“You do not trust me, do you?”
“No,” I said. I had no reason to lie. “I told you in the Night Bazaar that trust is won in actions and time. Not words.”
“I wish you trusted me.”
“I don’t place my faith in wishes,” I said. “How can I? I can’t even—”
I bit back the rest of my words. I can’t even see your face. Perhaps Gupta was lying and he really did have a disfiguring scar. Amar moved closer until we were only a hand space apart.
“What?” he coaxed, his voice hovering between a growl and a question.
“I can’t even see your face.”
A strange chill still curled off of him like smoke and even though the glass garden was teeming with little lights, shades veiled him.
“Is that what you want?” he said. “Would it make you trust me?”
“It would be a start.”
“You are impossible to please.”
I said nothing. Amar leaned forward, and I felt the silken trails of his hood brush across my neck. My breath constricted. “Is that what you want? An unguarded gaze can spill a thousand secrets.”
“I would know them anyway,” I said evenly.
I waited for him to dissuade me, but when he remained silent, I reached out. Amar stood still, lean muscles tensed beneath his clothes. I could hear his breathing, see his chest rising and falling, smell that particular scent of mint and smoke that hung around him. Slowly, I untied the ends of the dove-gray hood. Small pearls snagged against the silk of his covering.
Suddenly, his hands reached around my wrist.
“I trust you,” he said.
The hood fell to the ground, a mere rustle of silk against glass. I lifted my gaze, searching Amar’s face. He was young, and yet there was something worn about his features.
I took in the stern line of his nose and the smooth expanse of tawny skin. His features possessed a lethal kind of elegance, like a predator at rest—bronzed jaw tapering to a knife’s point, lips curled in the faintest of grins and heavy brows casting dusky shadows over his eyes.
When I looked at him, something stirred inside me. It felt like recognition sifted through dreams; like the moment before waking—when sleep blurred the true world, when beasts with sharp teeth and beautiful, winged things flew along the edges of your mind.
Amar met my gaze and his eyes were raw. Burning.
“Well?” he asked. There was no rebuke in his voice, only curiosity.
“I see no secrets in your gaze,” I said. I see only night and smoke, dreams and glass, embers and wings. And I would not have you any other way.
“You have made your request, what about mine?”
“I am not the one withholding secrets.”
He smiled and I stared at him for a moment. When he smiled, his severe face softened into something beautiful. I wanted to see it again.
“On the contrary, I am the one who has no choice. You, on the other hand, do.”
“What do you want from me?”
He reached out, fingers sliding across the length of my hair.
“Some strands of your hair.”
Some of the courtiers in Bharata used to tie their wives’ hair around their wrists when they traveled. It was a sign of love and faith. To remain connected to the person you love, even if it was just by a circlet of hair.
“May I?” asked Amar.
I nodded. With a small knife, Amar deftly clipped a number of strands. Quickly, he twirled them into a bracelet and slipped it onto his wrist. There was another bracelet on his hand that I had not noticed until now. A simple strap of black leather tied into an elegant knot.
“Thank you for this,” he said, pulling his sleeve over the other strap.
“It’s nothing,” I said, trying for lightness.
“And yet I would trade everything for it,” he said. There was no tease in his voice. Nothing but a strange straightforwardness, like he’d never said anything more honest in his entire life.
“Then you must be relieved I gave it willingly.”
“Astounded,” he murmured, still tracing the circlet. He looked at me and something light fluttered in my stomach. “Not relieved. Relief is when you want something to stop.”
A small light floated between us, only to vanish in an instant.
“What are those?”
Amar followed my gaze. “Wishes.”
My eyes widened. “They grant wishes?”
“Sadly, no. They’re wishes already made.”
“Of what?”
“Or who?” countered Amar.
“Is this another secret the moon keeps from me?”
“No,” said Amar with a grin. “It is a secret that I choose to keep from you.”
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“Because then this would lose all its fun.”
I rolled my eyes and turned away from him when he caught me around the wrist.
“Don’t you want to know what I wished for?” he said, his breath against my neck.
“No,” I said, but my gaze was fixed on all the blinking lights. There were so many. And why did he say or who? when it came to his wishes?
“I can’t stand deception.”
“Then stop flattering yourself.”
He laughed and released me. “I’ll tell you what I wished for if you give me a kiss.”
I turned to face him. “Even if I did, you might lie. There’s no way to prove that you wished for what you said you did.”
He smiled. “Clever as ever.”
“Or unwilling to kiss you.”
“Another lie,” he said, grinning.
Amar reached into the air and a handful of lights danced on his palms. “Kiss me and you’ll know I’m telling the truth.”
He leaned forward, the small lights illuminating his face. In the light, he looked honey drenched. But I wasn’t going to give him a victory so easily. I quickly pecked his cheek and stepped back. Amar was still tipped toward me, his eyes a little wide before he started laughing.
“Foolish optimism.”
I ignored him. “And those wishes?”
“See for yourself,” he said, opening his palm.
There was nothing in his hands. Around us, a third of the lights had disappeared. I stared into the dark, waiting for them to flare into being. But they were gone.
“Once a wish comes true, it disappears for good.”
“That’s what you wished for?” I asked, incredulous. “A peck on the cheek?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“This,” said Amar, gesturing to the space between us, “the chance to be this close to you.”
We looked at one another in silence. There was something new between us. Fragile and thrumming. I didn’t know what to do. Nothing I had learned in Bharata’s sanctum had taught me this. Nothing I had seen in the harem came close to what I felt. There was an undercurrent of depth, of something hard-won and dangerous. I couldn’t treat it with lightness … and I didn’t want to.
“Maya, I—” he started, when another voice cut him off.
Gupta stood in the arch of the doorway, his face twisted in apology. “I tried to contain it as much as I could.”
Amar stepped away from me, his face stony. “I’ll be there in a moment. Take her back to the room.”
Something cold thudded in my stomach. A reminder to rein in how I felt and keep him at a distance.
“I’m sorry,” said Amar.
But he wouldn’t look me in the eye. And before I had a chance to speak, he had left.
*
That night, I tried to enter a peaceful dream of nothingness, but I kept waking. Each lapse of restful sleep slipped into a gray and distorted vision of the glass garden. In my dream, a monster wearing five blurred faces turned to me: “Did you notice nothing strange about your garden?”
Separate voices sprang from the mouths. Panic turned my skin cold. I could think of a number of strange things, not the least of which was the animated split personality accosting my dreams, but I kept my mouth shut. The creature leered its split face at me.
“There’s not a living thing in this court, is there?”
13
A ROOM FULL OF STARS