“To be sure, Fox Prince, to be sure,” said Kubera, waving a hand. “That was why I selected both of you.”
The marble floor shifted, pale colors moving and sliding beneath its sudden translucence. Images flickered before him, stretched out like a hope not realized—an empire that looked a little like Bharata and a little like Ujijain. He felt the land beneath him, the bright and burning urgency of it to innovate and sink its teeth into history. It was a kingdom in the midst of creating its own legend, ushering in an age that had no room for magic. The strangest feeling was how possessive he felt. He knew it. He knew its libraries and buildings, its landscapes and temples. As if this land stretching beneath him was somehow … his.
“Soon,” said Kauveri, “one will not be able to step into the Otherworld. We will seal our doors. Shut our portals. Live apart. These tales are not just pieces of magic. They are the foundations of legacy. We tried for years to find the right vessels. A lord and lady of the new era, so to speak. Two people who would break time because their stories would be timeless. We listened for hollow hearts and hungry smiles and guided them to our land only to watch them fail over and over. Until now.”
Behind his eyes, Vikram saw the banks of the Serpent King’s portal littered with bones. All of those who had been brought to Alaka possessed the same potential that he and Gauri had. But potential meant nothing in the face of willpower, and that was something no one could possess or preordain but him.
Kubera held out his hand. A small coin of light sat in his palm.
“You earned your wish.”
40
THE GLASS HAND
GAURI
Do you want to be brave?
I heard the choice in Maya’s words—
Do you want to start being brave?
I thought I had been brave. I had fought power wars with Skanda, defended my country, protected the people I loved. But that bravery required no choice. It was something I had to do. Living under Skanda’s rule hadn’t frightened me because I had expected his brand of horror and trained myself.
True terror came when a knife drew blood from Nalini’s skin and Arjun stood in the gloaming of the throne room, silent and ruthless as my world went from an expected dose of horror to a long stretch of unknown tomorrows. That was the beginning of strength. At the threshold of strength and bravery stood hope. If I was going to be brave, it meant acknowledging that hope was not a promise. I wasn’t returning for the hope of saving Vikram or even saving Bharata. I was returning for myself.
“Yes,” I said. “I want to be brave.”
As soon as I spoke, a tapestry to the side of the room lengthened. As if it were changing just because of my words. Maya smiled. I looked around us, but I couldn’t get a sense of the surroundings.
“Where am I?”
Maya tilted her head. “Where would you like to be?”
“Home.”
And so we were. We were sitting on the floor of Maya’s old chambers in Bharata. Shades of deep violet painted the sky. Small clouds of fireflies drifted sleepily through the gardens. Maya pulled me into an embrace, resting her cheek on my head.
“Don’t ever believe that I am not proud of you,” she said. “I always am.”
I clung to her and breathed in her scent. My sister always smelled like flowers that opened their blooms only to the moon.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
Outside, the sky changed. Deepening to night. And then, even the night began to lighten. A cold sense of loss worked its way through my limbs. I knew, somehow, that the moment the sky turned to dawn, Maya would leave. I wanted to ask where she was, who she was, but those questions kept being snatched off my tongue. As if I was not allowed to ask. Not to control me, but because those questions weren’t important.
“Will you tell me a story, didi?” I asked.
Maya nodded. I curled against her, resting my head in her lap as I used to do. And she braided my hair as she used to do. The sun poured gold into the sky. I couldn’t remember the details of the story Maya told me. But when she finished, I felt whole. Sometimes when you stare at a thing for too long, the moment you close your eyes, you can see the outline blurred in light. That’s how my heart felt, clinging to a last image and letting it illuminate me.
“When will I see you again?” I asked.
“I don’t want to know. It will always be too soon to me, and too far for you. But I promise when you visit, you will linger a little longer. You will sleep in my palace and dine at my table. I will show you my favorite room with all of its glass flowers, and I will hold your hand as we walk down the halls,” said Maya. “You will always be my sister.”
Consciousness crept back to me. Bit by bit. The sky outside our stolen hour changed. The floor disappeared. The last thing I felt was my sister’s arms around me, warm and firm. I didn’t know if I had dreamt the whole thing, but when I opened my eyes, heat surged through the sapphire pendant around my neck. I was kneeling before Kubera and Kauveri. Reality came back to me, first in wisps, before crashing into waves. Vikram. Aasha. Where were they? What happened to the Nameless? The last thing I remembered, they had drained the vial of the Serpent King’s poison—my only bargaining tool to win an exit out of Alaka—and changed into … vishakanyas.
I looked around the room, searching for answers. But the crowd from the Otherworld had vanished. Nothing but polished floors and gleaming walls surrounded me.
“He is here. He is alive. And he is safe,” said Kauveri, as if she heard my thoughts. “He is waiting for you.”
“Which he seems quite accustomed to,” added Kubera. “You will see him shortly.”
“And Aasha?”
Kauveri lifted an eyebrow. “Have you grown to care for the vishakanya?”
I nodded.
“She is well, child.”
Relief flooded me. I lifted my hand over my stomach, feeling for the wound inflicted by the Nameless when I stopped. My hand. It wasn’t mine anymore. I raised my right hand to my face, blinking at the glass replica that moved and glinted as if it were flesh and blood. I stiffened my arm and watched the small muscles along my forearm tense. I thought about moving my fingers and the glass hand danced to my thoughts.
“Like it?” asked Kubera.
“You took my hand,” I said breathlessly.
“It still works,” said Kubera. “Although it will not pick up any weapons.”
I reached for the dagger clasped at my hip. The glass hand felt no different from my other hand. A pulse ghosted through its cut-crystal shape. I could even feel the texture of my dress beneath my translucent fingers. But the moment my hand touched the dagger, the glass became … glass. Stiff and brittle. It hit the metal with a dull clink.
I tried again. Clang. I smashed my hand into the dagger, wanting it to shatter and getting nothing but a sore shoulder. My whole arm ached. The horror of my hand poured through me, slow and thick.
I couldn’t fight.