“I never gave you that,” I said, horrified. “Why would I ever give you poisonous snakes?”
“So innocent, little sister,” he said, laughing. “And you’re wrong. It’s not their bite that’s venomous. It’s their touch. If they fall into a well of drinking water, they can wipe out a village in a day.”
The threat took shape between his words. The drinking well that I had advocated for before the council could become a death trap. And the poison could be linked back to me all because he had said before a group of people that the snakes were from me.
“You lied.”
He laughed. “Lies! Everyone tells tales, sister. I may not have the public’s ardor and attention the way you do, but I do have the ear of very convincing people.”
“What do you want, Skanda?”
“I’m glad you asked,” he said. “I’ll allow this drinking well to be built. But in return, I want you to convince half of the village’s militia to join Bharata’s forces.”
“That village has suffered enough unrest. They need a strong militia to keep their own people in check. Bharata’s forces are well trained.”
Skanda kicked the closed box of snakes and a furious hissing welled from inside the wood.
“They need what I say they need. And I need our eastern territory secured.”
Fury rose inside me. “And if I don’t agree, you’ll poison an entire village and let my future die alongside them?”
“Do you doubt it?”
“Don’t you care?”
He didn’t hesitate: “No. Caring will make you careless. Caring always ends in a cut throat. So no. I don’t care if they die. I care about my palace. I care about staying on my throne. I care about living.”
“You cannot break me with a tale, brother.”
“You’re happy, aren’t you? You’re loved. You love others. I think people are convinced that if you asked the sun not to rise, it would stand down for you. But there’s only one story that people like better than a rise to fame—a fall from grace. And I can make it swift. And I can take all this away. You see, a story is not just a thing told to a child before sleep. A story is control.”
I never forgot his threat. After that, I was careful not to give anyone power over me. And for the next three years, I played my brother’s political games.
Outside, the sky looked wounded. Gashes of crimson ripped apart the night. Soon, the vanaras would come. I had a choice. My life could end either way. If I ate the fruit and we escaped, what then? Trusting magic was like trying to harness a thunderstorm. But I couldn’t hide out in the Otherworld for a month knowing Nalini could die any day. I set my jaw. If I survived the fruit, I would fight in this Tournament. I would treat magic the way it should be treated: not like a gift, but a weapon. Something to be wielded with wariness. Not wonder.
“Vetala,” I called, whispering so that Vikram would not hear. “What will I become if I eat the fruit?”
The creature grinned and swayed. “Nothing but yourself, maiden. Nothing but your very self. What is more frightening than our deepest, darkest selves?”
Footsteps clattered on the stone. I bit down on my cheeks, steadying myself. I would either die by my hand or by theirs. And I would not let that be decided for me. The fruit sang, juice spilling down my palm. I walked to Vikram and kicked his foot.
“What?” he bit out. Red ringed his eyes.
“I need you to distract them.”
He sat up. “And after that?”
I took a deep breath. “If we survive, I’ll … I’ll be your partner in the Tournament.”
“And you won’t make any more attempts on my life?”
“Let’s not be rash.”
He grinned. “I’ll take it.”
“If I—” I hesitated. “If I cannot seem to regain myself. Don’t let me live—”
“What would you wish for right now?” asked Vikram, cutting me off.
Fists beat the door.
It was nearly time.
He stood up, blocking out the light and throwing his face into darkness. He bent down to my ear, his voice low and urgent: “I know you’re scared of losing yourself but think only of what you want. Sometimes that’s all it takes to keep us from losing sight of ourselves.
“So tell me, Gauri,” he said. “What would you wish for?”
I thought of Nalini trapped in her cell. Of Skanda sitting on his throne and seeping lies.
“Freedom,” I breathed. “I’d wish for freedom.”
His brow furrowed. As if he had expected any answer but that one. The door clanged open. Screeching iron drowned out the stillness.
“Timesies has come!” squealed the yellow vanara. “Hoppity trot, fruit stealers. Time for your beheading.”
The vetala yawned and unfurled his tattered parchment wings. “I’ll be the one languishing in the corner should you decide to live.”
“Distract them. When the time comes, I’ll break down the walls. We’ll get the vetala. We’ll escape.”
He nodded. Neither of us mentioned how all our plans hinged on one thing:
Could I hold on to myself?
“Are you ready?” asked the vanara.
Vikram darted one last look at me. He didn’t look at me with an unspoken farewell in his gaze. He looked at me with understanding. For a moment, I felt as if fire braided the space between us. It was charged and alive, lit by a shared dream: to wish.
A practiced smirk slid into place as he turned to face our captors. The moment he turned, I brought the golden fruit to my lips. My reflection distorted on the metallic rind. I sank my teeth into it, expecting them to cut on the demon fruit. But the rind yielded like silk. A strange taste flooded my mouth—iron and cold.
Like blood and snow.
9
THE BEAST PRINCESS
VIKRAM
The moment he turned, panic dug into his skin.
This was it.
He’d practiced calm before, but nothing like this. Three vanaras stood in the doorway with arrows notched and bows drawn.
“Before you cart us away to certain death, I’d like to hear a recitation of what we’ve done wrong.”
“Read the list of the prisoners’ crimes.”
The yellow vanara cleared his throat. “Taking our fruit!”
The gray vanara nodded. “And?”
“And?” repeated the yellow one, frowning. “What do you mean and? What else did they do?”
Vikram stole one more glance at Gauri. She was hunched over in the shadows of the cell. Swinging her head like an animal, she stared at him. Bright gold juice glistened on her lips and dribbled down her chin. The black of her pupils had spilled out of its rings. She was moving her hands. Trying to tell him something. And then he saw it: Claws. Claws erupting and curling from her palms. Her thighs were bent strangely. Like haunches. Talons sliced out of her sandals. Gauri was not hunched over because she was in pain. She was crouching because soon she would be a demoness unleashed. Her gaze was livid.
She mouthed a command:
Use me.
“No more of this!” shouted the gray vanara. “You will come with us now—”
“Would your queen take so kindly to this corrupt trial?” said Vikram. “I think she’d be ashamed that this is how you uphold her legacy.”