by Sasha Nanua
“Like what?”
He bites his lip. “Like the moment I privately proposed to you.”
I’m speechless for a moment. “I . . . I suppose so.”
Saeed smiles, like he’s recalling the memory. “Mother helped me get the roses delivered to the throne room. I wanted every inch of the room to be covered in petals . . . for everything to be special.”
“It was special,” I say. With the way he’s looking at me, his honey gaze clinging to mine, you’d think we were inseparable lovebirds. Maybe Rani and Saeed were, once.
“Special enough for a princess?” he quips with a half smile.
Part of me wants to playfully elbow him the way I would Amir, break up the tension. Another part of me enjoys the push and pull, the game of dice I’m rolling with my sister’s betrothed.
My sister’s betrothed.
I’m backed into a corner with no idea what to say next. Shima seems to sense this, because she says, Echo me.
“Huh?” I whisper.
Tell him the proposal was a moment made for history . . .
“Um—it was a moment made for history,” I manage. Shima nods from behind Saeed. I echo the rest of Shima’s words as she continues speaking in my mind. “For people to talk and write about. It wasn’t real. It was a show.”
Saeed pulls back. “Perhaps it was. But I’ve never heard it put so bluntly.”
The moment spoils. I curse inwardly. I never should’ve trusted a snake, of all things.
“Well . . . maybe we should just cancel today’s lesson.”
Saeed’s eyes harden. “I know you want our engagement to end, Rani, and I will respect your wishes if that is the case. But as your mother and father have stated, I cannot retire as your tutor. Your training to become queen must continue. They’ve asked that I give you a new schedule.”
I huff. More lessons? “Fine. Is that all?”
Saeed quiets. Guess that means the lesson’s over after all. I head for the exit, ready to get out of this terrarium, but Saeed’s voice makes me pause.
“Wait.”
I turn. Saeed exhales, staring at the ground. “It’s true that I’ve been holding something back from you, Rani. I tried to tell you yesterday in the throne room. I—I don’t know who else to turn to.”
My interest piques. I step closer. “Go on.”
Saeed finally looks me in the eye. “I’ve been having strange . . . dreams. My mother’s been giving me a tonic to help rid me of them, but they still recur like nightmares.”
This is what Saeed wanted to tell Rani? He’s been having bad dreams? I don’t see the issue, but fine, I’ll bite.
“For how long?” I prod.
“Many moons now. But they’re not just dreams. I see Mother, sometimes, or . . . or you.” His cheeks burn, and mine flare in response despite the cool terrarium around us.
“Me?” My voice comes out as a squeak. Rani me or Ria me?
Saeed bites his lower lip. “Rani, this may sound bizarre, but I never stopped you from wanting to end things because . . . I foresaw it.”
I snort. He’s so lovesick he’s been dreaming of Rani. I tap my fingers on my elbows, trying to appear cold, the way Rani would.
Apparently it works, because Saeed says, “I knew you’d think me delusional. Tell me, Rani, when did it start? When did your heart turn cold to me?”
I freeze. I can’t answer that. Obviously. As much as I look like Rani, I can’t channel whatever reasoning she had for shunning Saeed.
“I can’t say,” I reply honestly. I keep my voice flat and rough. I clear my throat and recite something Mama Anita told me once: “All I know is that love shouldn’t be fated. It should be earned.”
Saeed ponders my words. He keeps a respectable buffer between us as he says, “You once told me our love was written in the stars. That nothing, and no one, could change that.”
“Things have changed.” More than you know, I add silently.
“Even us.” He says it as neither a question nor answer but something in-between. His relationship with Rani is somewhere in the air, and I’m not sure if I can grab it and bring it back down to reality.
“Even us,” I echo softly. I want my words to ring flat, emotionless, but there’s something in them that holds a question. A promise.
Saeed takes another measured step forward and gently lifts my hand, thumbing the spot where an engagement ring would be. “I always thought this was what you wanted. I suppose I was wrong.”
I stare at our entwined hands. It’s traitorous, pretending to be Rani in this moment—an intimate moment between Saeed and the girl he loves—but I ignore the guilt in my stomach. I must win my freedom. And Amir’s. I’ve stolen, begged, bartered. I’ve done things worse than this for far less.
“What happened between us . . . is difficult to explain.” I look for an excuse to get away from all these snakes. And this conversation. “Can we save this for later? I think I need some rest.”
Saeed casts a glance downward, shaking his head and scoffing.
“What is it?” I ask, unnerved.
“I think I need some rest? Having been with you for three years, I can tell when you’re making up excuses.”
“Who said that was an excuse?”
“Who told me earlier they were wrong about our relationship?”
“Well, clearly, I was mistaken.” The words fly out before I can shove them back in. They’re cold, harsh, whipping like lashes.
Saeed’s face is drawn. Anyone else would feel guilty at that pained expression, but I feel nothing. Years in the Vadi Orphanage, followed by months on the streets, have hardened me more than I wish to admit. Turned me into who I am: a girl whose place in the world is still undecided.
But I can’t go making this situation worse than it already is. “Saeed, I’m sor—”
“No more apologies, Princess.” I watch as Saeed makes his way to the exit. He glances over his shoulder. “I think I’ve become numb to them.”
With that, he leaves. Shame stings my cheeks, like I’ve been slapped.
My aim was to make as few waves as possible till Rani returned. So much for that. I don’t have time to deal with her lovesick betrothed right now. I must keep looking for clues, figure out why the king and queen kept my whole existence a secret.
I shiver and glance up, catching my reflection in the terrarium’s glass walls before touching my cheek with roughened fingers. Coming to this palace wasn’t a death wish but a gift in disguise. A chance for me to discover the truth.
That’s when everything registers. If I want to survive in this raja-ruled palace of impenetrable stone and brick, I won’t just have to look like Rani; I’ll have to become her. I’ll have to pull off my biggest heist yet.
14
Rani
Sanya. I taste the name, each syllable, on my tongue. There’s no question—she is the girl I saw in the Fountain of Fortunes. She is the one tied not only to my destiny but Amir’s.
We’ve followed the girl out of the tavern, to her dismay, and now pause in a clearing. In the distance, banyan trees sway to life in the Moga Jungle. The girl halts six feet away before turning around, her bow and arrow glinting in the sunlight.
I study Amir’s sister. When I was younger, Tutor taught me how to control myself. Control my innermost feelings, paint a look of calm on my face.
Sanya’s face looks anything but calm.
Her mouth is twisted into a dubious scowl. Her cheeks are flushed from rushing into the hot Abai air. Unlike at the market, she now smells of sweat and alcohol from the tavern. Her hair is frazzled, as if every inch of her is trying to flee in a different direction. In the sunlight, the strands look like burnished gold.
“I told you to never come back,” she spits, staring at Amir. She tightens her grip on a beaded necklace at her throat. The girl stands a little taller. “I told you I wouldn’t follow you.”
“A year can change a person,” Amir admits, but I catch the way he’s squeezing his palm
against a fisted hand.
Ria’s friend is related to the girl I saw in the Fountain of Fortunes. I must be doing something right if I’ve found her as the fountain predicted. A thrill rushes through me at the thought.
“Listen, Sanya,” Amir begins when his sister remains tight-lipped, “a lot has changed recently. Ria and I left Nabh and—”
“Running away again?” Sanya scoffs. “Where to this time? I hear the southern cities are nice this time of year. The lakes in Kakur are especially beautiful if you’re going for a swim. Or maybe—”
“I’m serious,” Amir responds. “Yesterday Ria and I made it to the palace. We got jewels, and now we need some passports to get out of Abai.”
“You shouldn’t joke about that,” she retorts, turning toward a tree and resting a hand on it, as if exhausted from speaking. “You know how much Ma hated your imaginary games.”
Amir’s gaze darkens. “Ma isn’t here anymore. And I’m not kidding.”
The two of them are silent. Amir’s body is tense next to mine; it’s like he’s forgotten I’m here.
“Well, a year has changed me, too.” Sanya straightens her back, newfound confidence shining from her eyes. “And Irfan.”
Amir’s gaze flickers to mine. “I’ve heard that name before. . . .” He turns to me. “Samar mentioned him the other day. We saw the Charts take Samar to the palace.”
“Samar’s dead,” Sanya deadpans. “He died in the palace. Snakes got to him, I guess.”
A pang hits my stomach. Sweat stamps my palms. “Samar?”
Tutor. They’re talking about Tutor.
“Rumor is the princess choked,” she continues. “She doesn’t have the guts for death.”
“And what’s so wrong with that!” All of my practiced poise floods out of my body. Heat sweeps through me as Amir flinches, gazing at me like I am a being he’s never seen before.
Cheeks flushed, I clear my throat. “I mean, I learned a lot while at the palace. The man who died, he was—he was the princess’s tutor.” The words come out in stutters, in bits and pieces as fractured as my new identity.
Amir’s gaze volleys between mine and Sanya’s. “We . . . had an interesting night,” is all he says, as if to explain my strange habits. I don’t glance back at him, for fear that he will see right through me.
Right through this charade.
“We can play catch-up later,” Sanya says roughly, her eyes landing on Amir’s. “What did you really come here for, brother?”
Amir worries his lower lip. “We want to go to the Mailan Foothills in the Hidden Lands. For passports to escape.” He firmly plants one hand on my arm, pulling my gaze to his. “And it’s not a joke, or a game. Not even one bit. Can you take us?”
Sanya glances away pointedly and dodges the question. “Looks like you finally found the partner you always wanted.”
I pull my gaze from Amir. Something about her tone implies I’m more than just a partner to him, and I don’t appreciate it.
“She’s the best damn thief in Abai,” he says. My stomach warms at the compliment before I remember he is speaking of Ria, not me.
“Whatever.” Sanya shakes her head, her eyes wandering. “Oh, look who decided to join the party.” She tosses the bow and arrow to someone behind me.
I haven’t heard a sound, but I turn to find a hooded man wreathed in shadows, his vestments threaded the color of midnight. He catches the weapon deftly. The man looks as though he could be a shadow. My snake-magicked senses kick into gear, and I smell something like steel mingling with the jungle air. A weapons forger, perhaps. Or merely someone used to sharpening knives for his own use.
“Got it repaired for you at the market,” Sanya says, pointing to the bow and arrow.
“Thanks,” he says, the sunlight sweeping through the trees illuminating only a sliver of his face: a sharp, bearded chin and a half smirk. “I thought we weren’t provoking strangers anymore.”
“Roll out of the wrong side of the bed?” Amir quips. The man chuckles, to my surprise, and moves closer, steps agile and lithe as a tiger. My curiosity piques as he lowers his hood from his face.
The first thing I notice is the dirt claiming his features, the thick brows framing his eyes. Silver irises envelop dark pupils. Tutor’s history lessons surge to mind: silver eyes are less than uncommon; they are the mark of Amratstanian heritage, the mountain people of the northwest.
But there is something eerily familiar about these eyes, like a shared secret.
The man only purses his lips, contemplating me for a moment. He raises his hands in defense. “Who’s the princess?”
My breath hitches before I realize he’s pointing at my sari.
“This is Ria. She’s no princess,” Amir cuts in, his gaze bouncing between Sanya and the silver-eyed man. “Wait—you look familiar. . . .” Amir’s eyes light up. “You were on some wanted posters a while back, weren’t you?” His gaze shoots with alarm to his sister.
The man lifts his brows in surprise. “Is this the famous thief brother I’ve been hearing all about?”
Amir’s brows knit together. “What’d you say your name was again?”
“Never did.”
There’s a pregnant pause. Then a flash of surprise: frown lines forming around Amir’s mouth, crinkles blooming by the corners of his eyes. “You’re Irfan. The vigilante. You are the guy on the posters! You’re the one the Charts were looking for!”
The man extends his hand. “That’s the name. I’m a mountain man, born and bred, but I guess I’m famous around these parts.” He shrugs. “Except I dropped the whole vigilante thing a while back.”
“You mean, you were a hero of some sort?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Sanya answers for him, “and when I found him in the jungles, I helped, too. We stole food from the palace kitchens, stuff they would just throw out. We gave it to the ones who needed it, found orphans looking for food and water.”
“You did that?” Amir asks.
“Did you think I’d become some beggar without you?” Sanya snaps. “I’m smart, Amir. I found a way to survive. On my own.”
Amir looks affronted.
“And now we need to survive more than ever,” Irfan says, arms crossed against his chest.
“Why?” Amir’s tone is genuine.
“Trackers. They learned about what we were doing,” Sanya reveals. “Figured out who Irfan was and plastered his face on a bunch of wanted posters.”
That word sends a frisson of heat down my back. Trackers—a division of the Charts whose sole job is to find traitors against the monarchy. Those against Father. Those against me.
Amir’s brows arch. “People called Irfan a hero.”
I stare at the silver-eyed man. His build would easily get him into the barracks of Amratstan’s army. He’s young enough, too, a few summers older than Saeed. I imagine him draped in Amratstan’s signature sapphire, speaking in their high, lilting accent. The man’s hair is wild, clothes nothing more than rags, but his eyes are alight with a barely dampened fire, a rage bottled in glass.
“Sorry to disappoint,” he says. “I’m just . . . this. But I’m doing what I can, and trying to avoid rotting in a pit of snakes in the end.”
We all shudder. Indeed, the snakes have been getting more than their fair share of meat lately. And what Irfan and Sanya were doing was certainly noble—feeding the hungry. Should they be executed for that?
Sanya continues, “I took a job at the tavern to keep a low profile. Not surprised you knew where to find me.”
At my blank stare, Amir fills in: “We used to stay here a lot as kids. The barkeep let us have a cot.”
“And now I barely have any shifts,” Sanya mumbles.
“What happened to wanting to be a healer?” Amir asks.
Sanya bristles. “Long story. Maybe this time you’ll be around long enough to hear it . . . brother.”
Amir looks as if he’s been stung by a jungle crow.
Irfan gives me a once-over
, as if seeing me for the first time. “Have we met before? You seem familiar.”
I slump my shoulders, act the part of a lifelong peasant, though I’m afraid this sharp-eyed man will see right through it. “I’m just a villager looking for the Mailan Foothills. Amir said Sanya could help us get to the Hidden Lands where the Foothills are located.”
“Yeah, and if the Trackers are after you, it’s not safe to stay in one spot, anyway,” Amir says. “Just hear us out. Helping us can help you, too.”
Sanya sighs audibly. “Don’t get your kurta in a twist, Amir. We don’t need the two of you in the way. C’mon.” She turns away, heading back into the tavern. Irfan follows her; Amir stays still as stone.
“That’s it?” I ask him, staring at their retreating forms. “You’re not going after them?”
“What’s the point? You heard her. I’d just get in their way.”
But that cannot be the only reason he doesn’t want to follow his sister. Something happened to them, their family, that split them apart.
What would Ria do?
I start off at a jog, turning at the end of the trail. “Aren’t you coming?” Eventually, Amir follows me with a sigh, and we catch up with Sanya and Irfan at the tavern’s back entrance.
“Think you could get rid of us that easy?” I ask as Irfan slinks back inside. Sanya is about to do the same, but she halts.
“You just can’t leave us alone, can you?”
Amir reddens, about to pipe up a response, but I go first. “We’d be grateful for a place to rest.” I nudge Amir, who echoes my words somewhat begrudgingly.
Sanya glances at her brother. She huffs as she swings open the door wider, then brushes us inside. Without a word, she turns away from the barkeep and patrons and toward a narrow staircase. I follow close behind, shielding my face. The stairs creak under our weight as we approach the second floor.
At the end of the hall, Sanya pulls out a brass key and unlocks her room, a meager space for two with a bit of floor space. Certainly far from my four-poster bed and vanity.
