I. Couldn’t. Fight.
I shook my arm, trying to dislodge it. As if it were an insect. But the hand stayed. It stayed. The crystal caught the light. Held it. My throat tightened. Fighting was the last connection I had to Maya. Her stories made me brave. They made me see the world differently, fight for the world I wanted to see instead of the one I had. And my hand, even if it was only a part of that dream, had been … important. A flurry of goodbyes I’d never be able to utter choked me. I’d never know the weight of wielding both daggers at the same time. I’d never catch the scent of iron on my palm after a practice session. I wouldn’t even have the chance to worry calluses at my hands, because the glass would never wrinkle.
“This is my sacrifice?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
My skin felt tight with shock. Fighting was my solace, my grip on control that couldn’t be taken from me. In Bharata, the battlegrounds were the only place where I could be myself. And Kubera had stolen that peace.
They nodded.
“But … but you said you would only take something that would already be taken from us. How would I already lose my hand?”
“You did not lose your hand.”
I waved my hand. “Having lived with it for eighteen years, I can assure that it did not start off as glass.”
“You did not lose your hand,” repeated Kubera.
“You lost your sense of control,” said Kauveri.
“How do you know I would have already lost that?” I demanded. I knew I sounded as petulant as a child, but I couldn’t help it. This wasn’t something I had been willing to give.
Kubera smiled, and I hated knowing that I had his pity.
“You began to lose your sense of control the moment you accepted magic into your life. You lost it when you lost your throne and jeopardized your best friend,” said Kauveri. “You lost it when things repeatedly happened to you and you could do nothing but react. Your reactions still belong to you. It is not such a bad sacrifice to make, dear princess. You would have lost it anyway.”
“And you did win a wish,” said Kubera.
“What good is that without an exit?” I asked. I turned to Kauveri. “My lady, I know that—”
“I grant you an exit,” she said smoothly.
I stared at her, dumbfounded. But the Nameless had stolen the vial of the Serpent King’s poison.
“You think I wanted the poison because I yearned for control over my sister’s husband?”
I nodded.
“No,” she said. “After you exchange so many harsh words with the person that you love, sometimes it is impossible for them to trust you once more. The Serpent King’s poison was supposed to be a gift of trust and faith. But you and I were both beaten to it. Only a deity could harness the ability to control him. I never sought to do that. I only sought to show her that I wouldn’t. Sometimes the greatest power comes not from that which we do, but that which we do not. And I had my wish. You did me a great service, Gauri of Bharata.”
I looked behind Kauveri to the small podium where the Kapila River and the Serpent King stood with their arms wrapped around one another, beaming in the direction of Kauveri.
“What does that mean for the Nameless?”
“They will continue to have the Blessing of vishakanyas for another hundred years. The Nameless thought they were fighting for the permanence of something. But nothing lasts forever. Eventually, the poison will fade.”
“Your wish is yours,” said Kubera.
Even though I knew we were still in Alaka, I couldn’t sense the magic in the air. There was no curious weightlessness to the world, as if it were waiting to draw back its curtains and show me the wonder beneath the rot. The world stank only of death. Iron and salt and once-bright roses. Water strung through fish bones. I thought that the moment I’d won, my breath would catch and stars would pave my path. Instead, all I could think of was my own bone-weary exhaustion and the fact that I didn’t know myself anymore.
“Be careful with your wish,” said Kauveri. “Even a good wish may have its repercussions. A wish for rain to slake the parched throats of a field may turn to a flood that will steal away an entire village. A wish made from a wicked heart to maim another person may end up saving a thousand lives. I do not make those decisions.”
After all this time, I realized that I didn’t even know what I would wish for anymore. It had changed. I wanted my throne and I wanted Nalini’s safety, but at what cost? My desires had trapped me. My fears had tried to devour me. If I acted on them, knowing how easily everything could turn against me, would I end up doing more harm than good?
“You don’t have to make your wish now,” said Kubera. “But when you return, remember to tell a good tale. Make up details! I do love that. Perhaps you can tell the world I was a giant! Or that I rode on the back of several eagles. Actually, no. I never liked heights.”
“Was it all just a story for you to collect?”
Kubera tilted his head to one side. “It is impossible to collect a story. After all, the intersections of a tale and its consequences are far larger than you might ever imagine. May I tell you a tale?”
I nodded, and he spread his hands as the imagery on the floor shifted.
“Some tales that never end start with something as simple as an act of impulse and end with something as evil as an act of love.”
41
A SELECTION OF BIRDS
A BIRD WITH BLUE FEATHERS
A courtesan dances before a group of kings.
Her heart is young, so full of light that no thorns have grown to puncture her innocence.
A king who had never heard “no” took notice. The courtesan fights. Loses.
Not because she was not brave.
But because bravery cannot buy breath when furious fingers wrap ribbons around a throat.
A BIRD WITH BONE FEATHERS
Grief wields a dangerous magic.
Three sisters sink into the shadows.
Their hands tremble over a broken courtesan’s body on the floor.
Now she is dead.
But she was other things before: beloved, beautiful, sister.
Those things do not change.
They take the silk of her scarf—blue as veins—and tie it around their throats.
This is their shackle.
They trade the magic of their names for enchanted venom.
For vengeance.
And they act as all vengeance acts: Blindly.
A BIRD WITH SCALE FEATHERS
A serpent prince slithers beside the riverbanks, caught on a song.
It lulls him from the winter waters.
Smitten, he longs to walk beside the singer, not crest over the waves where she sits.
He yearns to speak in her tongue.
A trade.
Legs for enchanted venom, language for vengeance.
He does not think twice.
The Kapila River regards him with pale eyes So pale and bright, they rival unfinished stars So clear and knowing, they see straight through his tainted blood And into his heart
Where neither blood nor ichor fills his veins Only her song.
A BIRD WITH GOLD FEATHERS
Blue-silk around their throat
Death at their touch
A group of kings slain
One villainous