I hold my breath as Papa pauses for a moment.
“Govind, Latif, and I—we worked at the palace together for several years,” my father begins. “I worked under Govind, who had been promoted to stable master. Latif was the head gardener, of course; earth magic had run in his family for generations.
“We were close, the three of us—all outcasts in some way. I was a non-magus. Govind had a mother from Samudra, which made the others suspicious of him during the Three-Year War and even afterward when it was over. As for Latif—well, Latif had opinions about everything, including the new king. Old Rani Megha had ignored Latif—I think his insults amused her—but Raja Lohar was different. He didn’t like criticism or want any dissent from his subjects. Latif got into trouble once for calling Lohar the tyrant stepson of a tyrant queen.”
“Was that why he was arrested?” I ask, feeling uneasy. “Why he was killed?”
“Oh no. That happened later.” Papa’s face grows hard. “After the Three-Year War came to an end, Lohar brought in a new queen—Rajkumari Juhi from Samudra.”
Juhi? “Surely you don’t mean…”
“Yes, the very same Juhi who wrote that letter to us,” Papa says. “She was different from Lohar’s other queens; she didn’t act like the servants were beneath her notice—even if they were non-magi. She became friends with Govind because of his Samudra connection, and later with Latif. She was the only royal who willingly took my hand to climb onto her horse—not because she needed the help but because she hated how the other queens treated me. Over time, she won our loyalty and our trust. We knew we had to get her out, help her escape.
“We made a plan and staged a diversion—Latif, Govind, and I. We set fire to the garden, while Juhi was supposedly there and faked her death. In the chaos, we sneaked her out through the Way of the Guard—a secret underground passage within Ambar Fort. Security at the time wasn’t as stringent as it is today. Since the fire happened in the garden, Latif was the one who got interrogated by the Sky Warriors. He didn’t give any of us away.” He gives me a small smile. “I see that I’ve shocked you.”
He has. In all these years, I never imagined that the mild-mannered man sitting before me could have anything to do with something as crazy as an escape.
“So Latif died then. But how…?” I frown. “Not everyone who dies becomes a living specter, do they?”
“No,” Papa says. “A specter is only born out of the desperate wish of a dying person to continue to live, a wish so strong that it hinders the spirit’s departure from the world, chaining them to it. There is immense willpower or rage involved in the creation of a living specter. Death by torture—as in Latif’s case—is one way that I suspect this happens.
“In any case, without Latif’s confession, the Sky Warriors could do nothing. General Tahmasp was one of the few people to suspect that Juhi didn’t really die in the fire. They didn’t find a body. But there was so much ash, so much destruction … He couldn’t be sure.”
My stomach lurches. A part of me is tempted to question Papa about Tahmasp, about Ma. And perhaps I would have—if I had the courage.
“Papa, I don’t understand. Why go through all that to help Juhi escape?”
Papa grows subdued again. “For a time, I thought Juhi was the girl from the prophecy. The one who would change things, uniting magi and non-magi again under a better ruler. But Juhi told me she has no special birthmarks, not even a tiny mole on her body. The Star Warrior has to be a marked girl.”
I nod. “But the prophecy also talks about a girl with unusual magic.”
“Magic untouched and unknown by all,” Papa corrects. “Though the kind of magic she is capable of may certainly be unusual. Tell me, son. Have you seen Gul do magic?”
“I have.” The fine hairs on my back rise. “She made us both invisible by … I’m not really sure, drawing onto something from me.” My magic. I still can’t say the words out loud.
Papa frowns. “You mean, she used you as an amplifier? That’s interesting.”
“An amplifier? You don’t mean those objects that magi use to increase their powers.”
“Objects, yes. People, no. Even when I worked among magi, I never heard of anyone using another person to amplify their magic. It’s most unusual. Though, perhaps, it might also speak to a certain level of trust between you two. I can’t say. There are realms of magic that even magi don’t know of.”
The fine hairs on the back of my neck rise. I can’t deny the strange pull between Gul and me, an odd feeling that goes beyond magic, one that tells me I can trust her with my life if necessary.
Then how can you abandon her? How can you let her die?
“We must get her out,” Papa says after a pause.
“We?” I ask sharply. “What do you mean we? Papa, it’s too risky to go back there. Especially for you! In any case, she’s supposed to bind with the yuvraj in less than a week.”
“Cavas, I told you how important that girl is to our world—”
“Will you stop it, Papa? The world you idealize—the one your ancestors lived in—is a myth. It doesn’t exist anymore.”
“You aren’t wrong.” Papa gently touches the binding cord on his right wrist. “It doesn’t. But it once did, my son. If we don’t fight, how will it change for the better again?”
I shake my head. “Once you get out of the tenements—”
“My boy, leaving the tenements will not cure me.” His voice, though quiet, hits me harder than it would have had he shouted. “Perhaps it might have helped when I’d first caught the Fever. But now it’s too late. I am dying, son. I have always been dying. By the time you collect the resources to get me out, I will already be gone.”
“I don’t believe you,” I say stubbornly. “I don’t believe you at all.”
He raises a hand to brush my face. His fingers come up wet.
“There are times I wonder about your mother. Wonder what would have happened if she had been able to say no to the guards who came to escort her to the Sky Warrior barracks in the Walled City for the very first time.”
I feel my mouth grow dry. Until now, Papa had never said anything about what happened to Ma, never addressed the truth in those rumors about her.
“I was afraid to say no as well,” Papa says softly. “Your ma and I—we both knew what happened to non-magi who caught the eye of a Sky Warrior, the … things that were expected of them. Yet we also knew that refusing a Sky Warrior’s interest meant instant death. I’ve wondered so many times what it would have been like if your mother had escaped somehow. In my more outlandish fantasies, I’m the one who saves her. Foolish, isn’t it?” he says softly. “Because even after we bound, I said nothing. I never spoke up, never tried to fight the guards. Our regrets are scars we live with, day in and day out. If you don’t go to help Gul today, you are going to be filled with the same sort of regret.”
Dawn sunlight seeps into the room from the door, yellow and diffused. I hear the cry of a shvetpanchhi. Some say they’re birds of death, hovering close whenever it’s near. “You are not going to die.” I slowly rise to my feet. “And neither is Gul.”
35
GUL
The sky has fallen. Major Shayla’s voice, magnified to ten times its normal volume, echoes over and over, resounding through the glass palace.
The message is unmistakable. If the people of Ambar represent the kingdom’s feet, legs, torso, arms, and hands, then the king is Ambar’s head. In schoolrooms and books, paintings always depict the head brushing the clouds and the stars—closest to the sky goddess. To every bit of power that surrounds the land. The sky falling means that the king is dead. And, based on the prophecy, there is only one reason he could have died.
Anytime over the last two years, I would have relished the thought of having killed the king. Now, as smoke rises around us, fear grips my insides. I watch the atashban gleaming in Major Shayla’s hand, a strange, insane smile on her face.
“Your daggers won’t save you, litt
le girl,” she snarls when she sees me holding them, her armor glowing green in their reflected light. “No one can deny what caused the fire here—or whose spell killed the Ambarnaresh.”
The smile fades abruptly when I dodge the red streak of the atashban’s fire and aim a spell in return.
Attack. Warmth suffuses my arms. I have the oddest feeling that if my blood had a voice, I would hear it singing, thrilling in the magic coursing through it. The green light turns into a beam, forcing Shayla to duck, shattering the chair behind her, chunks of wood flying in the air.
I spin away from another jet of red fire and raise a shield, the combined impact of our spells breaking a giant vase of flowers.
“Come on now, Star Warrior,” Shayla shouts. “Don’t make this difficult for yourself.”
I fight off a wave of nausea. I’m not an innocent. I planned for two years to infiltrate the palace and kill the king. Why does it matter if Shayla does the killing and shifts the blame to me? Why does it matter if I die?
But even as the last thought comes to me, I duck to dodge another spell. Amira’s training, along with some sense of self-preservation, keeps me fighting back. Keeps me dodging, shielding, aiming attacks at Shayla, though the light from my daggers is infinitely weaker than the red flames she shoots my way—flames that form into arrowheads, which I narrowly dodge. My heart pounds, roars in my ears.
I recall the time I was in the training room with Amira, the peace that had settled over me right before I put up my first-ever shield. I think of the mirror in my parents’ old bedroom, visualize a sparrow pecking at its reflection there. The light from the seaglass splits, changes shape. Before I can see what my spell has become, it finds a home in the major’s already-wounded shoulder.
Shayla’s enraged scream follows me down the staircase. I slash at the band of my heavy skirt, letting it fall to the floor. In my haste, I trip over my petticoat, hitting the ground with a thud, a shaft of pain rattling my jaw.
When I lift my head, atashbans point at me from all sides. Luck may have favored me against Major Shayla, but even with two magical daggers in hand, I know I have no hope of defeating four Sky Warriors.
“You are under arrest for murdering the Ambarnaresh.” The Sky Warrior who speaks is nearly twice my size. “Rise to your feet, and drop your weapons. Do it now!”
Heart in throat, I follow his instructions. My right arm burns, and I instinctively long to cover my birthmark. But why does it matter now?
It matters because the king’s death will not save Ambar from destruction, a voice in my head reminds me, one that oddly sounds like the sky goddess from my dream. Your death will simply serve as an example of what happens to rebels. It will do nothing.
“Move aside,” a voice says.
The Sky Warriors suddenly straighten, letting Major Shayla through. She tilts up my head with the tip of her atashban. “There is no need for an arrest. Or a trial. I saw her murder the king with my very own eyes.”
“But, Major—” someone protests.
“Let us kill her and be done with it. A murderess running away after killing the Ambarnaresh—what more evidence do we need?” Underneath Shayla’s furious exterior, I glimpse something else. Fear.
“Father!” a voice shouts. “Father!”
The crown prince bursts out of the corridor, closely followed by his two brothers. Of the three, only Amar looks pale and uncertain. I want to spit on him. I can’t believe I fell for his act—that he’s still acting.
“She’s here, Yuvraj,” Major Shayla says. “I saw her murder the Ambarnaresh with my own eyes.”
Sonar’s face, a perfect picture of grief and fury, turns to me. “I should have killed you sooner,” he says softly. “My father wanted to wait. Wanted it to look like an accident after I bound with you. But I knew better. I knew what a witch you were from the beginning.”
Nothing he says truly surprises me. What does surprise me is how open he is about sharing his plans in front of the Sky Warriors and Major Shayla. As if he doesn’t care for the consequences. Or the law. Have they ever cared—these rulers? Ambar is hardly a utopia, but I remember my father talking about a time before the Great War. A happier time, when non-magi weren’t driven out of their homes, when girls weren’t hunted for marks that were accidents of birth.
Out loud, I say: “I did not murder the king. Major Shayla did.”
I expect the major to laugh, to instantly deny the accusation. I don’t expect the sob or the tears streaking down her face.
“I?” Shayla says. “Kill the person I’d pledged my life and loyalty to?” Her voice suddenly grows stronger. “Don’t be swayed by her lies or her trickery. Remember how she broke through the rekha with her magic. How she broke the beast in the cage. Remember that she sneaked these daggers into the palace. Seaglass daggers.” She points to where they lie on the floor. “It’s clear to me that she’s nothing more than an assassin sent by the ruler of Samudra. A spy like that blue-haired Samudravasi witch.”
The allusion to Juhi—and Shayla’s distaste for her—gives me the courage to speak up again. “You’re a liar! You’re the one who killed Raja Lohar. You—”
A hard hand grips me by the chin, cutting off speech. “Witch,” Sonar’s voice is low, guttural. “We’ve heard enough of your lies.”
“Rani Amba is a truth seeker,” I tell him. From the corner of my eyes, I see Shayla move closer to us, her atashban raised. “Why don’t you let her do the questioning? Then you’ll know who’s a liar and who isn’t.”
A small frown appears between Sonar’s brows. Before he can answer, a pair of Sky Warriors troop in, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Major! Major Shayla!”
My heart sinks when I see who’s with them—Cavas, held by a pale-skinned woman with gray eyes, followed by another tall Sky Warrior in full armor, helmet, mask, and all, gripping the arms of an older man with graying hair. Cavas’s father.
“Found these two trying to sneak in past the rekha. Probably trying to steal some valuable magical object!”
“Well, well.” Shayla’s smile sharpens. “This gets even more interesting. Thank you, Alizeh. You are most resourceful.”
“Anything for you, Major.” Alizeh’s eyes glint with the sort of madness I’ve only seen among some of the sky goddess’s devotees and worshippers at Sant Javer’s shrine.
“Look at the way she’s looking at her,” I say quietly, careful so that my voice reaches no one except the crown prince. “Look at the way they all look at her for their next instruction. You may kill me, but you’ll be a fool if you think you’ll have any control over these Sky Warriors.”
Sonar’s grip on my hand tightens, making me long for my daggers. But right now, my words are my only weapon, and if they can be used to cast suspicion on Shayla, the better.
“What’s the little murderess whispering about?” Jagat asks, leering at me. “Probably offering herself up to save her lover. Sonar will share with us, won’t you, Bhaiyya?”
“Shut up!” Sonar’s snarl startles him into silence. “Shut up, all of you!”
“Let me handle this, Yuvraj.” Shayla’s smooth voice belies her tense posture. “You don’t have to worry yourself about these petty matters.”
“No.” Sonar studies me with cold eyes. “I am going to deal with her and these two dirt lickers in my own way.”
“If you are, then you better deal with this, too,” a familiar voice says.
Kali! I nearly scream her name. What is she still doing here?
Sonar’s head snaps sideways, his death grip on me loosening. Even if I didn’t feel numbed by everything that has transpired so far, I would have to pinch myself to believe what is happening now.
Amar’s yellow eyes are wide, and his mouth is parted ever so slightly, over the steel glint of a jambiya, its hilt embellished with a single flower bud. Even though Amar is taller than Kali, and most certainly broader in the shoulders, he is no match for her killer instincts. Perhaps Sonar can see the sa
me from the deadly smile on her pretty face or the grip she has on his brother, because, for the first time, he sounds a little worried when he shouts: “By the goddess! Who in Svapnalok are you?”
“Doesn’t matter who she is, does it?” another voice says. I spin around to find Amira pointing an atashban at Major Shayla’s head. “It should matter to you that I’m about to blow your precious major’s brains out.”
“Tahmasp!” Sonar shouts. “Where is he? Where’s the general?”
“In the Brim,” Shayla says, her eyes still on the atashban Amira aims at her. “Raja Lohar sent him there three days ago.”
“Lies!” Cavas shouts suddenly. “The general’s dead! Major Shayla had him killed in the Desert of Dreams!”
“Silence!” Captain Alizeh tightens her grip around his neck.
Before I can move or scream, the armored Sky Warrior holding Cavas’s father lets go of him and spins, catching Alizeh in the eye with an elbow, making her yelp in pain. Alizeh claws out at the Sky Warrior’s mask, loosening it, revealing someone I thought I’d never see again.
“Juhi!” Three screams ring in the air: mine, Kali’s, and Amira’s. Hope buoys under my ribs, strengthens into resolve when I feel Sonar’s grip on me tighten.
“Kali! Amira!” Juhi steps in front of Cavas and his father, her voice ringing in the air: “Remember our plan.”
She spins once more, dodging a red flame of light. The helmet—which must have been too large—falls off her head and clatters to the floor, her braid spilling out of it like onyx and sapphires.
“What happened, Samudra witch?” Alizeh shouts. “Too scared to fight?”
A moment later, Alizeh loses her sneer as she’s forced to put up a shield, dodging something silver lashing out at her like a snake—no, a whip. A Samudra split whip, its four blades slicing the air over Juhi’s head with a deadly ringing sound.
Unlike Alizeh, Juhi is utterly calm as she deflects spell after spell after spell—and I suddenly know what she’s doing. What all three of the Sisters are doing.
Hunted by the Sky Page 29