by Sasha Nanua
“Jasmin! Neela!” she calls. Moments later, two girls shuffle in. “Get Rani changed, then downstairs. Right away!”
“I—” I can’t speak; my throat is tight with a sea of unspoken words. The girls rush me into the bathroom.
“Wait—no—”
My worries go unanswered. The girls do as they’re told, slipping me into a sari bedecked with gold, dangling earrings I’ve never even dreamed of touching. The outfit is entirely impractical for a thief.
I swallow, trying desperately to stop my hyperventilation. Play along, I tell myself, taking deep breaths. If you do, you’ll discover everything you wish, and Rani will get you that money. . . .
When they’re done, the vanity is a mess. They’ve touched up my face with pots of brown paste, lightened my eyelids with powder, and glossed my lips until they’re smooth and plump. The mirror does not reflect me back; it reflects Rani.
“Downstairs, miss,” a maid says, prodding me forward like cattle.
The queen gives me an eerie smile when I arrive at the courtyard. I recognize the shape of her lips in my own. I want to hurl.
“We are making the announcement now, dear daughter,” she whispers when I’m close. “Remember, the party is coming soon!”
What party? And what announcement?
A man approaches us who could only be the merciless raja himself, sporting a royal red turban and waving at onlookers as he walks near. He turns his gaze to me, his brows lifted like he’s surprised I’m standing here. Like he’s never seen his daughter before.
Does he know I’m not Rani?
I stare back unflinchingly. After all, a successful masquerade hinges on confidence.
When I envisioned this moment, finding my real parents, I always thought I’d be ecstatic. But how can that be if my father is the raja, Abai’s cold and merciless king?
Clinking glasses call the courtyard’s attention. We stand at the doorway leading into what I assume is the throne room. The courtyard is massive, holding curious strangers’ faces.
“Thank you all for coming,” the queen booms. She grasps my shoulder. I want to jerk my body away, but with hundreds of eyes on me, it’s no longer obeying my command.
“We have been waiting a long time for this night. Tonight, we celebrate Diwali, but more so, the future leadership of our kingdom. Our daughter.” She strokes my cheek, and my body turns to stone. She has a small birthmark near her left eye, mirroring mine.
“It is time we finally present to you all our daughter, Rani. Your future queen of Abai!”
Thunderous clapping from the audience. I twitch out a smile like I know what I’m doing. I survey the raja and queen. They smile. All teeth and manicured secrets.
“Tonight, we reveal some exciting news.” This comes from the raja, who has moved to my other side. Internally, I cringe. Nothing could’ve prepared me for this. Now I know why Rani hasn’t shown her face in years: her parents’ gazes are like leashes, reining me in, willing me to stay put.
“Please step forward, Amara, mother of Saeed Gupta,” the queen says. “We would like to formally announce our daughter’s engagement, with a party to celebrate in under a half-moon’s time!”
Engagement party?
I stiffen. The crowd roars. The queen smiles down at the crowd, and a red-haired woman—Amara—comes up. Behind her, a man strides toward me. Everything is moving too quickly, faces spin around me, and I barely take him in. Tall, curly hair, and walking like everyone else in this raja-forsaken palace, like he has a stick up his—
He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it. My cheeks turn red, red, red.
“I will honor this bond, Princess Rani. Forever.”
The crowd sighs dreamily.
Saeed Gupta. He’s the man I saw in the fountain, the cool, rippling water that showed me my supposed future. And worse—he’s the man they think I’m going to marry.
“May the Masters and Amran bless you!” An auntie squashes rupees and sweets into my hands. I can’t even focus on the money she’s given me. Instead, Saeed’s words stick to my mind like too-syrupy honey. I will honor this bond, Princess Rani. Forever.
Forever is too long a time to wait for Rani to get her prissy-princess self back here. Of course this was what Rani had almost told me—that she had a betrothed. Anger simmers in my veins; what other crucial details of her life has she left out?
Above us, fireworks pop in the air, signifying the light of the day, the light of Diwali. Yet right now everything feels dark. Upside down.
“Blessings upon you,” says a woman. It takes me a moment to remember her name, but her mehendi-streaked hair brings it back: Amara Gupta. She kisses the top of my forehead, and I smell her breath laced with wine. Most likely imported from some rich kingdom like Retan. I know the smell of it well from nights in alleyways, the air soaked with bitters.
When she pulls back, her eyes find mine, but they don’t hold the love and care I expect. They are harsh and hooded, molded into cruel marbles and vicious, glassy pupils.
I gulp.
At the end of the night, servants sweep me back into the palace just as the gold doors leading out of the throne room shut. I catch one last glimpse of the sky. Foggy trails of smoke make ribbons in the air, remnants of tonight’s fireworks. I’ve never been close enough to the palace to see them. Now, on the evening of Diwali, how could my fate have changed so much?
A maid glances at me nervously as she ushers me through the palace. “Are you well, Princess? You seem unnerved.”
I manage a nod, but her comment reminds me of how daunting this task will be.
I’m a weed in a palace of flowers, mud on a slab of marble.
Only one thought tumbles through my mind: How long can I pretend to be someone I’m not?
12
Rani
Ten miles outside Anari’s city center, we bring our horse to a canter and then rest by a half-dead tree. Amir ties the horse to the trunk as I pour water into my mouth.
I nearly spit it out.
It tastes stale. Like my final kiss with Saeed, under a moon ago. My birthday.
“Saeed, do you love me?” I asked him. For moons, our meetings had been nothing but kisses and gifts, and while I enjoyed how he treated me—as both his future partner and queen—I wanted more. More than flitting glances and half-baked conversations and fevered meetings in the dark.
Saeed had buried his face in my neck, fingers trailing down my back. “Love isn’t the right word for this.”
He’d dodged the subject every time I brought it up to him, which had been frequently of late. At first I thought nothing of it; Saeed was handsome, intelligent, supposedly my perfect match. Then I asked Mother why Saeed and I had been promised to each other so young in the first place. Why we were supposedly destined for matrimony.
“Marriage is a meeting of minds,” Mother explained. But what if Saeed’s and my mind didn’t meet? Where Saeed was practical and confident, I wanted him to be bold. Where he was pristine and practiced, I wanted him to be free and unrestrained. And most of all, I wanted him to admit his love for me, the same love I thought I felt for him. Is it fair to want someone to be different from who they truly are?
So, a moon later, I finally plucked up the courage to ask Saeed the question again, that night in my bedroom. The night before Tutor was killed.
“Of course I love you. It is my duty,” he finally relented.
My heart shattered . . . or at least I thought it had. Love was a fulfillment of his destiny, not a yearning of his heart. And that wasn’t the destiny I wanted.
Amir’s voice unravels the memory. “There’s not much food left. We’ll need to steal some more,” he says, allowing the horse to nibble some leftover bread crumbs.
Erasing every thought of Saeed, I remind myself of my mission. Follow the prophecy, fulfill Tutor’s wish. I am quick to remember that Amir does not know how full I am—from the wide array of palace foods, when servants answered my every beck and call.
&nb
sp; “What about morals? Altruism? I’m sure someone will offer us food if they see our situation.”
“Our situation? Okay, now you’re definitely joking.” Ria’s friend chuckles, and I look at him blankly. Although Ria told me she is a thief, I don’t feel quite prepared for this.
Amir must notice my confusion because he says, “Is something wrong? Ever since we left the palace you’ve been acting . . . weird.”
Of course. I am nothing like Ria, from what I’ve learned. I must try harder.
“I just . . . saw things in the palace. The raja and queen,” I confess. The words Mother and Father nearly slip past my lips.
“You saw the royals? Why didn’t you tell me before?”
I think quickly. “I didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, obviously,” Amir answers, nonchalant. “The royals are arrogant, bloodthirsty tyrants.” At my flinch, his eyebrows frown. “Did you see their reptile faces? Did they hurt you?”
My mouth falls open. “Reptile—no!” I snap, voice cracking. “They’re not—I just think they might be . . . misunderstood.”
“For their taxes, their conscription, their cruelty to nearly everyone in Abai? I think we understand them just fine. And those bloodcoats, too. Bunch of cowards.”
I hang my jaw in shock. Surely Charts are no cowards, not if they have the gall to look Father in the eye.
Anger pulsing through me, I look away. I must remind myself of the truth: that though Amir is Ria’s friend, he is against me.
It doesn’t matter. He is a means to an end, and that is all he will ever be.
“Enough royal talk,” Amir says. “I don’t think I can travel much longer without some sleep.”
“Of course,” I say, though my veins are still on fire. “But the girl in the fountain . . . how did you two know each other?”
Amir shifts his gaze away from mine. “You’ll learn soon enough.”
His very voice prickles my skin, but he is my only way to find the girl, the one who might have information on the Foothills—my only path to the stone Tutor died for. My limited knowledge of my kingdom crumples in on me, but I remain level-headed. Tutor taught me a princess never falters. They think, they act, they succeed. I must unravel the fountain’s fortune—and use it to help me get to the next stop on my journey.
Amir sits and relaxes against the old tree. After a pause, he clears his throat. “Sorry about bringing the Charts up earlier. I know it’s probably still a shock.”
“Pardon me?” I say, then quickly amend it to, “I mean . . . shock?”
“Yeah,” Amir laughs, but it’s a nervous sounding chuckle. “Y’know, your name on their conscription list. But don’t worry. Pretty soon, it’ll be the least of our worries.”
I blanch. Ria was conscripted for the war effort? I think of what Father told me, how war is necessary. But drafted? Without a choice? The thought sickens me, and the weight of my mission—searching for the stone—sinks deeper onto my shoulders.
Amir gazes dreamily at the sky. “My hands have been itching to grab some food.” Finally, finally, he allows himself the smallest of smiles. “I can practically smell the naan. . . .”
“Then let us take our rest,” I tell him, but at Amir’s expression of puzzlement, I am quick to change my wording to that of a commoner’s. “I mean, let’s get some sleep. We can find food in the morning.”
“I’m with you there,” Amir agrees, though his gaze is still suspicious. I lie down opposite Amir, still thinking about Ria’s name on that list. A snore permeates the air; Amir is already fast asleep.
My lips frown instinctively. I cannot let this news disturb me; I will play Ria with all the might I have. I practice a grin that does not falter.
One fit for a princess and a thief.
The beating sun shines on the trees’ emerald leaves, bringing the jungle to life with gilded dawn light.
We dismount the stallion, which will be far too conspicuous to bring into the village and draw too many questions. Father’s horses don’t belong in villages, and they’re trained to find their stables—and Charts—with ease. I give it a parting touch and join Amir at the outskirts of the jungle.
“Whoa.” At the first sign of village life, Amir is muttering blessings instead of curses, even with his fiercely foul tongue.
The sight is a welcome one. This is the first and only village I’ve seen up close, and it is a flurry of activity. Merchants set up their tents in the grand bazaar, some already hawking their wares; vendors yell for foot traffic, hoping to catch a straggling customer. But what shocks me most are the abundance of villagers crowding the streets, offering their morning graces. Not far from them are the beggars, palms open, as if coins will fall from the sky.
Amir turns to me. “First things first, let’s grab some food. You go left, I go right, and we meet in the middle.” He says the words as if we’ve done this a thousand times.
It takes a moment to gather my wits. Getting caught is not an option. I head to the nearest stall, which boasts measly jewelry and silks. A squat, bulb-nosed man greets me but does not hide his gawk at the gilded sari hidden beneath my cloak. Only now do I realize how ostentatious my attire is. I clutch my cloak tighter around my frame and head to the next stall, which holds an array of fruits. Lychees, teeming with juice. Fresh mangoes, ready to be split open.
A woman dressed in a fraying salwar kameez greets me with a smile and offers me a fresh bundle of herbs silently. I shake my head and instead say, “I’m looking for a girl who may have come by here.” I think back to my vision in the fountain. “She has . . . an unusual star-shaped birthmark and . . . light-brown hair. Have you seen her?”
The woman purses her lips.
“Was she here earlier?” I press.
A nod, albeit slowly. She opens her mouth, then closes it, as if unsure a voice can come out. She points to her eye, then to her open mouth, with a shaky finger.
“I don’t comprehend . . .” I trail off. The woman taps her lips.
Only then do I notice she is missing a tongue.
I gasp. A few stragglers stare at me curiously. My cheeks heat with simultaneous fury and horror. Who did this to the poor woman?
Amir’s words echo from last night. Could it be the work of the Charts? And if they’ve done something this cruel, what else have they done to silence Abai’s citizens under my father’s orders?
The woman catches my attention once more, lifting up a thick string and tying it around one finger. A perfect bow. Then she mimes a slingshot action, right over my shoulder.
I whirl. A girl, standing just paces away by another stall, catches my attention. Light hair. My heart hitches. I nod at the woman in thanks and head for the girl, stopping but steps away.
My heightened senses, thanks to the Snake Master, kick into motion. She smells like mint leaves and jungle trees, fresh earth. I scrunch my nose; already the heady perfumes of the palace are slipping away from me.
That’s when I catch a glimpse of a bow and arrow in her hand. Was that what the woman was trying to tell me before?
In one swift motion, the girl turns before I can get a good look at her face. She disappears into the crowd of people.
“Wait!” I call out to her, shoving my way through village people who throw me strange looks. A hand grabs my wrist and I jolt, readying to defend myself. But how? I have no soldiers guarding me, no sword to wield.
“Ria!” I spin to find Amir holding a pair of ruby-red apples, gleaming like palace jewels. “Check these out.” He grins a thief’s grin. “What’d you get?”
“I . . .”
Amir takes notice of my empty hands. “Why didn’t you—”
Before I can speak, a voice rings out across the market, “Thieves!” The man with the bulbous nose parts the crowd, rushing from his stall toward us. “They have taken my prize apples!”
The crowd turns to us, some mothers clutching their sons to their chests with unease, others pointedly staring, leveling at us the di
rtiest looks.
My heart sinks in my chest. But Amir just laughs, and before I know it the apples are hidden, tucked beneath his vest as if they had never been there in the first place. “I think you’ve confused me, sir,” he says. He glances at me like I’ll fill in the rest.
My throat closes up.
The man only stares at us harder.
Use your snake magic, I think. Get out of this. “My . . . friend here is correct,” I jump in. “I’m a famous marketeer from Anari.” That familiar slither of serpent blood hits my veins, the twist of a lie dancing on my tongue. It thrills me now. It probably thrilled Ria, too.
“She examines the markets for any mishaps, business falsities,” Amir adds. “I am her assistant. Are you accusing us of taking from our very own businesses?”
A few of the villagers mutter at that. Whispers riffle through the crowd like spilled wine.
“You’re a liar!” the man shouts. He points a finger at me. “Look at her sari! Even a marketeer couldn’t afford such a thing. She is a thief! They both are!”
I wrap my cloak around me before anyone can get a good look. I channel my connection to the serpents—to Shima—again and invoke the name of the Snake Master. But it’s like the magic is flickering instead of fueling. I have never tried to use my magic more than once in one day or on an entire crowd. I lost my control of Shima just last night; who’s to say I won’t lose control of my tale-spinning affinity now?
“Really, sir, you see—” Amir begins to lift his hands in defense, and one of the apples slips from his clothing and bounces on the ground, gathering sand and dust onto its skin.
“Amir?” I say, voice cracking, unable to move my feet. What would Ria do? I think, but I already know the answer. Run.
Amir scoops up the apple in one quick swoop. We bolt through the streams of villagers, not paying attention to the people surrounding us. I need to find a way out of here—I need to find that girl with the bow and arrow.
As if the Masters are listening above, time slows, and I channel that inner snake magic in my veins. I will not let it fail me now, not when I need it most. I haven’t used my heightened senses often, but I must now. It’s my only chance at finding this mysterious girl.
