Sisters of the Snake

by Sasha Nanua

  “A noble cause. In the wrong hands, this stone could spell destruction. Abai’s king will not relent nor show mercy; his mission has been hammered into his mind for too long.”

  “I will stop him,” I promise. “We need only the location for me to find it.”

  It is difficult to decode the Master’s face through the smoke now, slowly fogging up the room, but I believe he smiles.

  The Fire Master begins, “As a Master in the sky, I saw where Queen Amrita hid the stone, deep in the narrowest point of the waters between kingdoms. For a cobra does not lie in plain sight.”

  “Cobra? What does that mean?” But there’s something unfurling in the back of my mind, like a snake shedding its skin. I think back to seeing Ria in that mindscape, the strength of our powers fusing together. I heard a voice, one so strong and deadly it could not be human.

  “Return to my hiding place,” I recite under my breath, “the gift in the cobra’s mouth . . .”

  The gift—of course. It must be the stone. But who has been speaking this strange riddle?

  The Fire Master’s shape begins to change, and the fog is pulling apart.

  “That is all I can say,” the Fire Master finishes. “Your truths will help you unmask the location of the stone . . . you must look to your magic.”

  The last word is so low, so ingrained in my mind, I am certain only I could hear it. And then the Fire Master disappears, leaving a smoking heap of ash and charred offerings before us. The compass alone is unharmed.

  At first, silence. Then the children begin to run around again in a cacophony of cheers and excited babble, and parents, attempting to be strict, pull them out of the chamber. Some stay and give their prayers before they leave.

  “That’s it?” Sanya says when most of the people have cleared out. “All I learned was that there’s a cobra sitting in water that doesn’t want to be seen.”

  There’s that mention of water again. The deserter Chart had said Amara and the raja were discussing water while speaking of the stone. The body of water must be where this mysterious cobra sits, the stone hiding with it. That can only be one place.

  “The Var River is where the two kings met, Amrit and Rahul, to make the Hundred-Year Truce. Perhaps—”

  “That’s where it ends,” Amir finishes. His eyes find mine, burning as intensely as the fire once roared with offerings.

  Sanya’s voice cuts through the tension. “Where is the Var River?”

  “It forms a natural border between part of Kaama and Abai, before the kingdoms’ official entrance points,” Taran says. “It is a hard trek. We have never visited ourselves, but our studies of the stars have taught us much.” He turns to Jas now. “Follow the North Star, straight through the jungles and villages. If you are up for the task, you will find the river there. But please, stay overnight. Your journey ahead is a difficult one.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Jas replies.

  As night falls, we take our much-needed rest, filling our stomachs and our hearts. The entire time, Amir remains far from me, certainly processing our last conversation. I relive the details every moment. Will we ever be the way we once were?

  It sharpens me from the inside out, knowing that might have been our last conversation, ever.

  Because I will not be staying the night.

  As the crew and I settle into makeshift cots down the once-abandoned halls of the Glass Temple, I keep my pack close. When they’re asleep, it’ll be time to put my plan into action. It will be time to leave for the Var River.

  Children’s chatter withers away. An hour ticks past as I wait for everyone to fall asleep. I sneak out and exit the Temple, sending off one last prayer. The sky, like blue silk stitched with stars by a palatial seamstress, spreads out before me. I take my first step, then my next. Follow the North Star.

  “Wait.”

  I turn and find Amir a few paces behind me, pack slung over his shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

  My voice turns cold. “Leaving. Isn’t it obvious?”

  I turn away, but Amir is quick to take my hand and pull me back.

  “You’re really risking a lot here,” Amir says. “Looking for the Bloodstone when the raja . . . your father . . . is out there.”

  “I don’t need your concern,” I tell him. I don’t know what’s overcome me, but that icy Princess Rani voice returns, and I hate the way it sounds on my tongue. Forced. Unsure. Unloved.

  “Well, you’re not leaving alone,” Amir says.

  “The Fire Master told me something secretly,” I say. “Only someone with snake magic can find the stone. Which means I must pursue this mission myself. Please, let me go. I’ve hurt you, all of you, enough.”

  “You haven’t hurt us—you helped us. And you can’t do this alone. Rani . . .” The name on his lips feels like a ray of sun on the darkest night. “Taran was talking to me over dinner. He said thank you wasn’t enough for what you did, getting that talisman. He said you gave them hope. And you gave me hope, too. You gave me something to believe in.”

  At those words, figures appear from the Temple. Irfan, Jas, and Sanya wait with their things.

  “Thought we’d let you go so easy? How very predictable for a thief.” Sanya smirks, but I see a genuine smile beneath. I didn’t know I could feel my heart crushed and then whole once more. But I feel it now. I feel it as Jas approaches, wrapping me in a hug. As Irfan nods in salute.

  Friendship, trust, and love.

  All I manage is a simple “Thank you,” though my heart beams.

  Amir squeezes my hand in his. “Let’s go.” Ria’s friend leads the way, pointing at the North Star. My feet move of their own accord as I think of where we are headed. The Var River, our final destination, where kings made pacts and promises. In two nights, the truce will end, and I shall be back at the palace.

  When I am with Ria again, nothing will be the same.

  37

  Ria

  Three knocks sound at my door the following night. But it isn’t Aditi. It’s Saeed, hair tousled and eyes wide, like he just woke up from a bad dream.

  Or a bad vision.

  “What’d you see?” I press, pulling him in and shutting my door.

  Saeed shivers. “It was a different sort of vision,” he begins. “I saw Mother speaking to a man. They exchanged cross words, and . . .” He gulps. “Her guard stabbed the man.”

  Cold seeps into my bones. “She . . . ordered this guy to be killed?”

  Pain fills Saeed’s gaze. “She was outside, right by Anari Square. Something about the truce ending tonight . . .”

  Neither of us have spoken about what we found in Amara’s chambers yesterday—strange articles that once belonged to Saeed’s father, not to mention the letters. And now a vision of Amara ordering someone’s death?

  She might as well be a murderer.

  I barely slept last night, too aware of each hour passing, of the eerie candlelight and black rose petals. An hour earlier, I watched the raja and his Charts leaving for battle. Swords being sharpened, horses’ hooves stomping the ground. How many hours are left before midnight? It’s already dark outside, the sky studded with stars.

  A battle will be under way soon.

  “We have to find her.” I hurry through Rani’s things and find two cloaks. I toss one at Saeed, then swing one over my shoulders.

  “She might already be gone. I’m not sure if the vision was of the present or future.”

  “Then we’ll have to take a chance. How long will it take to get to Anari Square?” I ask him.

  Saeed peers at me, like he can’t quite believe what I’m saying. “Not long if we run.”

  I grab Saeed’s hand. “Then we run.”

  We reach Anari Square in a quarter of an hour, thanks to my nights on the run with Amir and Saeed’s fit muscles. Even still, our breaths run hot and short as we take hairpin turns through the city, through a place I never thought I’d get the chance to see.

  My city.

  Anar
i lights up like a star in the night. The Square is busier than I thought it would be at this time, and it takes a moment for me to realize why. The Square is filled with nobles, people with money burning through their pouches. They’re grinning.

  This is a final celebration before the war begins.

  While the nobles, like the raja, are eagerly anticipating the war, I know the villagers are just the opposite. They’re afraid of what’s coming. It disgusts me seeing people celebrating when tonight, there will only be death.

  All around us are raja-picked musicians, marking the entrance of the Square’s patrons with a hundred sounds: the drum of the dhol, the beat of a tabla. The workers look like a beehive, swarming around in attempts to get their last-minute bargains in.

  If Amara’s here, we have to catch her.

  We rush through the stalls until we’re caught in the throng of people, all jostling their way past us. I keep my head shielded with my chunni, face covered by the shadows of night. Saeed hides under the hood of his cloak.

  We make it all the way to the back of the square, where wooded foliage surrounds us and nobles’ voices ring in the distance. Where is Amara?

  I glance around and find her just outside the square, partly hidden in a copse of trees, her waving red hair giving her away.

  “I see her,” I say grimly, facing Saeed.

  “Do you think the man was already . . .” Stabbed, I think, but Saeed won’t admit it.

  “Maybe.” I can only pray we aren’t too late.

  We approach Amara until we’re within hearing distance. She’s facing away from us, speaking low . . . to someone in a red coat. A soldier, but I thought most of them were gone for the front lines. A man lies below him. I gulp. Skies be good—that must be the man from the vision. He lies wounded on the ground, his chest shuddering, and I fumble back.

  A twig snaps under my foot.

  Amara whirls.

  “Just as I thought,” she says, looking ghostly in her noble clothes, her face a picture of calm. The Chart stands a few breaths away, looking stern.

  Amara strokes the petals of a rose with her fingertips. “Another trip outside the palace, I presume?”

  Another? Right, my visit to the orphanage. “Just a late-night walk,” I say with a squeaky, unconvincing tone, my gaze flying to the man on the ground.

  Amara smothers a laugh. “He’ll be fine, dear. Just a little injury, we’ll call it.”

  All confidence flees my body as she saunters closer, tucking the rose behind her ear.

  Blackened roses. Letters to a dead husband.

  “My dear Saeed . . . what has the darling princess of Abai asked you for now?”

  “Nothing, Mother. We were just visiting.”

  It startles me how easily he lies, especially in the face of his mother. But Amara doesn’t take the bait.

  “Have you had your tonic tonight?”

  “Yes.” Saeed doesn’t waver.

  “I think not,” Amara says sharply. “My servant never made the brew. I was just out to collect more song beetle juice from my gracious supplier.”

  “You mean snake venom,” I snap.

  Her smile slips. “You’re too smart for your own good.” She glances down at the wounded man. “Apparently you ask for too much snake venom and your supplier starts blabbing.”

  I shudder. “You’re trying to block Saeed’s magic. Why?”

  “I didn’t want to block it, merely help him. His visions are strong. Do you know what the raja would think if he found out a boy in the palace had magic? A magic other than the only one supposedly left? People have been executed in the Pit for less.”

  I gulp, thinking of the Pit. Of the Vadi Orphanage, where kids were supposed to forget their magic, have it leeched from them.

  “And,” continues Amara, “the less Saeed saw of my plans, the better.”

  “Tell us what you’ve been doing. Tell us about the letters!” I shout. “We saw Kumal’s memory in your shrine.”

  “You had no business being there,” Amara snaps.

  “Mother, we saw the moment before Father’s death. He didn’t die by accident. Why did you lie to me?”

  Amara’s face darkens. “I wanted to protect you from the truth. Do you know why I love roses so? In beauty there is always a thorn. No love is without flaw. I love you, son. I only want to help you. Help us.”

  She places her hands on those golden cuffs, which are now glowing. Behind her, the Chart’s eyes look glazed.

  Everything begins to click together. “Those cuffs,” I say. “They’re magical, aren’t they?”

  “Took you long enough to figure it out.” Amara grips her cuffs harder, and the Chart’s eyes flash with obedience. “One Twenty-Two, move the body so no one sees.”

  The Chart immediately drags the supplier into the forest.

  I gasp. “You’re . . . controlling him?”

  “This isn’t merely jewelry,” she scoffs. “The Memory Master’s talisman has served me well.”

  Saeed’s breath hitches. A talisman? I think back to the scepter the Snake Master used to make the Pit. There were more talismans, Shima told me. Lost to time, buried away.

  Or hidden in plain sight.

  I’d seen the royal crest of Kaama—a single eye—on the letter from King Jeevan. It was the same symbol on Amara’s cuffs. I’d figured out that the Kaaman crest was the symbol of the Memory Master; what I hadn’t realized was that Amara’s cuffs might’ve been the Memory Master’s talisman all along.

  She reveals her hands, riddled with scars, and stares at us with an intensity I have not seen in her eyes before. “Like I said, I am only doing this—using this magical object—to protect my son. For a mother or father should protect their children, not abuse them.”

  Father. The word pulls up a memory. I remember my second full day at the palace, when Amara had told me about the cuffs, a gift from her father. And the night she slapped me—the whip marks on her palms.

  I know pain better than you ever will.

  “Your father,” I say. The dark revelation sweeps over me like a cold tide. I point at her scarred hands. “He did that to you, didn’t he?”

  Saeed gapes at Amara’s palms. “Mother, you told me that was from a childhood accident.”

  Amara grimaces. “You wonder where you got your magic from, son? It was from my father. He revered magic and despised me when he saw I was magicless. But I am not anymore. After his death when I was merely eighteen, I took the cuffs and ran. I was finally free . . . after all he’d done to me.”

  Saeed shivers. “What did he do?”

  Amara’s lips twist. “He turned me into his puppet. Controlled me with his talisman, forced me into the streets of Kaama, used me to steal and barter, and punished me when I failed.” A tear escapes Amara’s eye. She smooths a finger over it in remembrance. “That is not a love a father should show his children. You must see now, son, why I’ve done all that I have. I am protecting you,” she repeats, her throat raw.

  “You aren’t protecting him,” I spit, drawing my gaze away from the cuffs. “You’re hurting him.”

  “How would you know, thief girl?” she snipes at me. All signs of tears are gone, replaced by a scowl.

  “Thief?” Saeed’s mouth parts gently. His brows scrunch together.

  “Oh, dear boy. Haven’t you noticed something different about your betrothed since Diwali? You must realize, from that night forward, she has not been the same. Because she is not who she says she is.”

  Saeed gazes at me with curiosity. My identity is fracturing right before his eyes.

  Amara wears an oily smile. “Look at the girl you thought you knew. Look at the traitor.”

  Something hits him deep. In his eyes, in his heart.

  “Rani?” he whispers, but the name rings false. He’s uncovered the truth, like he’s peeled back every layer before me and I’m bare for the first time.

  My true self.

  “Saeed, please,” I begin, tears forming in my eyes.
“I never wanted to hurt you.” I turn and point at Amara. “She does.”

  Amara laughs. “If you didn’t meddle, I wouldn’t have had to expose you!” She ponders her words, tapping her chin. “Let me revoke that. If you hadn’t meddled in the palace—found that book—in the first place . . . I would not have known the truth.” She lifts a brow. “Rani was never the kind to go looking.”

  “What are you talking about?” Saeed’s lips tremble. “Mother, tell me the truth.”

  “Fine. The truth is . . . your beloved has a twin sister. And she is standing right next to you.”

  Raja’s beard. She knew I wasn’t Rani, yes, but . . . how’d she know I was her twin?

  Saeed releases a choked noise. “Twin?”

  Amara looks at the sky. “Time is nearly up.” She turns to the Chart, who waits at the edge of the forest. “One Twenty-Two, take them to the dungeons.”

  “Yes, Amara,” he answers monotonously.

  Within seconds the Chart is tying ropes around my and Saeed’s wrists, binding us together. I’m struck by palpable fear, slithering through my veins. Shima! I call out, but I know she’s too far away to hear me. Rani!

  I know that won’t work, either. But as tears slip down my face, Saeed’s hard back behind mine, I’m more helpless than ever.

  “Don’t fight,” Amara instructs. “One Twenty-Two, the sleep serum, please.”

  The Chart nods and pushes us toward a carriage waiting in the forest. We have no more than a second before the Chart throws us inside, grabs my chin, and tips my head up. He forces my mouth open and drains the briny liquid down my throat. My body grows limp, and seconds later, Saeed’s body slackens behind me.

  The last thing I see is Amara’s face before the world becomes a blur.

  38

  Rani

  We follow the path of the North Star. We’ve taken shorter breaks than usual, scraps of sleep, these past two nights. Far from the jungles, the terrain spills into something like sand. Dirt hills and sand dunes appear around us. My body buzzes; something in my bones tells me we’re close.

  Then we see it. The waters before us look like a mirage, a sparkling dream of cascading ocean.