“I know what you did,” she said quietly. “You wanted. You acted on it. You were brave and kind and curious.”
Aasha wasn’t sure about being kind or brave, but she had certainly been curious. More and more, she had spent time out of the tent, pushing farther through the surrounding forests and not returning until she knew her presence would be missed. She couldn’t help it. There was so much to see, so much to try to capture before they would have to leave. Just the other day she had found a shrub full of bright blue berries. Before, if she ever tried to eat anything other than the desires of the yakshas and yakshinis who visited her, she would end up with the taste of ash in her mouth and immediately vomit. But this time, the berries had stayed bright and plump in her palm. Blue as shards of the heavens. And when she chewed them, flavor burst behind her lips: syrupy and sweet. Small seeds lodged themselves in her teeth. It had taken forever to get them out, but she savored that anyway. Neither frustration nor flavor had ever accompanied the feeding of a vishakanya. There were no words or experiences to capture sweetness—it felt like an innocent memory, something stumbled upon and too easily forgotten. A smile, interrupted. Edible poetry, indeed. After that, she caught herself rolling her tongue across the roof of her mouth, hunting for every ghost of that flavor.
“I know where you’ve been, Aasha.”
Her words didn’t sound like an accusation, but Aasha flinched anyway. She wanted to be like her sisters: content. She wanted, so often, not to feel that she was the only person who desperately wished things were different. But she could not help who she was and she did not want to apologize any longer for her dreams.
“Go,” said her sister. “I hear the Parade of Fables is quite a sight to behold. You can tell us all about it when you return.”
“I wish you could come with me to the palace,” said Aasha.
“Careful with your wishes, little sister.”
Aasha blushed. “I wasn’t thinking…”
“Unburden your mind, Aasha. We will miss you when you go,” said her sister. She was staring at Aasha intently. Unspoken words sprouted between them. “Whenever you need us, we are here. Wherever you may be. And … whatever you might be.”
She left. Now Aasha was well and truly alone. The room felt cramped. The weight of her decision had taken up all the space. In one short month, she had lived a far fuller life than she had in the past hundred years. A hungry desire to learn more, see more, touch more filled her until she found herself scrabbling at the blue star emblazoned on her throat. Desperate to throw it off.
Aasha readied herself. In the other rooms, she heard her sisters squabbling over lost cosmetics and borrowed outfits, arguing over the philosophical merits of one poem compared to another. Their love and gentle fights had been the music of her life for so long. But beyond the tent, a different song called her.
When she left, she kept looking behind her.
No vishakanyas were allowed in the palace proper. Aasha kept expecting someone to leap out of the shadows and tell her that she didn’t belong. But everyone was preoccupied. She walked gingerly, her ankle still sore from the attack. Shuddering, Aasha looked around, but there was no sign of—
“Traitor to your kind,” someone whispered.
“Besmirching our legacy.”
“Ruining your sisters.”
The Nameless stepped out of the shadows. Aasha trembled. The last time she saw them, they had chased her through the forest, screaming and demanding the vial of the Serpent King’s poison. She ran so fast, she tripped over a log and twisted her ankle. Before her, they looked like vengeance poured into the form of three women. Desperation wearing skin.
“We will give you one last chance to aid us, sister,” said the Nameless. “Take it from the humans and we will let you keep the Blessing. You would not want to force our hand.”
Aasha’s eyes widened. “The Blessing is not yours to take! I don’t even know who you are.”
The Nameless laughed. A terrible smile split their faces. Aasha fled into the palace, but she couldn’t run fast enough to drown out the sound of their answer on the wind:
“We are you.”
37
THE PARADE OF FABLES
GAURI
Alaka looked like the end of a story—calm and final. Every person smiled. Every scene looked serene. Apsaras danced on a podium of pressed wings. Tufts of light darted through the crowd, clinging to lacquered horns or gleaming tails. The air tasted like burnt sugar and jasmine, and felt like the end of a celebration where an exhausted evening was ready to push out the guests and embrace sleep. But I recoiled. It felt too … neat. I couldn’t shake off the feeling of something unfinished and watching.
The crowd swelled. It was impossible to tell who was a contestant in the Tournament of Wishes and who was a champion on the verge of making a wish. In my pocket, I could feel the heat rising off the vial of the Serpent King’s poison. I needed to speak with the Lady Kauveri before I made a wish. It wouldn’t make a difference if I wished for my throne upon my return if I never had a chance to leave. If I could speak to her before the Parade of Fables, maybe I could convince her that the Serpent King posed no harm to her sister. Maybe she would keep the vial of poison and not use it. I’d have my exit and my conscience cleansed too. Chance didn’t favor me, but magic had at least taught me to believe in the impossible.
Beside me, Vikram inhaled sharply. “It’s him.”
I followed his gaze to the opposite side of the room, where the Serpent King stood with his bride. He appeared as a beautiful human man wearing long blue robes. His consort, the Kapila River, did not move from his side. She walked in front of him, almost guarding him.
“What are they doing here?”
Vikram shrugged. “It’s the last day of the Tournament. Maybe everyone who was invited has to come?”
A yakshini appeared before us, holding out a crystal platter on which goblets full of sparkling liquid caught the light.
“Sweet memory?” asked the yakshini.
I reached for a goblet, and drank it in one swallow. The liquid was cold and fizzy on my tongue. A bright recollection lit up behind my eyes—climbing a guava tree with Maya and eating the tart fruit with a sprinkle of salt. Vikram was silent beside me, a misty look drifting across his face.
“Another?” asked the yakshini.
I set down my goblet. “No, thank you.”
The yakshini bowed. Vikram swiped his arm across his mouth and stared a little resentfully at the retreating tray of goblets.
“If you wanted another sweet memory, you should have asked.”
“I am not interested in recollections of the past,” said Vikram, holding my gaze. “I have a future now. There’s nothing sweeter than that.”
I squeezed his hand.