by Sasha Nanua
A seam rips open in my chest. What can I say? Sorry isn’t enough. Sorry never filled the aching in my heart when I missed Mama Anita.
“Since Mother was born in Abai,” Saeed continues, “all our ties to Kaama were lost. My mother was ridiculed. That’s when we came to live in the palace, since our mothers were already friends. Mother thought I’d become an instructor once I finished my education, since I’d be safe from the army in that position. After Father was gone, she never wanted me near the Kaaman Warriors.
“And so I grew up in the palace.” His gaze softens with remembrance. “Do you remember when we played together as children? We would hide out in the servant staircases and watch the Charts, pretending to be on secret missions.”
“Rani did—?” I start. “I mean, we did that?”
He gives me a once-over, as if confused by my outburst. “For a time, yes. Then your studies took over. And then we were grown, and thrust at each other as suitors. I must admit . . . I miss how we were, in the beginning. But your wishes are most important to me now. Our parents wanted us married for a long time, but . . .” He shakes his head. “I just want you to know that you were truly the only companion I ever had. And you were more than that. I admired you, Rani. I admire you still. I wish things had been . . . different.”
His stare becomes all too hot, like it’s warming me from the inside out. Silence thickens the space between us.
“I haven’t really treated you well,” I tell him, looking away. “I’m sorry. I want to change that.”
I peer at him. A corner of his lips lift, like a flower gently unfurling. “You’ve seemed different lately, Rani. The way you walk about the palace, the way you speak up. You’re less rigid. More . . . you.”
My cheeks redden.
“You know,” he begins as we round a corner on the trail and enter a thick row of trees, “Mother has always protected me. She’s often been the only one. But since our engagement was announced, she has been acting strangely. I began to think that your words were truthful. So I listened to your request.”
My grip tightens on the horse’s reins. “You didn’t take the tonic?”
He turns to me as our horses pause at the end of the trail. “I pretended to drink it so Mother would seem satisfied. And then last night . . . I had another vision. But it wasn’t clouded. This one was stronger than the others, and so clear I knew it couldn’t be a dream.”
I hold my breath. “What did you see?”
A beat passes. “Mother,” he finally reveals. “She was speaking to the raja during a council meeting, pushing him to conscript one able-bodied person from every household for the war.” He gulps. “She spoke without reverence, without fear. She seemed . . . controlling.”
So this is what Amara wanted to stop her son from seeing? Her role in agitating the war?
“That’s tens of thousands of people—sent to die in a pointless war! Did the councillors agree to the measure?”
“I woke up before the vision was complete,” he admits. “But everyone seemed so approving of Amara as the raja’s new adviser. It was . . . strange. Mother’s always been interested in politics, but even I was surprised she got the position.”
“Strange,” I agree. But even stranger is what Amara is doing as the king’s adviser.
“I need to see the rest of that vision.” He pauses. “You were right about the tonic affecting my mind. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you at first. I had little faith when all you wanted was for me to learn the truth.”
“Oh.” I’m surprised by his candor.
“Really, Rani. You helped me. And now I think that together, we can figure out what my mother’s hiding. Maybe we can even restore normalcy to this place. To this country. To both our lives. Together.” The horses pick up again as we turn around, back toward the palace.
I consider his words. Together. A thought bubbles to mind so ridiculous I wonder if it’ll even work. But it might be worth a shot.
“Can you ever . . . call up a vision?”
Saeed shakes his head. “I only have visions when I sleep.”
“What if there was a way for you to have visions on command? Like dreaming while you’re awake? Have you ever tried?”
“No.” Saeed ponders this.
I think of the memories that blasted to the surface when Rani and I were together. “Memory magic is deeply connected to snake magic, right? They’re two sides of the same—”
“Coin,” he finishes, breathless. His smile tips up.
“Maybe together, we could help you conjure a vision.”
Saeed raises his brows. “Do you really think we could do it?”
“It’s worth a try.” I dismount my horse, and Saeed follows more gracefully. We stand face-to-face on the trail, only breaths apart.
“Maybe if we, um, touch . . . ?” I’m guessing, fumbling for a way. Saeed squeezes my hands tight. “All right,” he says, and we close our eyes. I think of Rani, the moment we made contact, what I felt in that instant. Confusion, strangeness; hope, understanding.
Questions answered; questions left unfulfilled.
“I see her,” he says finally. “But it’s fuzzy. . . .” His eyes fly open, and so do mine. “We need our connection to be stronger.” His breath hitches. “Do you remember what I told you about how your snakespeaker magic is more powerful when you’re closer to Shima?”
I nod, trying to understand what he’s getting at.
“Perhaps we need to be closer, somehow,” he murmurs. Then his gaze flutters to my lips. He seems embarrassed by the words, even though I don’t get what he’s—
Oh.
My skin freezes. “I—” I begin, but what is there to say? Rani and Saeed have done this plenty of times. But that doesn’t mean I have.
Saeed looks sheepish. “Perhaps there’s another way—”
It would be over in a second, I reason. I shake my head, a mixture of dread and something else twisting in my belly.
When I came to the palace, my wants were my basest desires. A ticket out of Abai, freedom on my lips, answers about my past. Then Amara came into the picture, and now everything is a jumble of knots.
I always thought the best I could do was make myself invisible and escape Abai. But maybe I belong here. And if I belong here . . . well, then I can do something bigger than I ever thought. Maybe, by making myself seen, I can help this kingdom, and the people in it, the way the raja never did.
“We need to see the rest of this vision.” The future might depend on it.
“You’re sure?” he asks.
I squeeze his hands tighter in response. I brace myself, even though Saeed’s brows dip into a gentle knot, like he, too, is nervous.
When he leans in, he lightly brushes his fingers against my cheek. It’s my last chance to pull away, and he’s giving me an opportunity to stop, but I don’t. I grab his neck and pull him closer. His mindwielder’s aura presses against me, calling to my own magic. I tip my head up and his lips brush against my cheek, the corner of my lips—
The vision startles me when it arrives, swimming under my eyelids like a moving image, blocking out the world around me: Amara, standing in what looks to be a council room. Behind her reads today’s date, written in ink on parchment. Councillors sit around her as she announces the conscription, the raja nodding in agreement. Then comes the sound of bells ringing. Once, twice . . . seventeen chimes total. The words muffle and shift in the vision—and it’s over too soon. The vision turns to smoke. I plummet back into the present when Saeed pulls away, the almost-kiss broken to dust.
“Did you see that?” he asks, breathless.
I nod. No words escape my throat.
“Your father’s council room,” he supplies. “We need to go there now.”
The palace bells ring ahead. I count up to sixteen and shiver. Saeed’s vision is about to come true at the end of the hour.
We hurry back onto our horses. I hold on for dear life and gallop straight for the palace.
“This is where we used to play?” I half whisper, staring up at the rafters. Saeed has already climbed onto the beams, leading straight from the servants’ quarters and into the ceiling of the raja’s council chambers.
“Too scared to climb now that you’re grown?” Saeed asks as he hauls me up. I’ve climbed trees plenty of times but palace walls? Not so much.
We shuffle side by side through the rafters on elbows and knees, and after a moment, Saeed grumbles a laugh. I prickle.
“What? So I’m not the daintiest. I can’t help it.”
Saeed shakes his head. “No. It’s just . . . I never thought we’d be like this again.”
I gaze at Saeed questioningly, aware of our pressed bodies, before finally shaking him off. We continue on our path until we’re right above the room. A small slit gives us air to breathe and a view directly into the raja’s chambers. I’m like a ghost, silent and nearly invisible, just like during a steal.
Amara’s fire-red hair drapes over her shoulders as she stands at the front of the council room. Next to her is the raja and Samvir, who Shima taught me is the raja’s snake familiar. The snake’s scales are deathly black, flickering with red, and I can almost smell the magic in the air as the raja pats the cobra’s head. I hold my breath as we listen.
“As I mentioned earlier, my last topic for today will be conscription. The raja needs soldiers; this war won’t win itself.”
The council members give a murmur of agreement. Chatting about war so leisurely makes me sick.
“I’ve already discussed this with the raja, who has given me full support in bringing up this next suggestion: the conscription age at the moment remains eighteen, as it has been for all of Abai’s history. This is no longer enough. We must lower the age and have Charts collect the new soldiers for recruitment as soon as possible. Henceforth, one able-bodied member of each family from the age of fourteen will be drafted into the soldiers’ ranks. Families will be awarded a small sum for each child they admit for recruitment, for their willing generosity,” Amara says sweetly.
Raja’s beard. It’s worse than we thought. Not just a person from each family but children.
I dig my nails into the rafters. I’m so furious I could explode. How could Amara force children to fight in this war? The raja nods, confirming to his council members the severity of the situation. We must have more soldiers . . . Kaama’s army is growing . . .
I can’t listen to this any longer, and Saeed can see it on my face. He holds me back, even as horror dawns equally on him.
At the seventeenth bell, the council members disperse. They’ve agreed to Amara’s claim, and she looks pleased.
Only the raja remains in the room, standing now face-to-face with Saeed’s mother. I lean forward, careful to keep my breaths quiet.
“The stone will soon be in our grasp,” Amara says to the raja. “And we will tear down the Kaamans one by one. The blood of Amran will grant us the greatest power in existence.”
The raja nods, though his gaze is far away, as if caught in a daydream. It’s not until then that everything clicks into place. A stone that’s a weapon of war. Made from the blood of Amran . . .
The Bloodstone! It’s the famed jewel Mama Anita told me stories about. The one that caused the fight between the Masters, that made the Snake Master powerful above all others.
I whisper to myself, “The stone Rani’s looking for is the Bloodstone.”
“Bloodstone?” Saeed whispers next to me, confused. I don’t respond, because my attention is caught by Amara. No—Amara’s bracelets, those cuffs she’d been gifted from her father. Carved onto them is a symbol of a single eye.
I squint, peering closer at them. They’re . . . glowing.
“Did you see that? Her cuffs?” I ask Saeed, offering him a gap through the beams. He peers through, then shakes his head.
Shimmers wink off Amara’s cuffs, a reflection from the candlelight, before disappearing. Was I seeing things? A flicker of the light?
The raja speaks louder now. “We will recruit a fresh set of Charts immediately after Rani’s engagement party. With greater numbers, the Bloodstone will be found.”
They finish their conversation, Amara bowing with reverence. Samvir’s scales shimmer oddly as he and the king steal out of the room. Amara remains rooted to her spot, the room eerily quiet.
Then Amara looks up.
Stunned, I fall back, and the rafters echo from my sudden movements. Saeed’s eyes grow wide. Neither of us can hide from this.
“Spying on me now, are we?”
I freeze. Caught. Saeed’s eyes hold a mountain of fear.
We descend from the rafters and drop into the council room, the tasseled red rug beneath us a symbol of the oh-so-rich royals. But it’s Amara’s own venomous gaze that does me in.
We might’ve been caught, but Amara’s been caught, too.
“We know what you’re up to, Amara,” I say.
Amara ignores me as she examines her son with curiosity. “Saeed, I thought you were supposed to take our dear princess on a ride?”
“I did,” Saeed clips. The fear melts away, replaced by bold courage. “Mother, this isn’t right. Lowering the conscription age isn’t only wrong—it’s a rejection of Abai’s morals. Do you want villagers thinking their only worth is to fight? That we’d rather their children die than remain protected?”
“Their duty is to protect themselves,” Amara spits. I’ve never seen her talk this way to Saeed, and even he seems stunned. But I only feel emboldened by Amara’s indignance.
“Saeed’s right. As a royal, my father isn’t supposed to be forcing commoners into the war. He’s supposed to be helping them. And as princess of this kingdom, I won’t stand for this.”
Amara’s demeanor changes, flickering from anger to intrigue.
“Son, tell my servant to prepare my chambers. I think I’ll get an early rest tonight—after I speak to Rani.”
“But—”
“Privately,” Amara interjects.
Saeed glances at me. He almost looks like he’s waiting for me to say something. Maybe he wants me to ask him to stay, but I can’t bring myself to. He opens his mouth again before turning on his heel and marching out of the room like the dutiful son he’s supposed to be.
Amara walks around the table, eyeing me like a tiger would its prey. She drags her nails across the wood, leaving streaks in the grain. With her confident stance, she looks like an otherworldly being, a Master above all others, but underneath she’s nothing more than a snake.
Amara glares daggers at me. “It seems as though you and I need to chat, Rani.”
“Obviously,” I say. I can’t help but speak fluent sarcasm to her—Shima’s favorite language. The snake would be proud.
Amara saunters toward me. “Oh, Rani. Did you forget all those years of training?”
I put on my best impression of Rani. “I don’t follow.”
Her hair drapes down her back like an inferno. “It’s not polite to listen in on private conversations. You know, a princess doesn’t sneak about the palace. Tell me, Rani . . .” She steps closer. “What are you so curious about?”
I bring my fingertips to my elbows and dig into my flesh, reminding myself to play the part. “What do you want, Amara-ji?”
She exhales and straightens herself. “I think you know what I want, Rani.” A saccharine smile lifts her lips. “The truth.”
My heart stutters as Amara moves so close I can practically smell her breath. Wine, again. So predictable.
What’s not predictable are the words she utters next.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t get servant girls who work for me to do your bidding.”
My stomach drops.
“Books belong in the library,” she continues in that low voice. “Especially ones about magic.”
My gut hollows. No, she couldn’t know that, too, she couldn’t’ve seen it—
“It’s a pity that my own servant seems to have forgotten her place. I don�
�t abide disloyalty. Don’t think that little girl is getting out of this without any punishment,” she threatens. “Or that I won’t be watching you and Aditi closely from here on out.”
Just hearing her name makes me want to crumple. I imagine Aditi in the Pit—dead. Just like Samar, and Mama Anita before him.
“Don’t you dare say her name.” I speak before I even think, anger thrumming through me.
“Why not? She’s my servant, after all. But I think there’s a more pressing matter here.” She taps her chin, stepping closer. “What name shall I call you?”
I freeze. “You—you’ve had too much to drink.”
“My mind is clear. What I wonder now is how to bring you to confess the truth to the raja. Or perhaps I’ll leave that all up to you . . . Rani.”
I’m breathing hard now, and my voice comes out roughened with rage. “You’re feeding venom to your own son. And—and you were talking to the raja about a weapon. The Bloodst—”
Before I can continue, the sound of whooshing air splits my speech. I barely register what Amara’s doing before I feel her bejeweled hand strike me across the cheek.
At first—nothing. No pain.
Then I’m reeling. Heat spikes through me, coloring my tear-filled vision crimson, mirroring Amara’s own smiling lips.
“Feel lucky I didn’t use a stick against you like they do in Kaama,” Amara spits. She offers me her hands, palms up, and through the tears I see what look like permanent scars. “I know pain better than you ever will.”
I can’t even respond. My skin stings. My teeth sing. My skull rattles.
I touch a hand to my cheek and spot the blood dotting my fingers. The familiar taste of metal fills my mouth.
“The raja will hear about this. I promise,” I grit out.
“Hear what? That his dearest Rani has been replaced by an impostor?” She smiles. “I need only reveal that mole that doesn’t belong. But don’t you worry. You’ve got an engagement to get ready for, and I’ll make sure you play the perfect bride.” Her grin widens. “It’ll be our little secret . . . for now.”
Amara saunters away, but her poisonous words rattle my brain. I rush up to Rani’s bathing room, slam the door behind me, undress, and sink into the bath. The truth of our conversation finally hits me.
