by Sasha Nanua
The Var River.
And beyond it, mountains looming into Kaaman territory. Far out are the Veterans in their red coats, like splotches of blood, guarding the entrance checkpoints.
I move with purpose. Closer, closer, until I’m so close to the water my reflection stares back.
I press a finger to the water, watching it ripple down the stream. The river expands endlessly on either side of us, and the desert envelops everything else.
The land where King Amrit and King Rahul made their pact, a pact that could not be broken for a hundred years.
The Fire Master told us that the stone is hidden in the narrowest part of the river. A map Jas possesses shows what must be the spot.
I am so close to the stone; I feel it in my marrow.
Amir is already knee-deep in the brook. I join him, wading carefully into the sparkling waters, hands outstretched. Jas, Sanya, and Irfan tackle the left side, while Amir and I head right. I must unlock the snake magic within me to find the stone.
I reach down for it, spring open the drawer where I’ve boxed it away.
It roars forth stronger than ever, flooding my senses.
A voice floats toward me, much like the voice of the Fire Master, echoing deep in my mind.
In the cobra’s mouth . . .
Some instinct tugs at me. There, it seems to say. There. It is yours for the taking.
I get on my knees, crawling deep into the river. I plunge down, eyes burning beneath the water, but somehow, my lungs feel stronger than ever.
There. A ways down, something emits a glowing red light. I swim forth, using my arms to propel me closer. The light looks so close and so far at the same time, as if taunting me.
My arms burn by the time I’m near. I press a hand against the rocky edges of the river, then claw my way down, past stinging leaves wrapping around my ankles. I shove the leaves away, inching closer to the light.
It is but a pinprick when I reach it, blocked by some kind of stone wall. I shove my hands against it, but the wall will not budge.
Tutor’s calm voice enters my mind, reminding me of a time when I first learned to ride a horse. Frustrated by my lack of progress, I threw down the reins and nearly caused the horse to buck.
“Show no fear, no anger, and you will get what you wish,” he’d said. He demonstrated how to gently hold the reins; how to pat the horse’s gleaming coat; how to feel the horse as one with me.
I rush up, gasping for breath, then duck back down into the water, both hands pressed against the stone wall.
I do not push. I think; I believe.
The same way I believe in Ria. The way I believe in Amir. The way I have seen them both believe in me.
The way I have come to believe in myself.
My magic rises up.
A voice echoes in my mind, eerily familiar. Return to me . . .
And then the voice disappears. A grinding sound reverberates through the water as the rock wall begins to shake. Hairline cracks form, racing through the stone. I pull back as the wall crumbles, and behind it, a shape appears, dark as obsidian: a cobra with ivory fangs. Lodged in its mouth is the ruby-red stone, pulsing like a heartbeat.
The gift in the cobra’s mouth.
I wrap my hands around the Bloodstone, triumph singing through my veins. Below me, something flashes. I spot a shimmering crown split in two. Queen Amrita’s tiara!
My magic bursts through me like water through a broken dam.
I’ve discovered what Queen Amrita had hidden. And it seems she hid it herself! For the first time, I feel like a true royal.
A voice seeps out of the stone, echoing in my mind.
“Your one wish this shall fulfill, for Amran’s lifeblood is its will.”
Crimson light washes over me. I pull myself out of the river, watching as the Bloodstone’s light grows more powerful. I hold the stone above my head for Amir, for the others to see. But there’s no one here except hulking shapes in the darkness. Animals? No—
Charts.
All I see is red—the sight of a summer sunset. Red—the color of Amara’s lips. Red—the smell of blossoming death.
Father’s army, hulking and deadly, approaches the river on horseback. I rush out of the water, finding Amir and the crew already on land. He points at the soldiers.
“We need to go. Now,” Sanya says. She shivers in the cool night air. Irfan is already taking Jas’s hand, ready to run now that we have what we need.
But this journey is about more than finding the stone. It always was.
“Stay back,” I tell them. “There’s something I must do.”
Amir hollers for me not to go, but I’m already sprinting. When I am ten paces away, a few Charts turn their heads at the sight of me.
Whispers infiltrate their ranks. Now, instead of reverence, they stare at me with morbid fascination, though a few stick out. Young Charts. Ones whose minds haven’t been lost to my father’s rule.
More Charts arrive, their boots like drumbeats as they approach. Several stallions shuffle behind them, attached to a carriage.
Father’s Head Chart dismounts his steed and leaves the sea of bloody coats, approaching me. I freeze in place.
He’s seen me on many occasions inside the palace. I recognize his roughly shaven beard and cutting, beady eyes. He stops suddenly, eyes widening when he notices my face. Then his gaze drops to the stone. He gapes as he stares into the red wishes within.
Before he can speak, someone leaves the carriage. I keep my chin high as the Charts part like curtains and Father steps forward. I haven’t been gone from the palace long, yet he looks upon me like I am a stranger, scepter in hand, the snake head perpetually hissing.
“Daughter?” he asks, voice catching.
I erase the tremors from my voice. “Hello, Father.”
39
Ria
Amara wrenches open the doors leading to the dungeons, and we’re thrown inside. The bowels of the palace are dank and smell like packed dirt. I catch sight of Samvir, the raja’s snake, slithering before us. He looks as if he’s guarding the cells with scrutinous, sharp eyes.
What is he doing here?
I make out the outline of Shima, tucked into the corner and barred in a cage. She looks sleepy. Amara must’ve given her a dosage of the sleeping drug, too.
Saeed and I are both unbound and pushed into adjacent cells. The whole way here Saeed and I were unconscious, until finally we reached the palace and awoke groggy.
I don’t know how this night can get any worse.
The Charts and Amara retreat upstairs, and silence envelops the space between Saeed and me. He runs a hand over his face. My stomach twists at the sight of him—curly-haired, primly dressed, noble-looking despite being thrown into the back of a carriage like a common thief. Saeed is a true prince, in every sense of the word, from the honey in his eyes to the regal way he carries himself. He is nothing like me.
But he, like Rani, is also a mirror of me—a person who’s loved and lost, a person searching for his way, a person who didn’t understand the truth of who he came from.
“Tell me,” he says. He’s still dazed from the effects of the serum, but I hear the plea in his voice. “Who are you?”
My name won’t leave my lips. “I’m no one.”
His gaze burns into mine. I close my fingers around the shared bars between our cells and let my forehead fall against it. He takes two strides toward me and presses his warm fingers to my chin, lifting my face up. “You aren’t no one. You’re a princess.”
“I’m a fake princess. Rani is your real betrothed. You love her.”
“I thought I did,” he says in the softest voice imaginable, so soft I almost don’t hear him. “I told myself my love would last forever. But it did not. I told myself my heart was Rani’s. That it could not belong to anyone else. But now . . .”
“Now?” I say, hating the broken sound of my voice.
He steps back infinitesimally. My lips part. Tell him, I thin
k. Tell him how you feel. But I can’t think straight. He’s so close I can feel the warmth of his breath, see the heat blooming across his cheeks.
“Please indulge me, Princess,” Saeed begins, “how did you and Rani come to meet?”
“I’m a thief,” I reveal. “I don’t know much about palace life. I only just met Rani on Diwali night. And then we decided to switch places.”
A soft gasp escapes his lips. Though I won’t admit it aloud, I like the incredulity written on his face, the way his lips are frozen in shock.
That look is worth more than all the rupees in Abai.
Despite what I just said, Saeed doesn’t pull away. Neither of us do.
“Despite everything,” Saeed says, “I never held any ill will against Rani. Her choices are her truths, just as yours are. And . . . I think I knew, deep down, that you were different. I saw it in your movements. The way you hold yourself. The moments you chose to act, how you spoke up against your father. I don’t understand, but I know you, and I forgive you, as well.”
“But . . . I lied to you. I pretended to be Rani when I’m not. My name . . . is Ria.”
The silence is like music, and we wait for the right beat, the right chord. Then Saeed smiles at the revelation and speaks my name, my true name. “Ria.” He’s really seeing me for the first time. A girl born in dirt instead of jewels. But the way he speaks my name makes it sound like that’s perfectly all right with him.
Steady footsteps echo in the distance, and we both shoot apart just as Amara appears.
She flicks her gaze to Saeed. “Son, don’t get too close. The muck from the street thief will rub off on you.”
Saeed reddens. “Mother, please. We know you want the Bloodstone.”
“It’s time to confess,” I tell Amara with as much courage as I can muster.
Her voice is like poison. “You want a confession? Here it is. Do you think the raja would’ve looked for the Bloodstone if I hadn’t suggested it? It was a fable to many, but I grew curious. A little over four years ago, I began taking trips to Retan, meeting with scholars who studied magic. The scholars’ ancestors were saints, able to communicate with Amran and learn the properties of all magics. They recorded this knowledge in their ancient texts, which are heavily guarded. One scholar in Retan’s capital taught me about the Bloodstone, a lifelong obsession of his that led him to believe he knew a key detail of its location: in water. It wasn’t difficult to ask him for more information.” She glances at her cuffs. “Many scholars theorized that Queen Amrita, the last known royal to have the stone, hid it. She knew its magic was dangerous. That even those who controlled it could become ill from abusing its power.”
Queen Amrita. Mama Anita had mentioned her before. She’d died young . . . had she wasted away from using the Bloodstone? I shiver. No wonder she wanted to hide it. “Then why do you want it?”
“Its effects do not matter if one has the perfect antidote,” Amara explains.
“You’re delirious, Mother,” Saeed says.
“Silence!” Amara snaps, her calm evaporated. “With the raja’s resources, the Charts, and his maps, I knew it could only be a matter of time before he found the stone . . . and eventually, he would give it to me himself.”
She plants a hand against Samvir’s forehead. He nearly looks . . . relaxed. Controlled.
“You—you’re controlling Samvir, too?” I remember the way his scales flickered between red and black that day in the rafters. A snake’s scales are supposed to reflect the emotions of the person they’re bound to, or in my case when I first got to the palace, close to. The red must’ve been a warning . . . a sign that Samvir’s mind was being controlled by another.
Amara nods, like she wants me to go on.
“And . . . the raja?” I croak.
She smiles. “Do you think the raja would have obeyed me without this talisman? Helped me search for that precious Bloodstone? Appointed me his adviser?”
My body chills. “You made him this way, didn’t you? Hungry for war. You manipulated him, the same way your father did to you!”
She looks like she might leap at me, claws and all, but she holds back. Paints on a sweet smile. “I might have started it, but the raja’s hunger for power only grew from there. I merely made him realize his true potential.
“Samvir has been a great help,” she continues, patting the cobra’s head. “I would have more control over the raja if he were here himself, but the snake will do. Cheer up, dear impostor Rani. None of this will matter once I have the Bloodstone.”
“To find the mythical Soul Master,” I say. “We know all about your plan to bring your husband back from the dead. It’s delusional. It’s—”
Amara’s growl cuts me off. “I’ve learned more about magic than you know. You see, when I first met the scholars, I was impatient. I needed a temporary way to see my husband again, before the stone should ever be found. They showed me how to use these cuffs to reconnect with my lost husband. The Retanian scholars taught me ways nonmagic folk could combine the cuffs’ magic with a special item—in my case, roses—to reconnect to a loved one. Kumal’s possessions heightened the magic. Then, I only needed to burn the petals so I could enter his memories.”
“That’s why you had his belongings,” I realize. “You were trying to speak to him.”
“Indeed. But as you now know, this magic was not strong enough. People cannot communicate through memories. Not even mindwielders,” she adds bitterly. “But I have a solution. With the stone, I’ll get everything I desire. I will have power. I will have my husband back. This will be over soon.”
I squirm, yanking on the cell bars. “Over? What will be? The raja probably has the stone right now. The stone you want. Whatever you’re planning to use it for—you won’t even be able to touch it.”
Amara only sneers. “Worry not, dear girl. I have greater plans.”
She stalks toward the staircase, her hair rippling like flames.
“You’re not telling us the whole truth,” I say.
“I don’t have to,” she says. “My life is a story that began in tragedy, but I will get my happy ending.”
Amara disappears up the staircase, leaving us in endless gloom.
40
Rani
Once, everything I said turned to gold. Now my words are empty, hollow, and my chest feels that way, too.
“Rani.” The raja frowns. “Why would you leave the palace? And what are you doing here? You must go to safety. This battlefield will soon be a dangerous place.” Lust for war fills his gaze. He is ready for battle.
“I left on Diwali night,” I say. I turn around and find Amir, Sanya, Jas, and Irfan watching carefully. I’m unsure if they can hear me, but even so, I can barely force the words past my lips. Spilling the secret in front of those I’ve betrayed feels like breaking my own bones. “R-Ria is in the palace.”
Father’s eyes look foggy. The name doesn’t seem to mean anything to him.
“You must hear me, Father. I’m your daughter. One of your daughters. One of your twins!”
The raja’s brows furrow. “Twins,” he murmurs. For one second—one fleeting moment—that lust falls from his face, and he looks at me with perfect clarity. He reaches out to touch my cheek. Father has never given me such a warm gesture, not since I was a child.
He wraps his hands in mine, enveloping the stone.
Then, in a cold voice, he says, “I have no twins, Rani.”
“Please,” I say, tears rising. How could a king—a parent—forget his own children? Unless . . .
I am helpless as the raja takes the stone from my hands. No, I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I practically offered it to him. He passes it to the Head Chart, who turns away, headed for the carriage.
“Wait!” I call, moving to rush after the Chart. “Father, this isn’t right. Using the stone will only harm you. War will ruin our kingdom.”
Father puts out one arm, stopping me in my tracks. His eyes are flinty. “This stone will
save our kingdom, Rani. You speak of things you do not understand.”
“It’s you who doesn’t understand,” I say, voice breaking, desperate to convince him. The Head Chart has disappeared into the crowd of soldiers, the Bloodstone with him, and I swing around to face my father fully. “I can prove it, Father—”
“Enough, Rani!” he thunders.
I shrink back, despite myself.
But I promised the Master of Fire I would stop this. I promised Amir. I promised myself. Even if he refuses to listen to me, I have to try.
“Listen to me!” Father’s eyes widen—at my audacity, no doubt—but I do not give him the chance to speak. Instead, I need him to remember me and Ria. The reason he split us up in the first place.
The prophecy.
“Do you remember looking into the Fountain of Fortunes before I was born?” I ask him. “There was a prophecy. Sisters of the snake shall be born from Abai’s royalty, twins of opposing forces, one of light and one of dark . . .”
As I recite the prophecy, Father’s brows lift.
“Twins,” he mutters. He blinks again. Is it working? Could he actually be remembering?
I barrel on. “Do you remember us? You weren’t always a bloodthirsty king. When I was young, you protected me. These soldiers behind you are children—they’re even younger than I am! Would you have me go to war with Kaama? Just for an endless grudge?”
For once, my father seems taken aback. He spins to look at the soldiers gathered around us, his mouth opening and closing silently as he looks at the young faces. He seems almost . . . confused.
“Why would you let Amara convince you to lower the conscription age? You could have said no. You have no right to let these children risk their lives.”
“I—I don’t understand, Rani. Why would Amara ask such a thing?”
“Because she’s your adviser,” I tell him. “You appointed her on Diwali night.”
Father looks gaunt. “Daughter . . . I haven’t appointed a new adviser in years.”
Murmurs fill the air. “You haven’t appointed a new adviser . . . in years?” I repeat. The Charts whisper. They know Amara was appointed not long ago.