A Crown of Wishes

by Roshani Chokshi

  “Anything?”

  Aasha nodded tightly.

  The girl turned her gaze to the rest of the room. “Leave.”

  All of her sisters but one disappeared into the shadows.

  “You’re a good opponent,” said her sister, eyeing the girl with admiration. “You’d make an even better vishakanya should you seek a new outlet for your talents.”

  The girl let go of the rope, dropping to the floor with her fingers splayed against the ground. She stood up, and bowed.

  “My duties have already been claimed for this lifetime,” said the girl respectfully.

  “Then perhaps in the next.”

  Pity and gratitude flashed in her sister’s eyes. Aasha trembled. What had she gotten herself into? She only wanted to ask the humans of their lives. Now she was beholden to them. The idea of the mortal lands enchanted her, but humans were cunning and spiteful. The girl bent to check the boy’s pulse. Satisfied, she stood up and tore the ruby straight out of the tent. She tucked it and her knife somewhere in the depths of her skirt.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  Aasha blinked. She hadn’t imagined the girl would speak to her this way. Even the yakshas and yakshinis only opened their mouths to make demands. Give me something miraculous. Give me what I want. This girl was asking. Her voice wasn’t kind, but it wasn’t cruel either. She stumbled to find her breath.

  “Aasha.”

  “I’m Gauri,” said the girl. She prodded at the man on the ground with her toe. “How much longer will he be unconscious? Will there be any lasting damage?”

  “He will be awake at dawn. His mind should be fully intact.”

  The girl let out a sigh and dragged her arm across her brow. “You offered to help us, and what we need most is information. Do you know of a way out of Alaka?”

  Aasha had forgotten how the rules were different for humans. For the Otherworldly beings, they could leave whenever they pleased. But if they left the game early, they forfeited a wish.

  “If you have not been granted permission from Lord Kubera, then you must seek permission from his consort, the Lady Kauveri.”

  The girl smirked. “She said nothing when she heard that only one of us could leave, so I imagine her permission has not been granted.”

  “Then you must give her something she wants.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “What would a goddess want? More resplendence? The simple pleasures of a mortal existence, like wrinkles? Age spots?”

  Aasha hesitated. Whenever the yakshas and yakshinis visited the tent, they brought bits of gossip with them. Some of which, she knew, should be ignored. But not helping the human girl could harm her sisters. She refused to let that happen. Besides … there was something she had heard. A rumor that kept the same shape no matter who told it. That in itself was a feat. So often, the beings of the Otherworld hated telling the truth, not because they preferred deceit, but because they preferred the taste of a decadent rumor on their tongue to the dull and brittle flavor of a truth.

  “Not an object,” said Aasha carefully. “It is said there is something she wants from someone. And he is in Alaka.”

  “Who?”

  “The Serpent King.”

  21

  THE GLASS GARDEN

  GAURI

  I was out of breath by the time I finally made it back to our chambers. Dragging Vikram along hadn’t even been the most difficult part of getting him to the room. It was wading through a sea of intrigued Otherworldly beings. A couple of yakshinis tried to buy him from me. Some of the offers included a voice that would lull a thunderstorm to sleep and the skin-dress of a crocodile. They refused to believe me when I said he wasn’t worth it. At one point, a rakshasa clapped me on the back, shouting, “Excellent find, human girl! Start around the spine. Always the best cut of meat.” I had no idea what to say, so I said thank you. It only occurred to me after I was tugging Vikram halfway up the stairs that perhaps I should have said, “I don’t eat people.”

  It had been a long day.

  My thoughts tripped over one another. I’d made plans for Aasha to meet us tomorrow at high noon, but that left far too many unknowns. She could be giving us the wrong information about the Serpent King or selling us to some unnamed enemy. And even if we had a lead for discovering an exit out of Alaka, it only mattered if we survived and won the Tournament of Wishes. I shuddered. One day in Alaka, and magic had forced me outside myself. I was walking into battle without a helmet. Nothing to protect us except the flimsy trust I’d placed in a stranger and that most terrible of poisons: hope. Even now, I could feel hope seeping and settling under my skin. Growing. What shape would it take? Wings? Like something set free. Or mushrooms? Like something birthed in decay.

  The half-key thrummed and burned in my pocket. Throwing open the doors, I dropped Vikram to the floor and stowed the key on a table near the bed. Outside, dawn had begun to braid the sky with gold, trussing up what was left of night. Bone-deep exhaustion weighed my body. I threw down a pillow and blanket for Vikram, clambered into bed and fell asleep within moments.

  * * *

  The problem with having a room full of songbirds was that the room was full of songbirds. I’d barely gotten any sleep before twittering and rustling feathers roused me into waking. I propped myself up on one elbow and stared at the room. The walls shivered, light dancing over the iridescent green feathers. Vikram was lounging in one of the chairs—already dressed and impeccably groomed—and tossing the ruby key in the air like a ball. He caught my eye and grinned.

  “They say morning light reveals a woman’s true nature. My condolences to your future consort.”

  “It’s too early in the morning for bloodshed,” I groaned, gathering an armful of pillows and burying my face in them. “Also … good thinking about the transformation.”

  Vikram’s eyes widened. “What’s this? Praise from Her Beastliness in the morning? Are you under a curse that makes you friendly before noon? If so, how do we make it permanent?”

  I threw a pillow at his face. He tilted his head, dodging it with the barest amount of energy required.

  “In all honesty, we got that first key together,” he said. “We both thought of the riddle. Although I did have the brilliant transformation idea.”

  I threw another pillow at him. “I fought a horde of poisonous women to make sure we could keep the key.”

  “I wasn’t conscious for that part.”

  “How convenient.”

  “I try.”

  “We did have some good fortune though,” I said, telling him about the bargain with Aasha and our plans to meet with her later. Unlike me, he didn’t even seem wary about meeting with the vishakanya, and when I confronted him about it, he shrugged.

  “The world moves to the tune of logic, even if it wears the face of chaos. Maybe it was supposed to happen this way,” he said, tossing the ruby between his hands. “At the very least, Aasha is part of the Otherworld and probably knows a great deal more about its power structure than we do. Meeting with her just might point us in the right direction and, wait, why are you scratching at your skin?”

  “Your optimism is making me itchy,” I grumbled, heading for the baths. “You’re welcome, by the way, for dragging you back here. I had a couple offers to sell you and almost considered it.”

  “Intriguing. For how much?”

  “A bag of gold, the ability to make thunderstorms go to sleep. Something else. Five goats?”

  “Just five goats? I’m worth at least ten. Plus a cow.”

  I rolled my eyes and headed to the bath chamber. After I bathed, I threw my hair into a hasty braid and entered the room to find Vikram pacing and studying a length of parchment.

  “What’s that?”

  “The Lord of Treasures sent us a letter. He offers his congratulations on solving the first trial and says that the second trial will take place at the full moon right after the celebration of Jhulan Purnima.”

  A familiar twinge of panic plu
cked at my heart. Jhulan Purnima was a festival that celebrated the soul bond of the sacred lovers, Krishna and Radha. Radha was more than just the deity Krishna’s consort. She was the manifestation of his life energy. His very soul. Before Skanda had spread the rumor that I had taken a vow of chastity, the Council of Bharata used the festival to try and force me to accept a proposal of marriage from one prince or king or another. They claimed a proposal accepted on the day of Jhulan Purnima meant a lifetime of love.

  I rejected every offer.

  If I became queen, a strong alliance of marriage would be a key political move. I wouldn’t base that decision on something as fickle and slippery as love.

  “Jhulan Purnima would be the perfect time to ambush someone. Everyone would be drowsy or intoxicated—”

  “Gauri,” said Vikram, half indulgent and half stern. “It’s a sacred holiday. Besides, the world is not always trying to attack you.”

  “I just want to be prepared. If you prepare for the world attacking you, then at least half the time it doesn’t win.”

  “Spoken like a true queen.”

  “What? How so?”

  “Only royalty is perpetually paranoid.”

  “I’m prepared. Not paranoid.”

  I knew from experience that paranoid was a moment’s difference from prepared. The former closed your eyes and the latter opened them. The problem was that sometimes the difference announced itself only in hindsight. I twisted the ends of my salwar kameez, Nalini’s heartbroken face fracturing behind my eyes.

  “As you wish.”

  “Careful with that word,” I warned, before glancing outside. “There’s some time before we need to meet with Aasha.”

  “Excellent. At least we have some free time—”

  “No such thing as free time. We need to explore the palace grounds,” I said. “We don’t know what the next trial will be so we might as well be prepared with potential arenas—”

  “I was talking about food!” cut in Vikram. “Don’t you want to eat?”

  “We can eat as we explore.”

  Vikram grumbled. After safeguarding the half-key, we left the chambers and headed downstairs. A sizable crowd milled around the main entrance. A pair of human twins walked past us, hand in hand. Mango pulp smeared their faces and Vikram stared after them enviously. In a mirror’s reflection, our faces stared back at us. Completely unaltered. Today, apparently, Lord Kubera had seen no reason for us to hide our true faces.

  A long ivory table ran down the length of the hall. Plates of cut fruit, savory uttapam, crispy potato sago and crystal cups full of steaming masala chai covered the entire table. Down the line, I saw the three women who went by the Nameless eyeing the foods. Only one of them carried a plate.

  Vikram caught their eye, ignoring me when I shook my head. Aasha hadn’t said what the Lady Kauveri wanted with the Serpent King, but I remembered hearing the Serpent King’s name in connection with the Nameless. What did they want with him?

  The Nameless walked to us, slow and sedate.

  “Not hungry?” asked Vikram with his usual brightness.

  “This is not for us,” said one. “We cannot eat this food anymore.”

  “It is for her,” said the second. “Our sister.”

  “Our missing limb,” said the third with a sad smile. “She loved uttapam.”

  Vikram started to say something, but the Nameless walked off without another word. I laughed.

  “If it lessens the sting of your rejection any less, I’m quite certain the demon on the other side of the room wanted to buy you for five goats. Shall I make introductions?”

  “A sense of humor,” he said. “I couldn’t be more pleased with this transformation. Sometimes I think damp stones are more conversational than you.”

  He smiled. A true smile. I knew his smirks. His half-grins. Even halfhearted and lopsided upturns of his mouth. This smile was different. It was soft and unguarded. And it softened me in return. I had put that smile on his face and I felt strangely territorial about it. I wanted to keep it.

  We set off down one of the five main halls, food in hand. The main hall ended at a set of doors that opened into the courtyard where the Opening Ceremony festivities had taken place. The first three halls led to nothing except elaborate pools. Vikram swore that the statues had a tendency to jump from one place to the next, but that didn’t tell us anything. Down the fourth hall was a room marked with an engraved golden sign:

  The glass garden

  Curious, we stepped into the glass garden. The moment I pushed the door, familiarity rushed over me. The air felt balmy, spring sliding into the rainy season. It was my favorite time of the year in Bharata, where the clouds dragged rain-heavy bellies across the sky and the land swelled, as if making room for the torrential rains. Above us, stars pinned up the night, and thunderheads glided around the edges of the room before disappearing to dance in a different land’s midnight. But what was most miraculous was the garden itself. Every flower and shrub was carved of crystal. And yet it swayed. A living, breathing thing of glass and quartz, magic and memory. The garden seemed lifted from my memory of the old lawns in Bharata. Before he died, my father was known for his gardens. Out of spite, Skanda salted the land and built a fountain over the grounds after his death. But I never forgot them. Maya and I used to play there. Once, I even found a slipper that I thought belonged to an apsara dancer.

  “I know this place,” I breathed.

  “That’s—” Vikram started and then stopped. “I was going to say impossible, but I’m trying to retire that word from my vocabulary for the rest of our time in Alaka. How?”

  “My father built a garden just like this.”

  We walked through the garden and I reached out, letting my fingers graze crystal vines and quartz lilies. Every touch felt like a word of whispered encouragement.

  “I love gardens,” I said.

  “You do?”

  I nodded. “I love watching things grow. I know that sounds strange for someone who was raised in war.”

  He eyed me. “It’s not strange at all. Why wouldn’t you hunger for life if you’ve only been surrounded by death? If you could grow anything in your garden, what would it be?”

  “Swords.”

  He snorted. “I should’ve guessed.”

  “Swords are very time-consuming to have commissioned. If I could pull them out of the ground with perfect balance and a sharp tip, I’d be happy and so would my blacksmiths. I’d also try to grow gulab jamun,” I said. Nothing was better than those warm syrup-drenched sweets. “I just want to pluck it off trees and eat it on the spot.”

  “Vicious and sweet,” said Vikram, shaking his head. “Beastly girl.”

  “You like me, don’t lie,” I teased.

  “I couldn’t lie if I tried,” he said quietly.

  At the end of the walkway was a small note written on an ivory plaque:

  All things can grow again.

  Each word was a layer of light. They slid into place inside me, gathering dimension and brightness until the words had reshaped, refocused and returned my hopes. I closed my eyes, and I almost felt my sister beside me, her hands steadying my shoulders, her dusk-dark eyes brimming with worry. When we left the garden, I carried the light of those words with me.

  In the fifth and final hall, empty birdcages twisted down from a gold ceiling to form a sparkling lattice. Each cage door swung open, poised like a jaw fit for snapping. At the end of the darkened hall, a flurry of wings ripped the silence. We had walked closer, following the sound of frenzied, beating wings, when I grabbed Vikram. Someone was waiting at the end of the hall.

  Kubera.

  He sat cross-legged on the floor. I scanned the room, but he was alone. His head tilted up as he watched the birds above him. I stepped backward, angling for a quick exit.

  “Hello, contestants,” said the Lord of Treasures. “Would you not greet me?”

  I dropped Vikram’s arm. Together, we bowed. “We did not want to dis
turb you. You seemed pensive.”

  Kubera grinned. “Watching stories always makes me pensive.”

  I frowned. He was looking at birds. Admittedly, they were very strange birds. They slipped into new shapes as they flew, donning new colors with every swoop. It was impossible to keep track of each bird in that writhing mass of wings. Above me, I caught sight of a snowy bird with a crest of diamonds. Gold and bister feathers grew over the white. The feathers crumpled and contracted. In the next moment, the bird had turned into a sparrow. Kubera clapped, and the sound thundered in the darkened hall. Every bird stopped in midflight. Not even their wings twitched.

  Kubera hummed and a single emerald hummingbird broke from away from the mass and dived for his palms. He gestured us closer.

  “Each of those is a tale being told,” said Kubera, pointing to the birds. “You see how they change in the telling? It reflects the tale. For example, this bird is your story with the vishakanyas.”

  He tossed the bird into the air, and the sudden hum of its wings sent a splash of images waving in the air—Vikram at the Feast of Transformation, the ruby sparkling in the tent.

  “But this is just one story,” said Kubera.

  He snatched the hummingbird out of the air, whispered to it, bent its wings into a new shape and threw it aloft. Now, the bird had a tail like a peacock, the story twisted to show Aasha hiding in the hall beside the ruby, her fingers tracing the blue star at her throat and her eyes wide with want.

  “You see,” said Kubera. “Nothing is yours. Not even a story is yours, though you may lay claim to it with the teeth of your mind.”

  I watched as the bird spiraled over our heads. It kept changing the higher it flew, to the story of a patron who had bartered a year of his life just to see his dead mate through the vishakanyas’ arts, only to be forced to flee when my fight with the vishakanyas drove him from the tent. I hadn’t even considered the line of Otherworldly beings who had been waiting to visit the vishakanyas. I assumed they were all there seeking pleasure.

  “Stories are boundless and infinite, ever-changing and elusive,” said Kubera. “They are the truest treasure and therefore my dearest possessions. Each contestant grants the world a new tale, pours a little magic back into the earth. That’s all that will remain once the world dons the clothes of a new age and the Otherworld seals its doors. You will see. If you survive.”