The silence was painful as we walked back to the main part of the palace. Neel set a fast pace even though he carried both the golden and silver spheres, and didn’t look over at me once. My emotions slingshotted between rage and guilt. How dare he blame me? I thought one minute. How could he not? I thought the next.
We walked down a marble hallway decorated with shields and curved swords. The ceiling sparkled with gems set in patterns to look like stars, moons, and swirling galaxies. There were lacy cutouts in the walls that let the breeze waft through, and I could see one after another fountain-filled courtyard stretching off in either direction. At the end of this hall was the throne room, and in front of the throne room stood a pair of moustachioed guards in tunics and baggy pants. The swords in their belts glittered. But they didn’t stop us, instead just bowed to the prince and let us through.
Before the royal audience chamber was a reception area separated from the throne room by a curtain. There were a bunch of people crowded there—merchants and customers arguing about who cheated who, nervous villagers waiting to complain about their landlords, courtiers in silk saris and tunics just milling around for no apparent reason. The glittering curtain parted and a gray-haired man in regal clothes, gold earrings, and miles of gold necklaces came out. He bowed to Neel, adding a kind of unnecessary set of hand waves.
“Your Royal Highness, welcome home.”
Neel inclined his head. “Lord Bulbul.”
“I am the Royal Minister of Sweets,” the elderly man said to me with a flourish, before he caught full sight of me. Then I saw his expression change into disgust. Man, what was this dude’s problem?
In the meantime, the guard parted the entrance curtain and Neel walked through, leaving me behind with Lord Bulbul. As I watched the prince’s retreating back, the hollow feeling in my stomach grew. To make matters worse, I noticed the minister guy was still staring at me. Following his gaze, I realized there was a gloppy mess on my beautiful tunic that looked as if I’d been playing with tar. To top it off, there was a bunch of long rakkhoshi hairs stuck in it.
“Eww.” I tried—pretty ineffectively—to clean myself off with the cloth that the guard supplied me. Unfortunately, I just smeared the stain even more over the silk top.
It was only then I realized that Lord Bulbul wasn’t bothered by my clothes, he was grimacing at the cobra mark on my arm.
“A bad omen,” he hissed, spitting in my direction. “An evil eye has touched you.” The minister backed away. He looked like he wished he had a bunch of garlic to ward me off.
This would have been a good time for my half-monster side to kick in, I thought, so I could smite this guy to death with an evil glare or something. But instead, I just stood there feeling small, and not particularly smite-y. Or snaky. Neel’s mom had called me a moon-chickie. Maybe I took more after my biological mom? I could only hope. Although what a moon maiden was like I had no idea. And I’d never heard of anyone moonbeaming someone else to death.
Finally, the guard just pushed me along. There was nothing else to be done but to follow Neel into the throne room.
I kept my hand over my scar, held my breath, and prayed no one would notice me. I didn’t feel any more regal now that I’d found out about my biological parents. In fact, I felt like an ordinary sixth grader from New Jersey masquerading in pretty clothes (that I’d already ruined).
In front of me was a long, carpeted aisle lined on both sides with all sorts of jabbering lords and ladies of the kingdom. Everyone was decked out in blinding color combinations—magenta and kelly green, turquoise and orange, violet and hot pink. The men were in turbans, chains, and earrings; the women in saris embroidered with gold thread and real pieces of glass, their dark hair threaded with heavy jewels. They were flirting, arguing, eating, laughing. Everyone, even the pretty ladies, seemed to be talking with their mouths full. No one seemed particularly interested in what anyone else had to say, but really interested in hearing their own voices. I shouldn’t have been nervous about anyone noticing me. A woman in a chartreuse sari and magenta blouse belched delicately, but no one gave me a second glance as I walked toward the royal dais.
Neel stood in front of his father’s throne. Its back was a golden peacock’s open feathers, and its armrests each a roaring lion’s head.
As I approached, I realized Neel was mid-story.
“… and then she vomited these out,” he explained. “I’m pretty sure they are the Prince Lalkamal and the stable master’s daughter, Mati.” The golden and silver spheres vibrated and rolled around in front of the throne.
The Raja was weeping fat, embarassing tears. He looked a lot like Lal, but older and softer. Precious gems sparkled from his ears and the rings decorating every single one of his fingers. And on his shoulder, like yet another ornament, was the golden bird, Tuntuni.
“Our son and heir!” the Raja groaned. “How could you do this? Your only job was to protect your brother and future soverign—with your life if necessary! What have you done? What have you done?”
Neel’s face grew stony, his dark brows knitting together. “Father, I swear I will do everything in my power to bring my brother back.”
“Not everything!” the Raja shrieked, jumping up and almost dislodging Tuni from his shoulder. “You promised to control that part of yourself!”
“You know that’s not what I meant!” Neel practically growled, and the Raja flinched, sitting quickly back down in his seat.
I might have flinched a little too. Neel appeared scarier than I’d ever seen him look. He was even shaking a little, as if desperately trying to control his temper. It was like watching someone put a lid on a volcano.
“I don’t know anything about you anymore, boy.” The Raja’s words were angry but his voice was trembling. He looked like he was going to say something else, but was interrupted by a number of women bursting into the throne room.
“This is all of your causing!” A stunning woman in a buttercup-yellow sari and diamond jewelry knocked over a bunch of courtiers to rush toward the throne. When she got to the golden ball, she collapsed, pounding her fists on the marble floor. A gaggle of similarly dressed women—in necklaces and bangles, diamond nose rings and tiaras—followed buttercup lady into the room, and, after a minute of watching her cry, began to wail too.
“To see our queens so distraught is terribly vexing to us.” The Raja blew his nose into a large, lacy handkerchief.
Neel’s face lost a little of that thunderous expression, and he rolled his eyes in annoyance.
Ah, this must be Lal’s mother and the other stepmothers.
The head queen’s long-lashed eyes flashed at Neel as she screeched, “This is your fault. You are no prince of this realm, demon-born spawn!”