by Sasha Nanua
Amir’s brows knit. “Go on.”
Sanya huffs. “You know how Ma and Papa were close to Jas? They were close to her husband, too. To . . . Samar.”
“The man who was taken by the Charts?” Amir shakes his head, a terrible realization dawning in his eyes. “Wait, that’s your husband?”
Jas lowers her head. “Was.” She straightens her posture, looking to the skies. “Samar was always gone on those trips I would tell you about as children. I never wanted you to know his true occupation. He took the job at great risk. He was a great asset to our people. He gathered secrets. He knew things that kept us safe. He was the princess’s tutor.”
My skin ices over.
“What?” Amir tries to process the information. “Sanya, how’d you know all this?”
“I didn’t until I met Irfan. He introduced me to Samar. That’s how I found out that he was looking for the Bloodstone, and how he used to live in the palace. Until he had to leave.”
Amir stares. “But . . . the Bloodstone. Did he ever—”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Jas turns away. “His mission died with him.”
“But it didn’t!” All eyes swivel to me. “He wanted to find the stone,” I say, turning to Sanya. “And now the Charts and the raja are after it.”
Jas’s hard stare is replaced by curiosity. “The raja?”
I nod. “He means to use the stone for the war. Samar’s mission isn’t over. It’s more important than ever before.”
“A mission that’s only resulted in death,” Sanya adds bitterly. Even Amir stiffens. Irfan glances at Sanya, as if perturbed she would bring up such fresh wounds. Unspoken words fill the space between them.
“Is that why he was taken?” Tears well in my eyes, but I force them back. I am the reason Tutor is gone, and only I can amend this.
Jas sighs. “I’d been planning routes, tracking Charts’ movements from the plateau . . . I wanted the Bloodstone as badly as my husband did. When he left to work in Nabh, I thought perhaps he would come back. That we could complete this mission together.” She turns to me, her eyes now fastened to mine. “It has been of no use. Samar is gone.”
Sanya bites her lip. “Jas, we actually didn’t come for a reunion. Amir and his friend, they’re looking for passage out of Abai,” she says carefully.
“You wish to leave?” Jas eyes Amir and Sanya, who stand breaths apart but look like two frozen statues.
“Before the war. She’s been conscripted. We need passports,” Amir explains. “Can you help?”
Without answering, Jas takes another hard look at me, at the ring still clutched in my palm. As if she can sense who I am: the girl responsible for the death of her beloved husband, even partially. I itch at my skin, wishing I could scratch away the truth, but it would only leave a raw, red lie.
“I met your husband once,” I say, the lie creeping onto my tongue. “Not long after, he gave me his ring, and something else, too.” I reach for an inner pocket of my cloak and find the pocket-sized book of Tutor’s. I offer it to Jas perfunctorily. “He told me to look for the stone. It was his dying wish.”
“You never told me that,” Amir says, glancing at me quizzically. “I thought we were here to get passports.”
“We are,” I amend, though my speech is too quick. “I never thought the stone to be of much importance. A story,” I lie. “But then Sanya mentioned the Bloodstone, and now I know of the Charts’ mission. Perhaps there is more at stake than we realize.” Like the fate of my future queendom. One I had never considered I might share with a long-lost twin sister.
“And where do you think this Bloodstone could be?” Amir asks me, though Jas seems to ponder the question as well, glancing down at the book in her hands with wonder.
“Doesn’t matter,” Sanya says stubbornly. “We shouldn’t’ve brought this up. It’s dangerous, searching for the stone again—”
“Again?” I echo. “You’ve searched for it before?”
Sanya stops herself and marches to the tent flap in frustration. “Keep talking about your precious stone. I’ll be out of here faster than you can say Raja’s beard.”
I arch a brow once Sanya’s gone. Irfan offers a gesture of apology.
“She doesn’t like to think of the past,” Irfan explains.
“Why so?” I ask myself.
“Because,” Amir pipes up, “our parents were the ones who went after the stone, years ago.” His gaze, dark as burned-out embers, crashes into mine. “That’s how they died.”
Everyone is still.
“I’m so sorry, Amir,” I whisper. My first true apology. It seems we have all lost someone, all experienced grief in some form. Why did I ever think these feelings were exclusive to me? That no one could ever have experienced a worse pain?
With a goodbye salute, Irfan raises a hand in good night to Jas, and leaves the tent with stealthy quickness, Amir following right behind.
Jas tucks the pocket-sized book of Tutor’s close to her chest. “Thank you for this,” she says, her voice shaking, “but I must ask you to leave.”
I nod. Silence, vast as the Satluj Sea, hangs over me as I move to exit the tent.
“And Ria,” Jas calls.
I turn, stomach flipping.
“I know you want to continue my husband’s legacy,” she says, “but looking for the stone is not something to be taken lightly.”
Normally I would fume at such a tone, but she is correct. I cannot take this lightly. I am more than a peasant girl on a mission; I have the weight of a kingdom on my shoulders.
21
Ria
At sunset the next day, I find the Stone Terrace. It’s located in the north end of the palace and takes ten agonizing flights of stairs to get there. Am I already out of shape from just a few days of palace life? I huff and continue onto the terrace, where Saeed sports a fresh kurta and matching gold shoes. I spot that bit of white hair, and I realize instantly he must also be wearing facial powder to cover up his purple eye bags.
“Am I late?” I ask, tucking the book from the library behind me.
“For the princess, I’m early.” He bows, but the movement is stiff, like he’s not sure how he feels about submitting himself to me. I’m not sure how I feel about it. It’s not like we’re on friendly terms at the moment, despite our lessons.
“You wanted to speak to me about my mother?” He gestures at the wooden swing set with two cushions behind him and we sit, taking in the blushing roses and flowers that fill the gardens below.
“I know I dropped a lot on you yesterday,” I begin. “It wasn’t fair of me to surprise you. But . . . I’ve brought you proof.” I show him the book from the library, open to the page describing snake venom, and point a finger to the list of side effects. Saeed’s eyes flicker over the symptoms.
“What are you implying?” Saeed asks. “I told you, it’s a simple sleep tonic.” He’s trying to deflect; I know what denial looks like. Skies, after Mama Anita died, I wouldn’t say her name for months.
But we don’t have the luxury of denial right now. Time to let it all out. “I mean that your mother’s lying to you. There’s no song beetle juice in your sleeping brew. The tea has a diluted dosage of snake venom, something that alters your mind, your memories, maybe even your dreams and sleep patterns.”
My voice quiets. “Saeed. You have every single one of the side effects listed here. And the physical symptom . . . white hair.”
Everything stills, save for the clip, clip, clip as the gardeners trim the hedges.
“You don’t believe me,” I realize.
“You haven’t always been honest with me, Rani,” he says. It’s true; Rani didn’t even mention her betrothed to me before she left, which would seem to indicate she’s not exactly enthusiastic about their relationship. Inconvenient when you’re about to be engaged.
“However,” he continues, facing me now, “I haven’t been entirely honest with you, either.”
I grip the cushioned seat. �
��About what?”
“I’ve grown up with nightmares. Mother called it a phase. But they always came and went, and mostly I could ignore them.” His shoulders tighten. “Lately, the dreams have returned, but they’re cloudy. Still . . . I noticed a weird pattern. Sometimes my dreams become reality a day or even hours after I see them. The other night, when you were in the raja’s study . . . I didn’t need Aditi to lead me there. I already knew.”
My breath hitches. “How?”
“Remember how I arrived late to dinner? Well, I had told you I was sidetracked when, in truth, I had accidentally fallen asleep beforehand and had a dream. A dream of you in the raja’s study.”
I gulp.
“I’ve thought about it over and over. And the meaning of it seems . . .” He weighs his next words. “Impossible.”
Impossible. I think back to Mama Anita, her reassuring words when she brushed my hair as I fell asleep. “Nothing’s impossible,” I recite. Mama Anita’s courage fills me now, being here at the palace, finding the magic I never knew existed inside me, yet always had a connection with.
Saeed glances down, a cluster of curls covering his eyes. “You think they’re not just dreams? That they might be . . . something more?” His voice is hesitant.
My mind whirls. Can it be true? Could Saeed . . . ?
“Do you remember our lesson, Rani, when I taught you about paired magics? Each magic has a connection to another magic. A kind of bond, a pair. They’re like two sides of the same coin.”
Like Rani and me, I think. “And?”
“Fire calls to Tide. Earth calls to Sky.”
I think of all the Masters. That leaves two: “Snake calls to Memory.”
A shiver runs through me. The night I met Rani, she told me of how each distinct magic was connected to another in some way. Snake magic is deeply tied to thoughts and memories, she’d said.
“Exactly. I think there’s a reason we’re so drawn to each other . . . that we feel something inexplicable when we’re near.”
We stare at one another until Saeed leaps up from the swing and paces the terrace before gripping the railing.
“Memory magic. I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it. . . .”
“A few days ago, I wouldn’t’ve believed it either,” I say, meeting him at the balcony’s edge. I think of the moment I touched Rani, the memories we unleashed. The hushed rumors peppering the villages, that magic wasn’t really as lost as we thought. The children at the orphanage with odd gifts, who vanished in the night.
I can no longer deny my own magic—how can I deny his?
His gaze reaches mine, alight with realization. “Mother doesn’t have magic, but . . . maybe someone else in her family did. Someone in my bloodline may have been a mindwielder. That would explain my . . . visions.”
I’m quiet after that. But his words ring true; what if Saeed has a connection to the Memory Master?
“Saeed, maybe we’re not the only ones who know this.”
“My mother?” he asks. I nod, and he shuts his eyes. Curses. “Mother came from Kaama with nothing but rags, a few spare coins, and me. She tells me all the time, I am everything she has. She wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Maybe she knows your dreams are more than that,” I reveal. “She knows what you can see. Memories. Visions. The Memory Master was powerful, almost as all-seeing as Amran.”
I recite the stories Mama Anita taught me. She knew magic existed, deep in the earth, rare as a polished diamond. Maybe she even knew magic existed in me.
I straighten myself the way a princess would. Even if it’s against every thief instinct in me, it feels good. “My snake magic allows me to sense venoms; I know it was in your tonic. Saeed, I don’t mean to be harsh, but this is the truth. She’s doing this on purpose. She’s stopping you from discovering your . . . magic. But the question is, why?”
Saeed’s knuckles whiten. “Even if she did want to stop my magic—and I don’t know why she would—Mother would never intentionally poison me. Never.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.
His breaths come faster. “When the visions got bad a few moons back, I had adverse reactions to the tea. Mother promised they were natural side effects, that I would grow used to it after time. She said it would heal me.” His voice breaks with anger.
“We don’t know her true intentions just yet. Maybe she didn’t know any better.” Even as I say the words, I know he can tell I’m lying. Trying to soothe him.
“The strangest thing is, I’ve dreamed about Mother. But in my dreams, she was different. Cruel. Her eyes were red and her voice harsh. What if I saw her in the future, saw her changing?” Anguish fills his features. “What if she has something planned, and she’s keeping me from finding out about it and stopping her?”
I need to be delicate about this. “We’ve got to work together if we want to figure out what your mother’s doing.”
“Then what do you propose?” Saeed asks. “I spy on my own mother? I know you dislike her—”
I grasp his palm in mine, and I’m surprised to find it’s warm and smooth, unlike Amir’s worn and roughened hands. “Just keep an eye out. And stop taking the tonic for a few nights. Promise?”
Saeed’s eyes trail down to our intertwined hands. “What will you do?”
“I’m working on it.”
Midnight strikes the moment I step into the Western Courtyard. The wind is tame tonight, like it wants to wrap me in its warmth. The perfect hiding spot for a thief—and a servant.
I’m hiding behind a large, ancient tree, its trunk wide and full of strange markings, some of which look fresh, others crossed out or faded. Are those numbers? I peer closer, letting my fingers trail over the marks. What do they mean?
Just then, Shima slips over my legs, and I shiver at the slick scales, nearly forgetting I invited her along. Damned snake. It’s not like I can get rid of her, or people will realize something’s up.
Aditi peers out the palace doors and spots me. She shuffles across the grass until she’s an arm’s length away.
“You got my message?” I called for Aditi after meeting with Saeed. Despite his reluctance to spy on his mother, he promised he would do his part to figure out the truth. Now it’s time for me to do mine.
Aditi glances around nervously, like she can’t look the snake in the eyes. She doesn’t step any closer until I pull out the book, The Complete History of Magic, and her face lights up.
“Miss,” she says in disbelief. “Is this why you called me here?”
I nod, then gesture for Aditi to have a seat. It takes her a moment, but she finally lowers herself. A bunch of mauve flowers sway ahead, shivering in the gardens. Aditi, too, shivers with excitement as she races through the book again.
“The book is yours to keep if you want. If anyone asks, tell them it was Princess Rani’s orders.”
“B-but—” Aditi’s jaw drops. “That’s very kind of you.”
“It’s nothing,” I say, settling a hand on Shima’s head. I knew I’d need the snake tonight, in tandem with the book and Aditi’s assistance, to help me understand more about snake venom and what Amara’s up to. Luckily Aditi doesn’t look too bothered. She smiles a real smile, and it makes me feel as warm as fresh ghee. Truthfully, I knew because of the way Aditi looked at the book, like she was starving and only words could stave off the pain. I used to be like that, too, in the orphanage. Books were rare, but Mama Anita always had a story to tell.
“I brought Shima here tonight for a reason. I need to learn more about snake magic, from her and this book.”
You can’t begin to understand snake magic until you first learn its properties, Shima says. With her head, she prods open the book. I flip through it, noticing a page has been ripped out, and then find the one I’m looking for. Subsets of snake magic.
Aditi shivers. “I’ve never been so close to a snake before.”
“Think of her as . . . a tutor of sorts.” I nod at Shima, even i
f sitting next to a snake still makes me nervous. Aditi nods.
I read the page aloud. “Subsets of snake magic. There are four levels at its heart: communication; verbal manipulation; heightened senses; and increased immunity to venoms.” I skim the page until something hooks me. “Look at this.”
It’s a page on the Snake Pit, with a haunting illustration of the Pit’s walls, snakes writhing at the bottom.
Keep reading, Shima encourages.
I do. “The Snake Pit was created by the Snake Master, and his descendants built the Abaian palace around the Pit. His scepter, passed down to the kings and queens of Abai, could unlock the Pit itself, revealing the snakes within.” I think of the raja’s scepter in his office, the flashing eyes, memories of death, and shiver. “Its walls are embedded with gems, which naturally form from the magic imbued in the Pit. Each gem is said to . . .” I pause.
“Yes?” Aditi wonders.
“Each gem is said to hold the spirits of the dead,” I finish. “Of those who died in the Pit. Skies be good.”
“What’s wrong, miss?”
“Nothing.” My mind scrambles. Could Mama Anita’s soul be in one of those gems? I once dreamed, ached, to hear her voice again, to see her one last time before she was chained and dragged to the Pit.
Maybe now I can.
Aditi can clearly see the sorrow on my face, because she closes the book and holds it tight to her chest. “We could continue this another night, miss.”
I carefully hold Aditi’s shoulder. “Call me by my name. It’s all right.”
“R-Rani, of course. Queen,” Aditi states.
“No, not like queen. I want to be free of titles.”
“Then what shall I call you?” Aditi wonders.
Ria, Shima tells me. But I can’t give away my identity, not if I want to stay safe.
“You might’ve heard frightening things about me, but I’m not the Snake Princess. I’m different.”
“How can I trust that?”
“Shima,” I tell the snake, “I need to speak with Aditi alone for a minute.” Please, I add, unsure if she’ll hear it.
As you wish. The snake slithers off.
