by Sasha Nanua
Dread coils in my stomach. Of course things aren’t the same. Ria and Amir are easy together, two thieves on the run. Amir and I, we’re from different worlds.
My heart aches at the truth of it.
“What I said was wrong,” I admit. “The truth is, I’m not afraid of the raja anymore. I’m afraid that I’m going to fail. I’m afraid we’ll never find the Bloodstone, that I’ve put you all in danger for nothing. I’ll have let you, Jas, Sanya, and Irfan down.”
Amir ponders this for a moment. “You’re not the one putting us in danger. We all agreed to this,” he tells me. “We’re not gonna stop fighting for our future.”
I laugh weakly, looking down. “Our futures. Do you think it’s all predestined, set out for us—or do you think we can be more?”
Amir quirks a brow. “When exactly did you become a philosopher?”
My stomach warms, and I chuckle. Abai’s sun, why is he making me laugh? I thought we were supposed to be mad at each other.
Quick as a flash of rain, Amir’s smile falls. “But I know what you mean. In the jungle . . . I was so scared. Ma taught me that to die is not the end of the story but a break in the page. I wondered, is this our fate? Is this where it ends? I was scared.”
“Me too,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “I wasn’t scared for my life. I was scared for yours.”
My heart hitches. Amir continues, “Ria, I could’ve lost you to those soldiers. I could’ve lost everything.”
He closes the paltry distance between us, tipping up my chin. His eyes become fire and light, flame and smoke. His breath is perfumed with cilantro, his stubble too scratchy, unlike Saeed’s clean beard. But I like this. The unwieldy sense that not everything has to be perfect. It simply has to be.
I imagine his lips smoothing over my own, drinking him in like rose water. A noose of betrayal forms a ring around my neck, bruising me, telling me what I already know.
“You used to tell me life is fixed. That we were trapped. Now you’re saying we can choose to be more. . . .” He trails off, heat creeping across his cheeks. His gaze falls to my lips, the shape of them. He’s seeing me up close now; there’s nowhere to hide.
“Maybe I’ve changed,” I tell him. “We’ve changed.”
Amir releases my chin and runs a hand through his shorn hair. “You’ve sounded different ever since we left the palace,” he tells me, though his voice is not one of anger but curiosity. “At first, I couldn’t understand why. Even now . . . I still don’t know.” He exhales shakily. “You and I—we’re friends. And this person you are—this is new. I feel . . .” His cheeks redden as he trips over his words. His breath is so close, I can feel it brushing my cheeks like a mynah bird’s feather.
“You feel what?” My words come out in a whisper.
Amir’s lips part. “This new you . . . I think I feel something else for her.”
The air burns hot as a candle, stifling with every unspoken word. He feels what’s been growing between us? I cannot deny he’s challenged me, argued with me, like no one before. A trait I was never able to find in Saeed, no matter how sharp my words were. When I pushed, Saeed fell back. I don’t think falling back even exists in Amir’s vocabulary.
Something has shifted between us since the Foothills—and within myself, too. I’ve known Amir for less than a half-moon, and yet it feels like there is a history written between us.
Amir glances down. “After seeing the Charts in the forest, I realized time is short. Any one of us could’ve been taken. . . .” He trails off. “I used to blame myself for my parents’ deaths. What if it was supposed to be me gone, not them? And then . . .” He lets out a frustrated sigh. “I hated to think of it, but I even blamed Sanya.” He raises his eyes to mine again. “But blaming you, blaming Sanya—blaming anyone for something beyond our control is wrong. I don’t ever want to fight with you again. I don’t want to waste what time we have. I want us to always tell each other the truth.”
The truth. I inhale protractedly. Right now I wish I was named Ria instead of Rani. I wish I could stop pretending to be a girl whose life was forged from everything and nothing.
Amir glances at the place where Ria’s birthmark sits next to her left eye. The one I do not have.
“I could’ve sworn . . .” His finger brushes my skin lightly. I picture what he sees: Ria’s face, hardened, the birthmark next to her eye. “What happened to your birthmark?”
Think, Rani. Stop him from discovering the truth.
I do the only thing I can. I lean in and take his face into my hands.
My lips crash into his. The world beneath my lids flashes, vibrant as a kaleidoscope of colors. Amir, at first still, leans in, deepening the kiss. My fingers reach for his hair as he runs a hand down my back, pulling me closer. This is so different from every careful, precise embrace I shared with Saeed. This kiss is untamed, fierce.
I don’t realize how fast I’m moving until we tip over from my weight, threatening to topple over the edge of the bank and into the stream.
“Oh!” I call out, just as Amir grabs onto my leg to keep us from rolling any farther. He cradles my face close to his.
We’re both damp. Strands of my hair stick to my face, my thin shirt. I catch my breath as Amir runs a hand down my leg, then pauses.
“Your scar.” His eyes pierce mine. “It’s gone.”
In the tangle of our kiss, I hadn’t realized my leggings had ridden up. He stares down at the soft, supple flesh. No marks, no scars.
No Ria.
Amir lifts me up until we’re both standing, still entangled with one another, before he steps back. “I saw that scar just a few weeks ago.”
“It . . . must have faded,” I begin, but the lie is weak on my tongue. Shame burns through me. I don’t dare call upon my snake magic now. Not on this boy who I’ve come to know and understand.
Amir gazes at me with confusion, his eyes still glazed with lust. Wanting. Desire. I blink, feeling tears rise. Once, when I was six, I plucked an unripe mango from the palace courtyards and sank my teeth right into it, unwilling to wait until it had sweetened. It tasted sour and unpleasant and, worst of all, like a bitter, bitter lie. The taste lingers on my tongue now.
I won’t lie any longer.
“You deserve the truth. You always have.” My voice breaks, and a tear slips down my cheek. I wipe it away fast. I need to let the dam break, let the words flood from me. I need to speak the truth, right now.
So I say, “I’m not who you think I am.”
His eyes are wide. “What’re you saying?”
“My name isn’t Ria,” I reveal, cheeks hot. “It’s Rani. Princess Rani.”
Amir is still, and for a moment I wonder if he heard me. Then his face slackens. “Princess Rani?”
I fake a curtsy, but my legs feel like they might give way.
Amir laughs. “No,” he says. “You’re joking.”
My expression tells him different.
A few seconds pass before his own face turns serious. He gulps. “I know you’ve been acting strangely, but you don’t have to make up excuses—”
“It’s not an excuse!” The words fly from my mouth. “It’s the truth. And before you say anything more, I know you must hate me—”
“Hate?” Amir’s bark of a laugh startles me. “This can’t be possible. You aren’t Rani. You would have to be—”
“Twins,” I finish. “Yes, we are. Ria’s in the palace, and I am here. When we go back—”
“Back? There can’t be two of you—I know you, Ria, you never knew your parents—”
“That part is true,” I say. “Because she never learned her true parentage.”
Amir’s eyes glaze over again, like the moment he’d cradled me against him after our kiss. My lips burn.
“This whole time—while we’ve been traveling together and fighting side by side . . . You’re saying you lied to me?”
Shame fills my chest. “When you put it like that—”
“You’re Ria’s friend,” I whisper. “I had to.” I wanted to.
“You had to? Had to do what? Pose as your twin? Deceive all your friends?” He turns away from me for a moment. “I really must’ve hit my head on a melon. . . .”
I’m stripped, naked before him. No masks, no pretenses, no charades. Just me. Rani. A princess and a girl all at once.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Since Diwali,” I reveal. “We swapped places in the palace.”
Amir is still save for the arch of his brow, the slight parting of his lips, the incredulity in his features. Don’t be true, that mouth says, the mouth that kissed mine.
Silence cascades over us. I stare at the forest floor, drowning in my thoughts. In the moonlight, we’re simply two glowing bodies, sharing secrets under a blanket of stars.
“I’m telling the truth,” I say. “But revealing this to anyone else . . . it would put Ria in danger.”
Amir shakes his head. “You’re telling me my best friend is parading around as the princess in the castle?”
I nod.
Amir mutters strings of words under his breath. He pauses, stepping toward me and tentatively raising a hand to my cheek. Warm against my icy skin. “Why?”
“Because I needed to escape. To follow a path someone set me on. To prove myself. It was an accident, finding you, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. Do you know that I haven’t stepped out of that castle in years? Do you know what it’s like to be robbed of the sky? To breathe only air that is manicured to my father’s tastes?”
Amir says nothing.
“I swear, Amir, when I go back, I will set things right,” I promise. “And I promise we will find the stone and stop my father from committing irrevocable harm. It is what I want as much as you. But you must trust me first.”
Amir’s scrutiny is agonizing. He studies my face, my lips, my eyes, as though he can find Ria in me again.
“I’m sorry.” A weak apology, but I say it nonetheless.
Amir shakes his head. “I need to clear my head.” He gives me one last glance before retreating.
“Amir,” I whisper harshly, tears falling. My lips wobble. But he’s gone.
I rush away and spot Jas sitting near the empty campfire; Irfan and Sanya are Amran-knows-where. Breathing deeply, I head toward her and plunk down on the dirt. I lean my head on her shoulder without thinking, relishing her warmth, like a mother’s. Like my mother might have been—should have been. A shoulder to cry on. Someone to confide in, when I realized Saeed had never truly loved me. I remember my own horror when I realized I had stopped loving him. I let in the cold to protect me, and now I’m afraid it’s thawing.
“Hush, girl,” Jas says smoothly, like a lullaby. She turns to me and wipes a tear from my cheek. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“You heard?” I glance up at Jas.
“No. But I’ve watched you and that boy over our time together. And I know what you’re feeling.” She grasps my hands with hers. What am I feeling? If Shima were here, her scales would be flashing every color, every emotion.
“Was it like that with Samar?”
“Every day. Like I was falling. You and your friend have been through great dangers,” Jas continues. “Love is one such obstacle, but more lie ahead. Are you ready for that?”
I’m not sure I am, but I nod all the same.
“Come now. The Temple awaits.” Jas helps me stand, then places a gentle kiss on my forehead. Her touch is as healing and warm as ginger root. I linger beside her for a moment, because I do not want this to end.
But it will. Soon, my charade will be over for the rest of this crew, too. I will find the stone.
If I must go against my own blood, I will.
33
Ria
The palace is quiet, hushed, but my mind is ablaze. Within seconds, I come to a screeching halt. I spot Aditi frozen on the ground, arms pinned behind her by two Veteran Charts. My body grows cold.
And then even colder when I spot Amara, her lips two bright-red slashes. She stands next to Aditi patiently, her mouth curled, like she can’t hold back her sinister sneer.
Aditi lets out another yelp, this time more like a whimper. I rush toward her, but Saeed holds me back. I didn’t realize he’d followed me here. He wraps his fingers around my wrist, his eyes telling me what I already know. Don’t cross Amara’s line. You don’t know what she’s capable of.
Except I do.
I yank my wrist from his grasp, unable to follow anyone’s orders except my own. She holds no power over me. I’m the princess now. And that means my voice matters here, more than Amara’s.
“Remove her from your grip,” I order the Charts. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“On the contrary,” Amara snarls, stalking toward me, “the girl has not been following my orders. Which means I get to choose what punishment comes next.”
My fingers sizzle, heat coursing through them and up my back. “What orders, exactly?”
Amara only smirks, jutting her chin toward the Charts, who tighten Aditi’s wrists behind her. Aditi lets out the smallest of sobs, and at that sound, my heart lurches. I will myself to stand my ground.
“Tell her, girl,” Amara says, keeping her sharp eyes on me the whole time. “Tell her what you told me.”
“Mother,” Saeed snaps, but Amara only silences her son with a hand. My eyes widen with fear. I glance at Aditi, step closer to her, my body crawling with anticipation at what she’ll say next.
When Aditi doesn’t comply, a Chart grabs a fistful of her hair and shoves her face to the floor. A cry escapes her lips, just as it does mine.
“Stop!” I yell, but it’s as if Amara has some kind of silent control over the raja’s soldiers.
Aditi finally opens her mouth, letting out a sigh instead of a sob. “I—I was eating,” she stutters. “And I started to feel sick. I thought maybe there was something in my food—”
“Exact words, dear,” Amara says, her voice sickly sweet, as if she were talking to her own child. Beside me, Saeed stiffens. I wonder if he’s used to this voice, to Amara’s commands. To listening to his mother’s coldness, in the absence of his father.
“I thought it was p—” She swallows. “P—”
“Poisoned,” Amara finishes for her. My stomach tumbles. Aditi’s food, poisoned? The vile woman stares deeply at me, into my soul, like she’s got all my secrets and tucked them away into her overly frilly sari.
Did Amara use venom on Aditi? Give her a near lethal dose, unlike the diluted ones she gives her son?
“Three lashings,” says Amara. An order. A command.
“Mother, please!” Saeed says, just as I shout, “No!”
I soar forward. The air in my throat tightens. Rage heats my cheeks.
But Amara steps in front of me, takes hold of my shoulders, and yanks me aside. Her eyes bore into mine. She moves behind me but never loosens her death grip, and I freeze like I used to under the orphanage headmaster’s lashings.
Move, Ria. Help her. Terror fills my chest as a Veteran pulls his whip out and slams it down on Aditi’s now-open palms. Once. Twice. My ears are ringing by the third strike. She knows better than to shriek, than to do anything that would cost her another.
Amara’s death grip loosens. The Charts behind Aditi tug her up by the arms, and I swear her bony shoulders loosen from their sockets. Blood spills on the marbled tiles, ivory and ebony spiderwebbed with pink.
“Double kitchen duties,” barks Amara. “And I want every bathroom spotless. If I see even a speck of dirt the lash will be the least of your worries.”
“Yes, Mistress Amara,” Aditi says. A tear rolls off her chin. Falling away from her fear-stricken face. She looks like she’s about to puke.
I’m about to puke. My throat is locked. My fingers curl into fists, tingli
ng. I feel smaller than a common street rat.
“Take her to the servants’ infirmary,” Amara orders the Charts. “I don’t need her insides all over the floor. And bring someone to clean up this mess.”
My feet are glued to the ground, my body limp. It takes under a minute for everyone to clear the area, including Amara.
But I’m not alone. I still feel him next to me, Rani’s betrothed.
And here I am, a shadow of the princess.
I turn to him. “No,” I say, and at the confusion written on his face, I continue, “it wasn’t always there.” I point to my fading bruise.
Saeed goes still. “I should have known.”
“But you didn’t—”
“I should have,” he cuts in, cupping my face and tilting it up to him. I don’t have time to speak before those fingers race down my cheek. He’s probably used to this, to seeing his mother hurt innocent servants. To having Rani just stand there, do nothing about it.
Either way, I’m not Rani. I never will be. Even if things’ve changed here, even if I’ve learned things, felt things I never thought I would. I step out of Saeed’s grasp, shake my head, and from that simple movement he knows exactly my command.
Go.
I shut my eyes. The hall feels cool, empty, drained.
When I open them, he’s walking away, leaving me like a cup of chai that’s slowly turning cold.
I visit Aditi in the servants’ infirmary later that night. The infirmary is in the servants’ quarters, tucked deep into the bowels of the palace. When I find it, I check that no one is watching, and slip through the curtains that part the servants from the rest of the world.
I expected four-poster beds, windows refracting sunlight across the whole quarter. Instead, what I find is even worse than the orphanage.
Mattresses litter the floor. They’re firm to the touch, coiled springs squeaking like mice. The servants have few tables and lamps to share, and their closet is cramped with green—salwars and suits, leggings and pointed shoes, all in the same shade. Designating them. Labeling them.