by Sasha Nanua
The man narrows his eyes. He turns back toward the Glass Temple itself, where something like smoke escapes from the topmost spiral.
“Will you help us?” I ask. “This compass is, as you said, the Fire Master’s. There must be a reason the tiger gave it to us.”
“Indeed. The sandtiger possesses the talisman, but to offer it to someone means something much greater.” The man speaks quietly, looking to the sky. Behind him, the children whisper. Their voices become a chorus. The compass. The compass.
The man lowers his spear. “Follow me.”
35
Ria
Aditi lived at the same orphanage as me.
No words leave my mouth. I’m stunned into silence.
“You mean you knew Mama Anita?” I’m sure I heard her wrong, but she nods.
“When did you leave the orphanage?” I ask, wondering if our paths might’ve ever crossed. But it’s not like I spent much time with other kids there.
Aditi looks down. She’s on the verge of tears, cheeks swelling and jaw clenched. She wipes her eyes and trembles. I tilt her chin up so she can see me—the real me.
But I think she might already know.
“It’s a long story,” she begins. “I was part of a lottery for the raja’s new batch of servants; he would select kids from the Vadi Orphanage. It was considered a great honor, a chance for a better . . . more purposeful life. They took me when I was just five, raised me in the servants’ quarters, and trained me to be a servant. It’s the only job I’ve ever known.”
Even though her words are full of sorrow, she sits tall.
“Why would they take children from the orphanage?” I whisper in disbelief.
Aditi only shakes her head. “When I was older, they said I was lucky, the nobles. I didn’t agree. I wanted to be with Mama. We exchanged letters sometimes. Before I became Amara’s personal servant, I helped organize the outgoing palace mail. I snuck in my letters to Mama and helped other servants send notes to their families, too. Now Amara’s in charge of the mail system. . . .”
“Since when?” I wonder.
“Ever since she became the king’s adviser, Amara’s been watching the mail chariots carefully. They’re under her command. But, miss, how do you know Mama?”
I gulp. “The truth is, Aditi . . . I’ve been holding a secret, too. About how I know Mama Anita.” The words form a melody in the air. The first time I’ve ever told anyone the truth in this place.
Aditi stares at me. “Lynx?” She touches the edge of my own elbow this time. She’s steadying me; maybe she sees how off-balance I feel. If Aditi had enough trust in me, maybe I need to have enough trust in her.
“I’m not . . . ,” I begin. My lips are dry as sand. “I’m not Rani.” The words tumble, fall off my tongue.
Aditi lets out a weak laugh and contemplates my face. It’s only then that I realize she doesn’t only act like a mouse—she looks like one, too. Short stature, wide eyes, a nibbling nose.
“Pardon me,” she says after a moment, “but . . . not Rani?”
I check that there’s no one at the doorway, that I’m not being spied on when I least expect it. I spin back to her and say, “I need you to trust me. But in exchange for telling you my secret, I want to know more about Mama Anita. About her death. She was like a mother to me, too.”
And I’m dying to tell someone, I add in my head, other than a snake.
“Anything, miss,” Aditi answers. She trusts me. Somehow, we’ve both been in the orphanage. And somehow, we’ve both wound up in the palace, in roles we never thought we’d play. From girl to servant, orphan-thief to princess.
We’re each rebels in our own right.
And for that reason, I tell her everything.
“Ria.” Aditi tastes the name when I’m done with my story. “I . . . I knew there was something different!”
“Aditi, this has to remain our secret,” I tell her, though a smile begins to quirk my lips up at her excitement.
“I won’t tell a soul.” Aditi leans forward. Her bandaged hands slip into mine, and I hold them gingerly. “You asked to know more about Mama Anita. Well, I got to see her one last time, before she died.”
I gasp. “How?”
“I asked the Charts to let me speak to her, but they wouldn’t allow it. During their guard rotations, I saw a snake hovering near the servant staircase leading to the dungeons. I followed it down and found Mama Anita. She told me her secret before she died. She wanted someone to carry on her story.”
“What secret?” I breathe, heart stomping.
“Mama Anita was a Kaaman spy.”
“A spy?” I’d heard stories about Kaamans spying on Abai, some kind of precaution that began decades ago to prepare for the war. But Mama Anita?
She nods. “It was only supposed to be a monthlong mission. Mama Anita was placed as a midwife in the Abai palace, but the raja soon figured out that she was Kaaman. Mama Anita told me that she begged the raja not to hurt her—insisted that she wasn’t there to spy but to start a new life.”
I hold my breath. So that was how he knew Mama. But did that mean Mama Anita was my mother’s midwife?
“The raja must’ve forgiven her, because he let her go. But he gave her an important task—she was to join the Vadi Orphanage as a caregiver. The orphanage was special—it was under the raja’s watch. Mama told me that she had to take a girl born at the palace and hide her in the orphanage for safety and watch over her as she grew. Mama never knew why this girl was being given up, only that some prophecy would doom her to a terrible life.”
A terrible life.
A terrible fate.
“It was me. The prophecy would doom me,” I whisper. I’m shaking so hard that Aditi’s breath hitches as I squeeze her hands.
“Sorry, Aditi. I just . . . Mama Anita took me to the orphanage. She became a caregiver because of me.” I quickly tell Aditi the prophecy, about Rani and me, and her eyes grow large, lashes fluttering against her skin.
“There’s more.” But before Aditi speaks, she points at a jug. I help her sip her medicine and wash it down with water. Aditi grips her cup as she asks, “Have you heard of the fever children?”
I nod. “There were rumors—”
“Not just rumors,” Aditi says. “Remember that book you wanted from the library? The one about magic?”
I nod.
“I was reading it in the library before you asked for it. Because . . . the Vadi Orphanage isn’t ordinary. It was under the raja’s watch because he picked the orphans to go there. Charts would go to people’s houses, inspect children who were rumored to show signs of magic. And the raja, with the help of his soldiers, only picked these special children to attend the orphanage.”
The realization hits me, sharp as a needle. Magic. “That means . . .”
The raja had known magic was returning to the world. Known. And tried to hide it. Aditi nods, and she, too, is shivering. We remain silent for many minutes as we process the truth. I can’t even cry, too deep in shock to feel anything.
“I haven’t figured out my magic yet,” Aditi says. “Sometimes I wonder if I even have it. I wonder if what they told me about my parents dying was true, or if . . .”
“If someone discovered you had magic and gave you away,” I finish.
“Mama Anita told me the truth. She said she never wanted to stop us from learning our true inner magic, while the headmaster wanted us to suppress it. Mama believed we should be free, be who we are. But the headmaster of the orphanage found out what Mama was doing. That was why she was taken away to be killed,” Aditi croaks. “The Charts must have found out from the headmaster, and she was taken away for execution.”
“That . . . that . . .” I can’t even find the words.
“But—” I begin. “Mama Anita wanted us to find our magic. She shouldn’t have been punished for taking care of us.” No wonder Mama always told me stories about magic. She was preparing me, telling me, without truly saying the words.
<
br /> A long moment of quiet. Aditi asks, “Does the king or queen know you’ve switched places with the real Rani?”
I shake my head. “No. But Amara’s figured out I’m not who I say I am. I got my birth certificate at the orphanage earlier. I can finally prove who I am to the raja. Amara won’t be able to hurt me.”
“Hurt you?” Aditi’s eyes land on the nearly healed bruise on my cheek. “Amara did that to you?”
I nod, trailing a finger over her hands. “She hurt us both.”
Aditi slowly shakes her head. “Your birth certificate won’t be enough to stop her.”
“Why not?” I raise myself from Aditi’s bed.
Aditi looks down meekly. “I think—I think we might be in danger.”
I glance around haphazardly. “Right now?”
Aditi shakes her head, taking me by the elbow and drawing me back down to her, looking me square in the eye. “Please listen carefully, miss. I’ve worked for Amara a long time. She is cunning. And if she knows you’re not who you say you are, she probably already has a plan to silence you or discredit you. If we want the raja to believe you, we need to find something on her, and be ready to use it.”
My mind whirls. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. But whenever I clean Mistress Amara’s chambers, she never lets me into her closet. She said if I did, I’d be in the Pit next.” She shudders. “We don’t have a choice, miss. I think we should sneak into her chambers and see what we can find. The truce ends in just a few days.”
Aditi begins to shift off the bed, but I hold her back. “You’re in no condition to put yourself in danger,” I warn. “Aditi, you’re only a child. You shouldn’t be involved in this.”
“I’m a child with magic,” she presses. “And even if I don’t know how to use it, I want to do something. I want to help you, Lynx.”
I shake my head. “You won’t be in any shape to help for a few days.”
“Then we strike the night before the truce ends. It’s the perfect time. Amara will be too busy with the raja to be in her chambers. We’ll sneak in then; the Charts will let us through if I’m there. Please.”
It must be the look on Aditi’s face, because I give in. “Fine. But only if I can wait that long. And only if you’re better.”
Aditi grasps me in a hug, and I carefully hold her small body against my chest.
“I’ll never tell anyone your secret,” Aditi murmurs into my hair. “Mouse’s honor.”
“And I won’t tell yours. Lynx’s honor,” I reply. My soul flutters with truth, knowing finally what Aditi’s been hiding, and why Mama Anita was taken from me. But we’re far from finished; there’s still the matter of Amara to worry about. And even if Mama Anita’s story is complete, the rest of mine has yet to be written.
Aditi and I plan our little heist over the next few days while we’re alone in the infirmary. The night before the truce’s end, we’re ready to put my thieving skills to the test.
Now we’re standing before Amara’s chambers—me, Aditi, and an unexpected addition: Saeed. Shima sits patiently at my side, joining the group. I didn’t need to call her here; it was like she knew I wanted her as a safeguard next to me, without me having to tell her. Maybe, ever since the bonding between Shima and me, we’ve been closer than I thought.
Saeed, on the other hand, had no clue what Aditi and I were up to.
I’d knocked on his door and told him everything—how Aditi and I concocted a plan to steal into Amara’s chambers, how we’re planning on looking for something Amara might be hiding. If we find something important, maybe it’ll help the raja realize Amara’s not the right adviser for this war. Saeed was reluctant at first, but I knew he’d agree, after what he’d seen his mother do to Aditi.
Tonight, Amara’s busy with war preparations with the raja, just like Aditi said. Now that Amara’s personal servant is healed, we pass the Charts with ease. Their thoughts are elsewhere. After all, tomorrow is the night the truce is ending.
“I’m still not quite sure what we’re looking for,” Saeed informs me and Aditi once we’re inside, gazing at us curiously.
“Neither are we.” Aditi offers a smile, holding up a pair of keys. I grin back at her. Stealing the keys was easy. Discovering Amara’s secrets . . . that’s the hard part.
As I gaze around Amara’s chambers, I take in the crimson walls. They look as if they’re bathed in blood.
I shiver as Shima curls by my feet. I smell magic coming from that spare room, she tells me.
“What’s in there?” I ask Aditi and Saeed, pointing to the spare room Shima eyes with curiosity. No—with fear.
“Her closet,” Aditi replies promptly. “She’s told me no one is allowed inside . . . not even Master Saeed.”
Saeed gazes down at his feet. “It’s true. However, snooping inside my mother’s rooms feels like a step too far. What will we even find?”
“I give Mistress Amara a rose every night,” Aditi says. “Where do they go? Why do they disappear? I’ve had a hunch about what’s in that closet. I just didn’t think I’d get the chance to steal Mistress Amara’s keys. If she found out . . .”
“It’s just for tonight,” I explain. “And I promise, she won’t know a thing.” My thief instincts kick in, even as I feel Shima’s suspicions heighten.
I can sense the questions that riddle Saeed’s tongue as we head toward Amara’s spare room in the corner. Aditi sticks the keys inside until we find the right one.
The door creaks open.
Darkness, at first. Then a rickety-looking staircase reveals itself, along with a window on the bricked wall. This must be one of the palace’s turrets. The stairs are littered with what look like blackened rose petals.
I gulp. “Who wants to go up first?”
To my surprise, Saeed takes a step forward. He faces me. “You were right about my mother, Rani. She’s changed. She’s hurt me, even if . . . even if I don’t want to believe it.” A pause. “If you say my mother is up to something beyond what we can see, then I believe you.”
I nod, and my chest swells. My heart absorbs his words of confidence.
I let him take the first step, Aditi next, and me on the end. As Aditi and Saeed reach the top, Shima slithers in front of me, uncoiling herself until she’s nearly at my waist.
“What is it, Shima?” I say, trying to sidestep her as the others disappear into a cylindrical room.
I sense something dark, she says.
“What is it? What do you sense?”
She shakes her head. I am . . . unsure. But it isn’t good.
I worry my lip. “Maybe if we find something on Amara, we can show the raja.”
She frowns. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Princess.
I enter the room when Shima lets me, arriving at what looks to be the spare closet Aditi was speaking of.
This looks nothing like a closet.
It looks . . . like a shrine.
A slither of horror fills my veins, echoing the fear in Shima’s bones. Raja’s beard, maybe the snake was right.
I take in the room. Candlelight and black rose petals spill across the floor, forming a circle around a pile of letters. Each one is addressed to the same person—a man named Kumal.
“Those are my father’s.” Saeed points at a few objects in the circle. The Kaaman crest. A ring. A sword . . . and those letters.
Kumal. I remember Amara mentioning his name once. He passed long ago, and I can’t help but wonder if this room, this shrine, is her way of remembering him.
“The letters are addressed to Father.” Saeed turns to the pile. “I need to read them.”
“But he’s—”
“Dead,” Saeed finishes. “I know.”
I hold my breath as Saeed reaches in. I wait for something to happen, maybe a phantom wind, a strange bite of magic, but nothing happens as he reaches into the circle of candlelight and plucks a letter off the top.
He reads the letter aloud:
“‘It has been
years,’” Saeed begins, “‘and you look no different from the day we met when you plucked a rose for me from Kaama’s Conservatory Gardens.’” Saeed’s voice shakes, and I plant a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Shima slithers closer, intrigued.
“‘You called me ‘“my sweet rose,”’” he continues. “‘Years pass, and that has not changed. When I see you, it’s like the moon has disappeared. When I see you, I remember why we fell in love.’”
Aditi’s eyes widen. “Is this written by . . . Mistress Amara?”
I shudder a breath. “If it’s addressed to her husband, Kumal, how is that possible? It looks as though it was just written.”
Saeed gulps. “I . . . don’t know.” I can see his mind racing, a monsoon of questions swirling about. I remember him telling me about his father’s death. The father he never knew.
“How does it end?”
Saeed’s fingers tremble as he reads the final line. “‘When we are reunited, nothing will touch us. When we are together, the world will spin only for us.’”
“W-what does she mean, together?” Aditi’s voice quivers.
Saeed takes another letter and continues reading. “‘Last night was Saeed’s engagement party. I so wish you could have been there. But I fear our son is beginning to see the truth.’” He skims the letter. “‘All I want is for us to be together again.’”
Saeed lets the letter float back to the ground.
“That’s . . . impossible,” I croak. He’s dead.
My gaze catches on another letter in the pile. No—not a letter. It looks like a page from a book. “What’s that?”
As soon as I say the words, I know Aditi’s seen the page, too. She lifts it from the pile and shows it to me. It has a border that looks eerily familiar, geometric patterns lining the edges. One side looks ripped, as if torn from a book.
Hadn’t I seen a page had been ripped out of The Complete History of Magic?
“D’you think . . . ,” I begin. Aditi gulps.
I shakily read the page aloud: