Of Curses and Kisses

by Sandhya Menon

  Grey paced the diameter of the tower’s interior, a single lantern on the floor illuminating just enough so he wasn’t completely blind in the dark. He’d been coming here since middle school, when he’d learned how to pick the ancient lock. The administration at St. Rosetta’s was oddly sentimental about old stuff and held on dearly to the way things had always been done. The lack of electronic locks on this door was one example. It had worked out well for him, obviously—not once had he ever been questioned about the tower. It always amazed Grey, how easy it was to break arbitrary rules and how human beings paid so little attention to one another.

  It was nearly two a.m., but he couldn’t sleep. He just couldn’t stop thinking of Jaya Rao. Why was she here? He was gripped by a certainty that it had something to do with him, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. Was it just the fact that her family had cursed his—actually, likely him, specifically?

  And that pendant?

  He’d finally figured out what it was and why it had struck a chord with him—the cursed ruby. It was something constantly whispered about in the ancient manors on the Westborough estate. Although they didn’t like to speak of this shameful event, the Emerson family had once, back in the 1800s, stolen a ruby from one of the ancient temples in Mysuru, in the Indian state of Karnataka. The thievery had been orchestrated by Grey’s own great-great-grandmother, who’d had her footmen undertake the task. This was back when the British still ruled India, and although some members of the extended Emerson family tried to pooh-pooh it as some kind of centuries-old Indian vendetta, Grey believed it completely—the British were infamous for stealing all manner of precious artifacts from their colonies.

  Because of the provenance of the ruby and how sacred it was, a member of the ruling Mysuru family—one of the matriarchs of the Rao family, in fact—had cursed it. There was even an actual poem, a prophecy the Rao matriarch had uttered. His father was so obsessed with it, Grey knew it by heart:

  A hallowed dream stolen,

  A world darkly despairs

  A storm, a life, a sudden death

  Heralds the end, the last heir.

  As the glass rose dims,

  So the hope of redemption

  Eighteen years, one by one,

  Until what’s left is none.

  Mend that which is broken

  Repair that which is severed

  Or the Northcliffe name is forsaken

  And shall vanish, at last, forever.

  His mother had died in childbirth because a storm—apparently the worst the town had seen in a hundred years—had prevented the doctor from getting to her in time. Grey’s father was out of town on a business trip. He’d never forgiven himself, or Grey.

  Grey remembered when he’d first learned what the curse really meant for him. Father had flown to St. R’s for a mandatory parent weekend the school did for kids under the age of thirteen. Grey was twelve; it would be their last mandated time together. By this time, six years after being dropped off as a kindergartner, Grey and his father had drifted apart—already, he felt more like a distant relative one equated with the holidays than the person who’d helped give Grey life.

  He and Father had gone to a hot-air balloon event the school was hosting. Grey remembered wanting to float above the treetops, to feel the wind whipping his face and hair, the exquisite thrill of the experience being that high in a colorful balloon that felt like it should exist only in a dream. He couldn’t wait for his turn.

  Then Father had turned to him and said, unsmiling, “Let’s talk.” He’d walked away from the lines of kids and their parents waiting, past a grove of aspens and pines, and toward Lake Rosetta. It was quieter there, with the excited chaos and laughter like a distant memory behind them.

  Grey watched his shoes sink in the soft dirt on the bank of the lake; he felt the afternoon sun warm the back of his neck. He knew whatever this talk was about, it wouldn’t be good. By then he’d already distanced himself from Father, had come to think of him as a relative who sent money for clothes and books and occasionally called, when he remembered to.

  Without preamble, his father, never a man of many words, said, “The curse. You know of it, of course. But I think the time has come to tell you the whole truth, Grey. I have every reason to believe that when you turn eighteen, you will die.” He gave Grey the news like a jaded oncologist might tell a cancer patient there was nothing more he could do, that medicine had done its best and still it wasn’t enough. The news was delivered briskly, without warmth, without ambiguity.

  Grey stared at him in the bright sunlight, threads of silver in the duke’s hair glinting. The air, smelling of deep water and dark mud and creatures that slithered, unseen, was cloying in his nostrils. “What?”

  “Don’t say ‘what.’ It’s very middle-class,” Father said, frowning. “The curse is very clear that our lineage will end. I believe it will end on your eighteenth birthday with your death.”

  Grey pushed his shaking hands into his pockets. He nodded, not giving way to the panic that was clashing its incessant cymbals in his ears. He knew he’d get more out of Father if he kept his composure. “So… you think the curse says I’ll die in six years.”

  “Yes,” Father said.

  “And you believe it.”

  “Yes.” His father’s eyes, two ice chips, held his. “I have no reason not to. The curse predicted the storm. It predicted your hand in your mother’s death. You are the last heir it speaks of, Grey.”

  “I—”

  “Now, let’s get back to the balloons,” Father said, striding away from him, one hand in the pocket of his trousers. “Just a few more hours and we can put this weekend behind us.”

  Over the years, Grey had traversed all the many stages of grappling with something like that, over and over again: disbelief, shock, anger, despair, belief, numbness. He’d finally arrived at a nihilism that felt much more manageable. Was the curse real? No one else would understand it except his father, but Grey felt, deep inside his bones, that it was. It was as much a part of him as his title or his blue eyes.

  The big question was, why had it been so easy for Father to forsake him? Was it because it made no sense to invest in something that wasn’t going to last very long anyway? Because he saw Grey’s mother in Grey’s blue eyes, too painful a reminder of what he’d lost? Grey wished he could turn his back on his father, wished he could tell him he was cruel and ruthless and Grey deserved better. But his father was the only one who truly understood who—what—Grey was. And that meant something.

  One thing Grey couldn’t overlook: his eighteenth birthday was coming up. Time was ticking down, faster and faster.

  In an attempt to avoid the curse, the Emerson clan had sold the ruby to a master jeweler in the Middle East. (Of course, they could’ve just apologized and returned the ruby to Mysuru in an attempt to overturn the curse, but by then there was too much bad blood between the Raos and the Emersons.) For generations, that’s where the trail had ended.

  Maybe the rose pendant was a total coincidence, but Grey had to admit it was pretty damn strange that Jaya Rao, of all people, happened to have one. But why wear it here? To taunt him?

  Ever since he’d seen the pendant on Jaya when she sat in the garden, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Letting a groan of frustration echo against the stone walls of the tower, Grey clamped his fists to his head. He needed answers. Was that ruby pendant the cursed one? He couldn’t just keep churning like this, an ocean tossed around by storms.

  As the night wore on and the stars above twinkled like glass shards in black velvet, Grey Emerson knew he had to take action. He had to unearth the truth about Jaya Rao and why, exactly, she was here.

  Jaya

  Sunlight splashed from the sky into Jaya’s room and onto her face. She groaned and rolled over, forgetting if it was the beginning of a new day or the end of an old one. And then she did remember: oh yes. The last two days were gone in a haze of exploring the school and its grounds (and keeping a
close eye on Isha). It was now Thursday: the first day of school. The day she’d begin working her charms on Grey Emerson. A horde of spiteful butterflies began to assault her nervous stomach.

  Jaya checked her phone: 6:15 a.m. Her alarm was set to go off in fifteen minutes, so she turned it off and sat up in bed, looking out the window at the gardens dotted with dew below. The day she’d been awaiting was finally here.

  After she brushed her teeth, took a shower, and arranged her hair in a crown braid (the better to feel queenly with—everyone knew a future queen trumped a duke’s son), she dressed quickly in the Academy uniform she’d picked up at the administrative office the day before: a deep maroon blazer, white shirt, maroon tie, and gray skirt. Not the most imaginative uniform she’d ever worn, but at least it went nicely with her pendant. And she wasn’t really there as a student, not anymore. Jaya was a human Trojan horse, and this helped her blend in nicely. If her life had a soundtrack, it’d be thrilling and ominous, full of a dark but powerful energy.

  Picking up her bag full of new books, Jaya closed the door quietly behind her. She only passed two other students on her way downstairs; few students seemed to be awake yet. She’d be early to breakfast; Leo, Daphne Elizabeth, Rahul, and Grey Emerson probably wouldn’t be there, which was excellent. She needed the time to mentally bolster herself. You never went into battle unprepared, and you never let the enemy take you by surprise. The Raos may not wage wars for land anymore, but like Appa always said, the wisdom of her ancestors ran in her blood.

  When Jaya got down to the sophomore wing, Isha was already waiting in the luxuriously appointed common room, reading a book about Eleanor Roosevelt. Her hair was in two ponytails that cascaded past her shoulders, and suddenly, Jaya saw her as she’d looked at seven years old. In spite of being a fireball of mischievous (and annoying and frustrating) energy, she did have her moments. Deep down inside, Isha was still just a little kid, innocent and sweet and much too trusting. Jaya’s heart swelled.

  It wasn’t right what the Emersons had done, coming after a young girl. Jaya balled her fists, breathing hard, and at that moment Isha looked up and frowned. “Why do you look like a constipated bull?” she asked.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jaya said, blowing out a breath and picturing her anger dissipating in a cloud above her. She stepped forward as Isha put the book away and gathered her bag. “You’ve got dark circles under your eyes. Did you sleep at all last night?”

  “No,” Isha said, linking her arm through Jaya’s. “I was too excited.”

  “You know, most people might be anxious about the unknown… moving to a school nine thousand miles away from everything they know, et cetera?”

  Isha laughed. “We’ve done it so many times before, it’s not exactly like I don’t know what to expect.”

  “True.”

  “You’re up early too. Besides,” Isha added, “I’m weird.”

  Jaya snorted. “You don’t have to tell me.” When Isha elbowed her, she continued. “But seriously, Isha. Just remember, it’s okay to miss your friends. When the excitement dies down, you’ll probably be homesick. You’ve been through a lot lately.”

  “I know,” Isha said softly, her eyes downcast. She laid her head on Jaya’s shoulder for a second. “But I have you. So.”

  “And I have you,” Jaya said, squeezing her hand, drawing strength from Isha without her even knowing it.

  * * *

  The heavy wooden doors to the dining hall opened soundlessly beneath Jaya’s hands, and the girls slipped inside. Isha gestured to an arched entryway to their left. “The sophomores eat in there, I think.” She waved, and before Jaya knew it, she was gone.

  Suddenly Jaya felt very alone and very small. It was not a feeling she was used to or particularly cared for. “I am Rajkumari Jaya Rao,” she said aloud. “Daughter of Maharaja Adip Rao.” The effect was altogether unremarkable. She still felt small, and now she also felt stupid for talking to herself.

  Jaya stood in front of the enormous main entrance hall and looked around, gathering herself for a bit. After a few moments, Jaya navigated her way alone to the cavernous senior dining hall, which was currently empty of students. Bright sunlight angled in through the tall windows, drawing sharp lines of shadow throughout the space, which was dotted with round wooden tables arranged in concentric circles. Above her, the sleek steel fixtures that would normally bathe the room in warm light were turned off. Toward the north end of the hall, waitstaff bustled at glossy steel-and-tile food stations.

  Okay, Jaya thought. I’m here. I can do this. She set her bag down at a nearby table.

  “Hello,” she said quietly. “Hello, Grey. Pleased to meet you.” She threw her head back and practiced a flirty, throaty laugh. She’d watched several videos online about it and was fairly sure she had it down. “Hahaha,” Jaya said more loudly. Then, clearing her throat, she tried again. “Hahahaha, oh, stop.” She added a coquettish hand wave for good measure.

  Yes, that was good. Very good, in fact. Charming, graceful, and natural. Grey Emerson would be drawn immediately in. He’d lean forward and say—

  “What are you laughing at? And why are you waving your hands around like that? Bugs are pretty rare at this altitude.”

  Jaya jumped and let out a rather unroyal scream. A pair of glittering blue eyes was watching her from another table in a shadowed corner.

  “What in the—oh! H-hello.” She took a deep breath. “You scared me half to death.”

  The big, bearlike boy from the library nodded once but gave no apology. Rude. So rude. “Do you often make yourself laugh?”

  “Only when my company’s lacking,” Jaya said stiffly, trying to recover a modicum of dignity. God, how embarrassing. What else had he heard?

  This feral boy, whoever he was, was making a habit of catching her off guard. Although… Jaya narrowed her eyes. He looked different this morning. Almost presentable. His hair was mostly neatly combed today. Dressed in his uniform, he appeared a lot more civilized and a lot less lupine, though his eyes were just as piercing. And he still exuded a self-possessed authority. A leather satchel sat on the table beside him, embossed with the monogram .

  When realization finally hit, she gasped, the sound echoing in the near-empty room. This boy, the one who’d been so kind and brave in the library, was… “Grey Emerson?” Collecting herself quickly, she added in a more dignified tone, “Erm, I mean, Lord Northcliffe?”

  Grey raised his eyebrows at whatever he heard in her tone. “Grey is fine.”

  He spoke with a completely inappropriate brusque informality, as if he were an overworked government employee rather than the son of the Duke of Westborough. Jaya wrinkled her nose in distaste until she remembered her purpose at this school. No matter how furious she was at Grey Emerson and his family, she had to pretend he was the best thing she’d seen all day. Jaya forced a laugh, still going for throaty and flirty. So what if he’d seen the rehearsal? He’d probably enjoyed it.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t tell me who you were yesterday. My family is well acquainted with yours, naturally.” She couldn’t help it. Her voice sizzled with reproach.

  Grey Emerson frowned. “Likewise.” He drummed his large fingers on the tabletop. “The legendary Raos. Creators of chaos and misfortune.”

  “What?” Jaya said, all intentions to be flirty completely evaporated. “So you’ve told yourself a little fairy tale, have you, where the Raos are the villains?” She walked closer to him, even though her brain was throwing up bright red flags: STOP! DO NOT APPROACH! CAUTION! “And where does all the pillaging and plundering your people have done fit into your fairy tale? Please enlighten me.”

  He just sat there all slouched, one of his long legs spread out in front of him like he were sitting in a hookah bar. Ugh. “That was a long time ago,” he said, his voice clipped and hard. “And yet somehow those of us who weren’t even alive then are still being held responsible. You’d think your people would let go of the ac
rimony.”

  Jaya laughed disbelievingly. The arrogance! The hypocrisy! He clearly didn’t think she knew he was behind everything. “Yes, you’d think, wouldn’t you? Except you—” Ooh. Careful, Jaya. She’d been about to say, Except you went and splashed my little sister’s indiscretions in the tabloids, you big ogre. Keep your eyes on the larger goal. Don’t let this prickly boy get under your skin so easily. She tapped her pendant lightly with a fingertip, a reminder to herself of her duty. Slowly, the soft conversations of the few other students in the dining hall began to filter into her consciousness. Forcing a smile and a deep breath, Jaya said, “You’re right. How about we let all of that go? Perhaps forgiveness can start with us.” She tried not to vomit.

  Grey Emerson didn’t respond. Which might’ve been because his gaze was riveted to the pendant at her throat. She was standing near his table now, close enough for him to see it clearly. “That’s… an unusual pendant.” He was studying her face now, a little too intently, though Jaya couldn’t decipher his expression.

  “Thank you,” she said, even though what he’d said wasn’t quite a compliment. Laying a finger on it gently, she added, “My father bought it for me in Dubai.”

  Grey fiddled with a napkin on the table, but when he saw her watching his fingers, they went still. “Did the seller tell your father anything about its origin? Where it came from or where the rubies were sourced from… anything like that?”

  Jaya frowned slightly at the strained urgency curling around the edges of his words. He was clearly past the conversation of their family feud and onto something new. “Ah… no, not that I know of. I didn’t really ask him.”

  Grey’s face was pinched in frustration, like he wanted to ask her more questions but didn’t know how. How incredibly odd. “I… I…” He stopped and took a breath, shaking his head as if to clear it.

  Jaya studied him for a second. There was definitely something off about him and the necklace; she wasn’t imagining it. She filed the information away for later. Suddenly she remembered his comment about The House of Medici the day before. It was hard now not to see the message there. He wanted the Raos to collapse into decline and decay just like the Medicis had.