He held out his hand to show a wisp of light dancing at the center of his palm. A choice stretched out before her. The words of the Nameless rang in her ears: nothing can touch you. They were right. Knowledge and curiosity would never brush against her mind. She would only know an enclosure of silk and poison. She would know only the desires of others and nothing of her own. Magic was a bargain. In a hundred years, perhaps the vishakanya magic would ebb little by little, turning them human once more if they lived that long.
But Aasha was restless. The Tournament of Wishes had ignited a hunger in her own heart. Curiosity felt like a phantom limb, a part of her that had died and demanded resurrection. In the arms of her sisters, the world was so small she could cup it in her palms. That world had love and friendship. The Nameless were wrong. Vengeance wasn’t their legacy. Only venom. Her sisters were proof. So many of them entered the vishakanyas’ fold not for vengeance … but for freedom. They didn’t even call their gift vengeance, but a Blessing. They made it their own.
With her knees folded beneath her, Aasha felt like a fledgling bird, half blind and all eager. She reached for the wispy wish, curling it between her fingers and bringing it to her lips. She uttered her wish without words—a wish for control and choice, for curiosity and courage. When she opened her eyes, the Lord of Treasures was gone. And so was her star.
Aasha had wandered through the courtyard, circling the vishakanyas’ tent for most of the night until she summoned the courage to enter and reveal what she had done. She switched between her human and vishakanya self, bracing herself for disgust. But her sisters’ embraces were nothing but warm, though they were careful to make sure they could touch her. They pressed their true names to her wrists, and enchanted bracelets sprouted around her arms: protection spells and keys between worlds, charms for beauty and wealth, for good health and better dreams.
That night, she slept in the forest, beneath the stars and on a bed of blossoms. The next day, she made her way to the gates of Alaka and she found a familiar silhouette waiting at the exit. Gauri stared at the gate as if her heart were on the other side. The moment she saw Aasha, she smiled widely before her gaze fell to the empty patch of skin at her neck.
“My wish came true,” said Aasha.
“You wished to no longer be a vishakanya?”
She shook her head. “I wished to honor the heritage of my sisters and my own curiosity.”
Aasha removed her hand, and the blue star flared onto her skin before disappearing.
“You can control it?” Gauri asked, wide-eyed.
“Perhaps it will be of use to me during my travels.”
“Where will you go?”
“I haven’t quite figured that out yet, but I think that’s what I like most.”
Gauri grinned. “I don’t know where your travels will take you, but there will always be a home for you in Bharata. And plenty of food, so you won’t have to try eating a flower again.” Aasha laughed. “A room and a meal is the least I could offer. You saved our lives.”
Aasha fell quiet. “Maybe you saved mine too.” She held out her hand, but Gauri pushed it aside and drew her into a hug. “I wish you well, my friend.”
“And I wish you will have no need of wishes.”
Gauri stepped past the gates, her chin held high and eyes fixed on a world that Aasha couldn’t see. Magic sparked through the air, sifting light through her skin until she looked like a held flame: incandescent and roaring. In a blink, she disappeared. Aasha smiled to herself and walked slowly to the gate. She looked over her shoulder, to the magic of golden spires piercing the sky, to the crumpled silk pennants of her sisters’ tent and the rustling of feathers on the wings of unfinished stories. She walked forward.
This time, she didn’t look back.
44
A TURNED HEART
GAURI
Midnight in Bharata.
Bharata looked the same. All that time that Ujijain had kept me locked up, I thought I’d come home to a collection of ruins. But I was far less critical to holding Bharata together than I thought I was. Only a month should have passed since my time in Alaka. One deep breath of air confirmed it. Monsoon season. Large thunderheads hovered over in the distance, their rain-heavy bellies waiting to snag on the mountain peaks.
I had imagined coming back to Bharata a hundred ways and a thousand times. I imagined riding at the head of an army. Pennants streaming. Flags flying so high that they looked like bloody dents formed by fingers raking the sky. I imagined clashing swords and brutal victory, terrible violence that seared memories and proved that no one could keep me from my throne. But Bharata didn’t need bloodshed. And neither did I. What my country wanted and what I needed were the same. We didn’t want to sing the song of war and blood, of power squabbles and viciousness. We wanted a new beginning.
The palace gates were shuttered like folded arms. Behind them, I heard the rustle of the sentinels’ armor. Kauveri’s gift burned in my bag, a snippet of magic from a roaring river and energy that was hungry for release. If my plan worked, I wouldn’t have to fight. My glass hand caught the moonlight and I bit back a wince. I couldn’t fight. This plan had to work.
“Who goes there?” called the main guard.
I cleared my throat and stood up a little straighter.
“The Princess Gauri of Bharata.”
I could hear them shuffling behind the door, whispers growing into threats and hushed conversations. Seconds slid into minutes and the whispers grew into louder and louder threats.
“—let her in!”
“—a lie—”
“You know he won’t allow—”
“—supposed to be—”
Alaka might have changed my perspective, but it had done nothing for my patience.
“Open this gate and let me through,” I said. “I am your princess and you are bound by honor and duty to obey me.”
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded a voice I knew far too well. My body responded before my mind did, nausea gripping my stomach. Skanda.
“Your Majesty, the woman outside the gate says that she is Princess Gauri. Perhaps all these months that she has been lost, she has returned—”
“I have,” I said loudly. I was surprised Skanda hadn’t immediately spread a rumor that I was dead. But then again, Ujijain never had the chance to execute me. Skanda liked proof. I murmured a silent thanks to Vikram. “Dear brother, why don’t you let me in?”
“We will not entertain these lies,” said Skanda. “This woman is an imposter. She should be hanged on the spot. Guards!”
“But she sounds just like her,” said a meek voice.
A murmur of agreement ran through the sentinels.
“No worries, brother,” I said. “If you won’t let me into the gate, I’ll just go over it.”
I smiled. I threw Kauveri’s water dagger into the ground, and it grew into a trident forged from a river’s mouth. Moonlight shone through the water, turning it silver and resplendent. The sound of rushing water lit up the air, shaking the ground with silent tremors. The trident trembled. Water pooled around my ankles, squeezing between the bottoms of my feet and the ground and rising like a controlled flood.
“What was that?” said someone behind the gate.
“Probably just the thunder,” snapped Skanda.
Alaka taught me that the world was little more than a pulsing story that had no beginning and no ending. From the moment I set foot in Bharata, I was starting a story.