The rest innocent
Killed not for their treachery
But their timing.
In a realm tucked in the Kalidas Mountains, the vanara queen falls to her knees.
But a heart broken too sharply is like a glass flower dropped.
Sift through the pieces, and one can find a weapon.
She seeks vengeance, but none will champion her cause And if she cannot find vengeance, then she must grow it.
A BIRD WITH NEEDLE FEATHERS
The world ends, not with a snap but with a sigh A tether cut loose: before and after, beloved and bereaved, wishful and widowed Rich loam for heartbreak.
Richer loam for demon fruit.
A body.
A bone.
A bounty of tears.
That is how the world ends
And curses begin.
Years pass
Names are dropped and picked up again Kingdoms creep closer to the shadows, waiting.
And a queen turned to rock waits for a kiss.
42
HONEY-SPUN FLAMES
VIKRAM
He waited for her in the courtyard of Alaka. Now that the Tournament of Wishes was over, everyone had moved. The vishakanyas’ tent stood empty, the enchanted silk pennants lay strewn across the grass. The orchards had been stripped of their fruit—no musical instruments or jeweled apples sparkled beneath dark branches. No yakshas or yakshinis floated by on gauzy wings or tossed horned heads in his direction.
The quiet was unsettling, but freeing. He had imagined victory a hundred ways. He thought he might ride golden elephants into the city. Or maybe appear in a shower of coins in the middle of a council meeting. Perhaps not the last idea, for fear of the golden coins smacking him in the head.
Before the Tournament of Wishes, he knew the shape of victory—wide and casting a shadow that seeped through the pages of history—but not the feel. The feel was something glittering and urgent pressing against his bones, pushing him to make space for a new version of himself. He didn’t know how to accommodate this new Vikram, or the weightiness that came with having a former self and a new one.
Vikram had lost all sense of time as he stood before Kubera and Kauveri, watching as the stories undulated above him. Before he came to Alaka, he dared to hope that he was meant for something more. Now he dared to hope that he could shape that meaning for himself. All this time, he had expected that magic would stitch his future together. But all magic had done was show him how to stitch it together for himself.
He glanced at the enchanted document in his hand. Not even a wish was a solution. Although it was certainly a start.
“What do you wish for, Fox Prince?” Kubera had asked.
Before magic, the answer had seemed simple. He believed that the throne of Ujijain should be his and he thought that the magical tournament somehow validated that wish. But that was silly. All he had ever wanted was the potential in himself recognized. He couldn’t magically shore up those deficiencies overnight. They needed to be earned, just as he needed to learn.
“I wish for others to see the potential in me.”
Kubera had smiled. The next moment an enchanted document was neatly sealed in his hand.
“Show it to your council,” he said. “And remember to tell a tale that is worthy of us.”
Vikram smiled, holding the parchment close to his chest along with Kubera’s other gift: a snake that constricted at the sound of a lie. He had named her Biju, for “Jewel,” and spent most of the hour testing her lie-detecting abilities.
“I am the most handsome prince in the world,” he said.
Biju constricted.
“Mind your manners, Biju. I’m the true heir of Ujijain now. Or something like that. Certainly not a puppet anymore.”
Biju did not constrict. His heart leapt.
“I am the most handsome prince in Alaka?” he tried.
Constrict.
“I am the most handsome prince in the courtyard?”
She did not constrict. Vikram took a look around the garden, which confirmed that he was not only the lone prince, but also the only person in Alaka’s courtyard. He frowned.
“Your sense of humor reminds me of someone else,” he said. “She’s also called a Jewel, but I don’t think she can detect a lie.”
Biju made no response except to slither around his neck and catch her tail in her mouth. He could have sworn he heard a resigned snake sigh. He turned to the entrance, his nerves dancing. Why wasn’t she here yet? Had Kubera lied? Before, his belief would have been ironclad. But in a short month he’d learned something that would never leave him: Doubt.
“Gauri is alive and unharmed,” he whispered to the snake, praying that it wouldn’t move.
He heard a soft laugh.
“Are you gossiping about me to a snake?”
Vikram froze. Gauri stood in the entrance. Tall and imperious, backlit by the sun as if she’d snatched a handful of its rays and decided it looked better on her than the sky. Gauri had a way of shoving out the elements, scaring away the air so that Vikram felt there wasn’t enough for him to draw into his lungs.
“I would have gossiped to you about yourself, but you weren’t around,” he said, showing off Biju. Gauri looked at the truth-telling snake with a touch of envy. “Where were you? Walking the fine line between life and death?”
“As one does,” she said, crossing her arms. “And you? Last time I saw you, you had a knife in your back.”
“And last time I saw you, you had your arms around me.”
Gauri looked exasperated. “Is that the only detail you remember? You were dying!”
“I was falling on the ground.”
“… To your death.”
“To a questionable limbo of existence that was, admittedly, painful.”
She laughed. And Vikram, who had never wanted for his life to slow down but only to move faster and faster to the next thing, found himself craving to live in this second. They stood there, watching one another. He felt as if he could sense her replaying everything that happened the night before the feast of fears. The smile froze on her face, now propped up out of habit rather than joy. As she reached to brush a strand of hair from her face, a handful of crystal caught the light and refracted it, nearly blinding him. He squinted against the sudden brightness before realizing that it wasn’t a handful of crystal at all, but Gauri’s hand.
“That’s … new?” he said, pointing at her fingers.
Gauri’s mouth formed a tight line. “It will be hard to forget the sacrifice I made.” Pain sparked behind her eyes. “No glass limbs for you?”
He shook his head even as his heart thundered in his chest. Who was he to say that Alaka hadn’t replaced some part of him with glass? Maybe it was his heart. Looking at Gauri, it felt far clearer than it ever had been. Like a shard of glass. Just as translucent. Just as easy to shatter.
“Before the Parade of Fables, you asked me what I wanted.”