“No,” I say. “I’m his son, Cavas. My father is ill. Tenement Fever.”
Juhi’s face tightens slightly. “I didn’t know. Ruhani Kaki didn’t tell me.”
I nod. I’m about to say more—that there is nothing I can do for her—when her companion, who had been silent all this time, gasps.
“You!” she exclaims. The sun has risen by now, light pouring through a crack in the clouds. Its hazy glow reveals the sharp, familiar contours of the girl’s face, a thick lock of frizzy, soot-colored hair that she impatiently pushes off her forehead. It’s her. The gold-eyed thief from the moon festival.
“You.” The word slips out of my mouth without warning, the single syllable holding so much fury that the girl takes a step backward.
“You know each other?” Juhi asks.
“I saw her pickpocketing at the moon festival in Ambarvadi two months ago,” I say.
“I was not!” the girl protests before turning to Juhi. “He saved me from a merchant who thought I was pickpocketing him.”
“I saved you because I thought you needed it. Because I thought you were like me. I never would have stepped in if I’d known you were a privileged brat with magic in her veins.”
Silence. Even after turning away from her, I feel the girl’s gaze burning the side of my face.
“I am sorry to hear your father is ill,” Juhi says finally. “He’s a good man. I knew him well.”
“How well did you know him?” I demand. “Papa wouldn’t tell me.”
“There was nothing scandalous about our relationship, I assure you.” I detect amusement in Juhi’s voice. “But if Xerxes didn’t tell you how we knew each other, then I’m not sure it’s my place to do so.”
I push aside the frustration her response brings. Why does it matter how Papa knew this woman? I already know what I’m going to say to her.
“I read your letter to Papa,” I tell Juhi. “It’s only at his insistence that I came here to see you today. You need to know that there is no way I can get her into Ambar Fort.” I gesture to the girl, observe the way she stiffens. “As for Raj Mahal—you can forget about it.”
“I know what I’m asking for is difficult—” Juhi begins.
“It’s not only difficult. It’s dangerous. Besides, I don’t hire the palace servants. I barely have any power as it is,” I say bitterly.
“But you know enough to get the clothes and identification she’ll need to pass off as a servant,” Juhi says, her eyes shrewd. “I can offer you seven swarnas for your trouble. Every month, if you wish.”
Her offer brings Major Shayla’s words to mind, pricking at a sense of pride I didn’t know I possessed. These dirt lickers will do anything—even sell their own mothers—for a bit of coin.
“So much to get an ordinary thief into the palace?” I ask coldly. “I may be desperate, Juhi ji. But I am not a fool.”
“Name your price, then.”
“No price is worth the danger.” I force myself to not look at the girl. I haven’t forgotten Latif’s words. Or the unease I felt when I pictured her lying dead outside the barracks in the Walled City.
Juhi grabs hold of my wrist. Her palm is rough and hardened with calluses. My stomach drops. I am not one to make impulsive moves. But I wonder now if this single moment of spontaneity of coming here to talk to these women will have me blown up by some spell.
“Listen. I know you don’t believe me, but Gul isn’t an ordinary thief. Show him your right arm, Gul.”
“What?” the girl cries out. “Are you mad, Juhi Didi?”
“I don’t need to see anything,” I begin, but Juhi cuts me off with a squeeze on the wrist. I bite my tongue.
Juhi and the girl—Gul—are having a silent conversation with their eyes. Gul inhales sharply as if bracing herself and moves aside the blanket covering her shoulders. She slowly rolls up the sleeve of her right arm, bit by bit, her eyes trained on me. Four fingers above the thin green veins in the crook of her elbow, I see it: the raised black ridge of a birthmark, shaped into a perfect star. A blink of an eye later, Gul whips it back into the depths of her blanket, but I’m still staring at her, a feeling like ice in my throat.
“I believe she can help us with our fight,” Juhi says, her voice quiet, serious. “I believe she may be the One.”
The One, whom magi call the Star Warrior. A marked girl destined to bring forth a revolution, leading to a new era of peace in Ambar.
“I don’t care for your magi prophecies!” I wrest my hand from Juhi’s grip. “For you, perhaps, the current king may be the worst one in an era, but for us non-magi, Raja Lohar is the same as his predecessor. Do you think some Star Warrior will magically undo the wrongs that have been inflicted on us one ruler after another? Besides, if she really were the One, as you call her, why would she need my help to get in?”
“I understand your disinclination,” Juhi says. “But—”
“I am not the One!” Gul interrupts. “I don’t even know why Juhi Didi thinks I might be!”
“No, you’re not,” I agree. “You’re only another magus who thinks she can change the world for those she considers inferior to herself.”
“Or maybe”—Gul steps forward until her face is barely a breath away from mine, so close that I can see the flush tinting her dusky cheeks, the tiny freckles scattered over the bridge of her nose—“maybe I’m a magus who every night lives with the memory of her parents getting murdered because of the king’s obsession with this so-called Star Warrior. Maybe I just want something simple and selfish, like revenge! Ever considered that?”
Her words don’t surprise me as much as the conviction she says them with, her rage so palpable that it renders me speechless.
“I’m going.” Gul blinks rapidly, and I realize that her eyes are wet. “Clearly, there is no help here.”
“Gul! Gul, no, wait—” Juhi cries out.
Gul doesn’t. She walks until the edge of the street, then breaks into a run, disappearing into the shadows of the alley. I barely hear the pleas Juhi makes next—pleas that I don’t respond to. Finally, she gives up, and I watch her walk away as well.
It’s over. I won’t have to see either of them again. The thought should be reassuring, but it does nothing to erase the memory of Gul’s stricken face from my mind. She’s a fool, I tell myself firmly. A fool bent on killing herself. Privileged magus though she may be, the last thing I want is for her to die.
A cold that has nothing to do with the weather makes goose bumps break over my skin. I shake it off and begin trudging back the way I came, keeping the blanket on even when sunlight floods the blue sky and the air turns hot and oppressive.
14
GUL
Fool.
The word enters my mind, echoes there moments after I get to the end of the alley, where our horses are tethered. Hot tears slide down my cheeks. I wipe them away angrily. When Juhi and I left for Ambarvadi this morning, I was feeling buoyant, fueled by my success at passing Juhi’s test a couple of nights ago.
I rode Agni, of course, and the mare and I spent the entire ride speaking through our bond. I told Agni about what I did during the two months I was shackled to the house. Agni warned me not to lose my temper today at any cost.
Now, a wet nose nudges my shoulder.
You lost your temper, didn’t you? Agni asks. There’s no hint of mockery in her voice.
“I did.” Oh goddess, I lost it completely. “It was him. The boy from the moon festival.”
Did he remember you?
“It would have been better if he hadn’t.”
Seeing him jarred me initially, my face warming at the memory of our kiss. But that soon went away, escalating to anger as he continued speaking, his words bringing back every little insecurity I feel about my magic. By losing my temper, I failed myself. And I failed Juhi as well.
Juhi, however, doesn’t scold me for my behavior or curse me the way I want her to. She arrives a few moments later and begins undoing the rope tetherin
g Gharib to his post. “I tried to convince Cavas,” she says simply. “He wouldn’t respond.”
My throat tightens. “Is there someone else who can…” My voice trails off as Juhi shakes her head. “Maybe if I went back and apologized…”
“It wouldn’t work.” Lines bracket the corners of Juhi’s lips. She won’t meet my gaze. “The boy isn’t Xerxes. It wouldn’t be fair for us to expect him to respond the way his father would.”
In the distance, a temple bell rings. Figures emerge in the alley: shopkeepers, who roll up their gates without sparing us a single glance. I cast a look at the gleaming tip of Sant Javer’s temple and instantly feel foolish for doing so. Whatever chance I had with Cavas got lost the moment my pride took over and I burst into that angry tirade. The moment I ran. I climb onto Agni without another word and follow Juhi back out into the city square.
The ride to Javeribad is hot and feels far too long. There’s a horrible ache in my ribs that doesn’t go away. My unease sharpens by the time we enter the town and hear screams rising from somewhere around the main square. Juhi and I glance at each other only once before launching into a gallop, forcing the crowd to part for us, allowing us to see what’s going on.
“No, please!” A woman in her early twenties is kneeling on the ground before the head thanedar, her face streaked with dirt and tears. “Please, Thanedar ji! Please, someone help me!”
No one does. None of the villagers—people who have likely known the woman since birth—say a word.
“You know the law about marked girls!” the head thanedar shouts angrily. From the wooden cart behind him, I hear the sound of wailing: a baby. “Under no circumstances must they be kept or hidden away. For the safety of the land. For the safety of our king!”
Something hot burns inside my chest.
“She’s a baby! Only a few months old!” the woman wails, grabbing the pointed toes of the thanedar’s shoes. “Thanedar ji, have mercy! She can’t even do any magic!”
“Get off me!” The thanedar kicks her away. “Get off, foolish woman, if you don’t want to be arrested.”
I dismount Agni and push past the crowd. “Leave her!” I shout. “Let her baby go!”
“Gul!” Juhi screams. “Gul, no!”
A sound like thunder rattles through my head. I’m thrown backward into the crowd, stars bursting before my eyes. I hear my name again—once, perhaps twice. The world goes black.
* * *
“… my apologies. She was distraught. It … it’s been a difficult morning.”
“I’m letting her go this time for your sake. But Juhi ji, you must control your ward. Or the next time I’ll be forced to arrest her as well.”
Their voices seep into my consciousness, float in from somewhere above. Instead of the ground, I feel something softer underneath: the netting of a cot, a pillow—my pillow. My head still feels sore, as if it’s been battered continually from the inside.
I slowly rise to a sitting position. Sunlight pours from the courtyard window into the empty dormitory. Outside, Uma Didi’s ringing voice lectures the novices on Ambari history—a pretext that is often put up for the benefit of the thanedars: “In the twelfth year of Rani Megha’s reign, an ordinance to limit non-magi holdings was introduced. Acharya Bindu, who would go on to write the Tenement Laws, suggested various—” Her voice cuts off abruptly. “Juhi! What’s going on? What did the thanedar say?”
“It’s all right, Uma. He’s gone now. You can resume your usual Yudhnatam lessons. Yes, yes, Gul is fine,” Juhi says. “I’m going to see her now.”
And she does, a few moments later, entering the dormitory with a wary look on her face.
“Well,” she says. “You’ve had quite a morning, haven’t you?”
“What happened?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“I tried to stop you from moving forward. So did the head thanedar. Our spells must have collided, knocking you out.”
“Not to me,” I say. Anger seeps in, straightening my spine. “The baby. What happened to the baby?”
Juhi says nothing.
“They took her, didn’t they?” I taste something bitter at the back of my tongue. “They took her, and we did nothing!”
“We couldn’t do anything,” she snaps. “It was impossible!”
“You could have intervened! Modified their memories—”
“There were about fifty people in the square,” Juhi says sharply. “Even I can’t modify so many memories—not at once. Someone would have seen, would have grown suspicious. Saving that child would have meant exposing the rest of us.”
“Protecting the unprotected,” I recite the Sisterhood’s motto out loud. “So that only matters when it’s convenient, is it? It’s the only time your so-called samarpan counts.”
“By the gods! Be sensible—”
“I won’t. I won’t be sensible if it means turning a blind eye every time another girl gets arrested just for having a birthmark! That girl … she was a baby, Juhi Didi!”
I dimly grow aware of silence falling in the courtyard; I must have been shouting.
Juhi’s body tenses, and for a moment, I think she might smack me or hit me with another spell. But then her shoulders sag, her face looking older than I’ve ever seen it. “Yes. I know samarpan stands for ‘sacrifice.’ But every sacrifice requires a choice, and I had to choose between saving one life and twenty girls who live with me day in and day out. I chose those girls. I chose you.”
Instead of making me feel better, her words make me feel worse.
There’s a creak as Juhi settles down on an empty cot next to mine. “What happened this morning in the square got me thinking again. Amira was right. It was wrong of me to be so hasty. To push you so hard when you’re so young. I got so consumed by my own desire for revenge that…” There’s a pause followed by a soft hush of breath. “This is my fault. I failed. Not only that child, but also you.”
I say nothing. What happened with Cavas this morning feels like a distant memory, an embarrassment I barely feel. I don’t know when Juhi leaves the dormitory or when the other novices enter.
“What’s up with her?” I hear someone say.
“She and Juhi had a disagreement,” I hear Kali say in her cool voice. “Gul? Gul, are you all right?”
I don’t answer, and eventually, as the day goes on, they stop asking. The afternoon meal goes by. So does the evening one.
“You have to eat sometime, princess.”
I look up from the plate full of lotus sabzi, dal, and rice and into Amira’s dark eyes.
“No one cares, do they?” I ask. “About girls like us.”
Something shifts in her gaze, something I don’t quite understand. “Eat,” she says again before leaving the room.
I don’t.
I sit there, unmoving, until the lantern is blown out and the other novices’ light snores fill the room. They mask the sound of my feet, the darkness shielding my movements, turning me into another shadow moving across the wall.
15
GUL
A hundred yards from the main bazaar at Ambarvadi, a flesh market is held every day during the first week of the month. Sold here, along with horses, bullocks, and landfowl, are humans—Ambari citizens who voluntarily put themselves up for indenture at the palace or elsewhere for a period of ten years, usually to pay off a debt, sometimes even incurred by a previous generation. Prostitution is forbidden—though that doesn’t always stop some from forcing indentured boys and girls into it. As the old saying goes: Everything sells in a market. All you need is a buyer.
I stand at the edge of a sweets stall with Agni, the thin gray pallu of my sari drawn over my head, shielding my face from the heat and passersby. Was it only a couple of months ago that the moon festival happened and I kissed Cavas? Only a week earlier, I might have blushed at the thought. Now, I feel nothing except hollow in the pit of my stomach.
I turn around, unclipping the bundle hanging from Agni’s saddle. “Go home.” I stroke her v
elvety nose. “Quickly. Before the stallkeepers start coming in. No, Agni, I can’t take you with me. You promised.”
Horse theft is not uncommon in Ambarvadi, even though Agni will never accept anyone’s touch except mine—and occasionally Juhi’s. Agni whinnies irritably, but eventually she turns away, looking mournful. I will find you again, she tells me. No matter what happens. I watch her walk away, my heart sinking. She’ll be fine, I tell myself. She’s found her way home many times before.
A mynah whistles a song from a nearby tree, bringing to mind a lullaby I once heard my mother sing: a song about a lost bird who found branches far into the sky. There are no branches, let alone clouds, in the sky today—even though it’s the fourth day of Tears, which is supposedly the wettest of the twelve months of the year. Beyond the market and the sloping incline littered with houses towers Barkha Hill. Rani Mahal glitters on top, an iridescent pink-and-gold gem, fortified by two thick stone boundaries. More than the palace’s beauty, though, I can sense its magic, even from here, hundreds of feet away—a slight tingling under my skin, a feeling not unlike being watched.
Juhi doesn’t know you’re here, I tell myself firmly. Neither do Amira or Kali. It will still be some time before they wake, perhaps even more before they discover your absence.
Thoughts of Kali bring forth a twinge of guilt. I promised her I’d never come here. Two months ago, or perhaps in less desperate circumstances, I might have even kept that promise.
“Not anymore,” I say under my breath, even though the words feel like pebbles on my tongue. Today, I turn sixteen, the official age of adulthood in Ambar, and, short of shackling me again, there is nothing they could have done to stop me from leaving.
A few feet away from the entrance to the flesh market, I pause, watching a woman drag a small boy toward a guard in a white turban. The stone in my throat loosens only when the guard bars her entry with his lathi—a tall bamboo staff that looks exactly like the ones the thanedars use.
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