Maybe he was too tired or too full. Or not interested. A flicker of disappointment shot through me. I didn’t have Parvati’s milky complexion or Jaya’s thick-lashed gaze, but I wasn’t revolting. In the imposing room, I felt small and ridiculous. No servant appeared to help me with my garments, but I did not mind. I was used to taking care of myself in Bharata. Strangely, there were no mirrors inside the bedroom, but one swipe of my hand across my face was enough to know how I looked. Smudges of kohl had left my eyes and pooled against my temples. Groaning, I splashed my face with water and began the tedious task of removing my sari and jewelry.
I felt blindly at my face, poking at my nose and stretching my cheeks taut. After seventeen years, I still hadn’t grown into my nose. My skin felt shiny, and irritated bumps trailed across my forehead. I glanced down, taking stock of my narrow shoulders, sharp collarbones and straight waist. I looked boyish. Maybe that’s why he showed no interest.
I walked back into the bedroom. Amar was standing by the foot of the bed, playing lazily with the cuffs of his sleeves. I tensed. That foolish disappointment was gone.
“Are you frightened?” he asked.
Don’t cower. I straightened my back. I would’ve stared him in the eyes if I could. “Should I be?”
“I should hope there are more frightening things than sharing a bed with me,” he said. He flourished a bow. “Did I not promise you that we would be equals? Your will is where I lay my head. I will not touch you without your permission.”
I moved to the bed, taking stock of the unnecessary amount of cushions. I could feel Amar’s gaze on me and rather than tossing the cushions to the ground, I stacked them in the middle of the bed. Amar followed me and slid onto the opposite side. The fire in the diyas collapsed with the faintest of sighs.
“A daunting fortress,” he said lazily, prodding one of the pillows. “Have you so little faith in me?”
“Yes.”
He laughed and the sound was unexpectedly … musical.
“The dark is a lovely thing, is it not? It lets us speak in blindness. No scowls or smiles or stares clouding our words.”
I lay in bed, my body taut. Amar continued:
“I spoke no falsehoods in the Night Bazaar,” he said. “I would rip the stars from the sky if you wished it. Anything for you. But remember to trust me. Remember your promise.”
I fell quiet for a moment. “I remember my promise.”
After that, I said nothing.
The air between us could have been whittled in steel. An hour passed before I ventured a glance at Amar. His face was turned from me, leaving only dark curls half visible in the light. Moonlight had limned his silhouette silver. The longer I stared at him, the more something sharp stirred within me and I was reminded of that strange ache in my head, where forgotten dreams jostled for remembrance.
I stared at the ceiling, fighting the giddiness dancing in my chest. I replayed the day slowly, languorously, reliving every detail—from the Night Bazaar’s sky seamed with light and the sensation of my teeth sinking into the fragrant rind of fairy fruit, to the splendid emptiness of Akaran. I rehashed the day again and again, wearing down the memory like a river pebble, until I had convinced my own stubborn mind that everything had truly happened, that every bit was real.
Even so, what tasks did a kingdom that lay between the Otherworld and the human realm want? And why me? Already I knew that Akaran was as different from Bharata as night to day. But there was something thrilling in its differences … a promise of change in its stone hallways.
9
A TURN OF THE MOON
When I woke up the next morning, Amar was gone. I stretched my hand across the bed, pressing my fingers into the side where he had slept. It was cool to the touch—he’d been gone for some time. Not a good sign for the first day as queen. I pulled at my hair, biting back a groan and hoping he’d left while the room was still dark. My hair fell in knotted waves around me. I probably looked feral.
Gray daylight puddled onto the floor, illuminating the room’s golden borders and carven doors. I tilted my head up, eyes still disbelieving. Yesterday morning, I thought I would be wandering the halls of the dead. But instead, I was here.
“Rani?” came a voice from outside.
I recognized the voice. Gupta.
“Please dress at your leisure. I’ll wait outside to escort you to the dining hall, where we can go through your engagements for the day.”
Escorted? Engagements? In Bharata, I’d never lived by a schedule.
“Good, thank you,” I said, my voice wavering.
In the adjoining room, steam curled around water basins. I stared at my hair, pulling at some of the dirty strands. I might as well have never left the jungle.
By the time I had washed and returned to the room, the bed had been fixed and a brilliant green silk sari was spread across the sheets. There were heavy rings piled in a quartz bowl, a handful of bangles in another and dainty anklets fashioned with dangling nightingales in a third.
I wrapped the silk around me slowly, savoring its length across my body. I was almost too scared to move around in it, convinced it would tear. But it didn’t. My hands drifted across the heavy jewelry, but in the end I couldn’t wear anything. The hollow of my throat felt cold and empty in the absence of my mother’s necklace. None of this finery compared.
When I walked outside, Gupta flashed the bare bones of a smile before nodding and starting off down one of the halls. Despite Akaran’s coldness, the pallid corridors and mirror-paneled foyers sang to me. The same dining room from before had been laid out with a placemat set with rich foods, fruits and water. I drew my chair to the table, stealing glances out the window toward Akaran’s barren landscape. Loneliness in Akaran was worse than being stared at by the Raja’s harem. At least I knew who was doing the watching. Here, even the walls were leering, weighing and examining me.
“I trust you slept well,” said Gupta.
“Yes, thank you.” I glanced around the wide dining room. “Will you be joining me?”
He hesitated. Like yesterday, he didn’t meet my gaze.
“I suppose that will be agreeable.”
I stopped myself from joking. I don’t bite … often.
The moment Gupta sat down, he began to rub at the table, inspecting an invisible speck of dust.
“I hear Amar apologized on my behalf.” This time his voice was softer, hesitant.
I froze. He had referred to Amar by his first name. I’d never once heard a councilor or adviser—no matter how close he was—call my father by his first name. They’d sooner behead themselves. Gupta’s gaze was shy, perhaps curious about what I’d make of his familiarity. When I said nothing, he noticeably relaxed.
“He did, but there was no need,” I said. “I think it’s … refreshing, that you grew up away from the protocols of court speech and etiquette.”
Gupta itched his hawkish nose, his eyes widening. “You do?”
I smiled. “It doesn’t matter to me.”
Gupta grinned back and his nose spread impishly across his face. “I’m glad to hear that, Rani.”
I chewed my cheek. I didn’t want to be locked in by invisible rules of caste or rank. My father’s words echoed in my head: Immortality lay in emotions. If this was going to be my kingdom as much as Amar’s, I needed to prove it. And that meant knowing Gupta the way Amar did. Not as a councilor or an adviser, but as a friend.
“Call me Maya.”
Gupta’s hands clenched and he quickly looked away. I thought I saw tears glittering in his eyes, but instead of facing me, he rubbed at a spot on the table.
“I detest dirt. Did you know there are at least five thousand different kinds of tiny beasts in a unit of dirt? It’s appalling. You can’t clean it properly,” he said, crinkling his nose.
“How do you know that?” I asked, torn between disbelief and laughing.
“I am the scribe of this kingdom,” he said, drawing himself up. “I make it a point to know as much as I can. For instance, I once interviewed a snail that had slept for three years. I have also detailed the song of sunbears and translated the treaties of autumn trees. Absolutely critical things to know.”
“I see. Well, I hope … I hope we can be friends.”
He stared at his lap. “Once a friend, always a friend.”
A sound spidered through the floor. A laugh, a trill. The ghost of another’s voice. I spun around, expecting someone standing behind me, but there was no one. Nothing but empty space and gleaming walls.
“What was that?”
“Or who,” said Gupta casually.