But why? You told that man you were from the palace. You—you gave him an alias. I think we can just—” The footsteps grow louder, like the clank of Charts’ boots. I imagine the iron-fisted soldiers here, in the orphanage, the way they were that day they took her away.
You’re in a whole mess of trouble, Amir would say. He would most definitely be right.
“No one can recognize us. We don’t have another choice,” I insist.
“Are you sure this will work?” Saeed gulps.
Not at all, I think. “Positive.”
My assurance must work, because Saeed glances over the edge of the window and says, “Your father asked that I protect you today, not lead you into harm. So I must insist that I—”
Before Saeed can finish, I swing myself over the ledge and leap out onto the nearest surface: An old, locked-up storage bin that hasn’t been used for years. I used to escape the orphanage on lonely nights after Mama Anita tucked me to sleep, when I asked if I could lie on her bedroom floor. She’d always give me the bed while she took an old patchwork quilt and used it as a mattress.
I land with a thud on both feet, use the momentum to roll to the edge of the bin, and flip around. My hands are secure on the lid, and I slide down feetfirst.
On the ground, I stare up at Saeed, whose jaw hangs open.
“Hurry!” I tell him. Thankfully, Saeed quickly hauls himself over and lands—pretty clumsily—on the old bin. I help him to the ground, and he huffs on the solid earth. “Where’d you get the nerve to do something like that?”
I shrug. “It’s like climbing into the rafters.”
He’s still gaping when we hear voices coming from the room above.
“The carriage!” I spin away. We swerve around the gardens and find the perimeter of the orphanage. Where the gates were once open, they’re now closed, locked.
Like they know an intruder’s in their midst.
“We’ll climb over.” I latch onto the fence, feeling its weight beneath my fingers. I scale it quick as a mouse, my movements practiced and sure, and vault over the top, landing on my two feet back on the ground. I turn around and find Saeed staring up at the gargantuan gate, face pale.
“You can do this.” I link my hands on the gate, and, hesitantly, he places his on mine. I secure his hands on the gaps in the fence.
Saeed doesn’t wait this time. He heaves himself up onto the fence with a grunt, his shoulders tight as he hoists himself over the top. He clutches my hand before he falls into a heap on the ground, grabbing at me for balance. Air whooshes around me as I fall on top of him. I don’t realize how close we are, entangled in each other’s arms, until his lips are hot against my ear.
Then I hear his grumble of laughter, familiar and heady. “Rani,” he begins, pulling my face toward his, “you truly are something.”
I can’t help it; I smile, bright and beaming, as Saeed takes in my features. Shouting from the orphanage reminds me of our haste, and I pull myself up and offer to help him to his feet. He takes my hand and we both race off the orphanage grounds. I leap into the carriage headfirst, Saeed on my tail, and he slams the door shut.
It’s like one of those heists Amir and I used to do. Except now we’ve got a royal getaway.
“Go!” I order the driver.
With the snap of a whip, the carriage surges forward. We peel away, kicking up dirt behind the wheels.
When we’re in the clear, I realize I’m still gripping his hand. “Nice work,” I say, still out of breath.
Saeed doesn’t let go. Instead, he laughs. Not politely, like before. A real, throaty belly laugh. He throws his head back from the force of it, and I grin, because it suits him, this laugh. “Nice work? When did you learn how to do all that?”
“A princess has her resources,” I say mysteriously. He only laughs again, and this time, I join him.
Saeed and I catch our breath when we’re alone in his chambers. He can’t stop laughing, and I can’t stop thinking about what I found at the orphanage.
My birth certificate. Proof that I exist.
Now all I have to do is show this to my parents. Soon, Amara won’t have any hold over me.
Saeed takes a seat on his bed, sighing with relief. His features, which I once thought looked too perfect, too tight, now seem . . . familiar. Relaxed. Warm. This palace has changed me in more ways than one. I’ve found connection, belonging. Something I never thought I’d find here.
I’d always thought of the world split in two, with the royals on top. But when I discovered I have royal blood running through me, my world blurred.
The prophecy stated that one of us, Ria or Rani, would destroy the other. But maybe I’m not meant to destroy the kingdom. Maybe, like Rani said, I’m meant to destroy what it has become. Maybe I’m meant to redeem it. Maybe . . . I’m meant to save it.
I take a seat next to Saeed, struggling to meet his all-encompassing gaze. Heat blooms roses on my cheeks.
“I think we outran those aunties,” he jokes.
Entering the palace wasn’t easy. People, including many aunties, were swarming me and Saeed, asking us how things’ve been since the engagement, asking where we had been, just the two of us alone. Saeed’s not a bad runner for a noble.
And now, after that little detour at the orphanage, Saeed’s looking at me with a newborn curiosity. If his eyes are an indication of anything, he seems more impressed than confused at what we did.
“There were tears in your eyes at the orphanage,” he says, his eyes a question.
“I was thinking of someone long gone.”
Memories flash of Mama Anita, the night when she braided my hair into thin plaits and dressed me in my finest salwar. The night she was taken away.
I relive that memory over and over:
She moves with purpose, complying as the Charts push her forward. Her chunni falls to the ground at their roughness, melting into a pothole filled with mud. Her bun slowly unspools, rings of curls that sway in the warm wind.
“No!” I shout, rushing onto the street. I grab onto Mama Anita’s leg, the only part of her I can reach with the Charts all around. She kneels down, caressing my face.
“I won’t truly be gone.” She places a kiss on my cheek. “I love you, Ria.”
The Charts yank her up and bind her hands with frayed rope. Someone wraps their arms around my stomach and pulls me away. Screams rake my throat.
Mama Anita turns. She nods only once. Someone shields my eyes.
“Sometimes it’s easier to not speak about the dead at all,” Saeed says. “But it would be tarnishing their memory to forget.”
Grief marks his face so openly, it’s like I’ve pulled away a bandage from old wounds. He’s bleeding before me.
“Do you remember your father at all?”
Saeed’s throat bobs. “All I know is he loved my mother with all his heart, despite all those who told him not to. Mother told me that he gave her a bundle of roses when they married. That the rose symbolized how their love would grow, thorns and all.”
I think of his words, mind whirling, remembering those roses Amara loves so deeply. Just as I’m thinking, Saeed brings his fingers to my cheek, trailing the healing mark. “Has this . . . always been here?”
I know exactly what he’s thinking before he can process it himself. Realization flares in his eyes. He leans in dangerously close, his brows pinched with fear.
Before I can open my mouth to reply, a nearby scream cuts through the air. Sharp. High-pitched. Frantic. I jump up.
“Who—Mother?” he says, his words barely audible under his breath. But we both know that wasn’t Amara. The voice sounded much too youthful.
/> Don’t think that little girl is getting out of this without any punishment.
My stomach drops. In seconds, I’m throwing open the door, running toward the voice. Air whips around me. I know exactly who the sound is coming from without seeing her face.
The little servant girl. My newfound friend. Aditi.
32
Rani
Darkness descends upon us like an ever-quickening beat, thundering its own tune. A clearing by a nearby stream is our camp for the night. Our route to the Glass Temple has seemed endless over the past few days’ travel: The trees have become our guide, each a star on the map of our journey, the forest our galaxy. So vast and immense and infinite. But the end result will be worth it.
After we set up, I leave camp to bathe. I know by now that the stream will be nothing like my perfumed baths at the palace, but after almost two weeks of villager life, it strangely is not a bother. I’m eager to be free of the dirt sitting in my nail beds, the grime coating my arms and legs, no matter how cold the water.
Close to the stream, I see Amir. He’s sitting at the mouth of the river, shirt in hands as he kneads it through the water. My cheeks heat as I gaze at him. I must make a noise, because Amir turns his head to look at me, cocking an eyebrow.
“Come to join me?” he says, as if it’s a joke, but his voice is still as cold as it’s been these past few days. It seems I cannot avoid him any longer, so I take a seat next to him and stare at the waters below.
In the rippling reflection, I see Rani. But I am different. My gaze has hardened, my skin is weathered. Dark circles rim my eyes. I feel like a false princess. Playing pretend at a game too important to lose.
I work up the courage to look Amir in the eyes.
“You’re still angry with me,” I say, more an answer than a question.
He tucks his knees to his chest. “I was angry when I left home to live on the streets. I was angry when I saw your name on those conscription lists. I have always been angry . . . always am angry. Except when it’s just me and you.”
I count my pulse. One, two, three. “So then why haven’t you spoken to me? Our stalemate—”
“Can only last so long.” He bites his lip, and I catch myself staring. “We’ve just never fought like that, y’know? And not talking to you for days . . . it’s not like us, Ria.”