Hunted by the Sky

by Tanaz Bhathena

  “The other gods and I agree that Ambar is where injustice first tipped the scales—beginning with Rani Megha’s edict against non-magi, followed with Raja Lohar’s escalating brutalities against his citizens. As the mother of Ambar’s first queen, I took responsibility for this and made a prophecy to the king’s own priests. A revolution is needed, and it will be an Ambari girl who will sow the seeds of that revolution.”

  “So the prophecy is true, then,” I say, wishing my voice didn’t shake so much.

  “It is true. But no prophecy is ever complete, daughter. Even the gods aren’t sure about what will happen once the current Ambarnaresh dies.”

  “What do you mean?” I demand. “How can you not know? Don’t the gods plan for the future?”

  “Yes, we do, but the future can go in many directions, child. This is why you must listen carefully to what I say now.”

  The goddess’s voice magnifies as she speaks the last sentence, echoes within itself, until it’s a chorus of many other voices. “Raja Lohar’s rule is coming to an end. What will follow will be more terrible than you can imagine—if you don’t accept your destiny. The king’s death will not save Ambar from destruction. Only you will. You must be a leader when all hope is lost, lighting paths that have been left in the dark. Cast your pride aside, for it can lead to your downfall. Ask for help when you need it. Accept love, no matter how barbed it may look. It is the only way to restore balance in the world. Raise your hands, my daughter. Accept my boon.”

  With a single flick of her wrist, she sends the chakra spinning toward me in a spectacular golden arc.

  * * *

  I jerk into wakefulness. The cot’s netting pokes through the sheet, scratching the skin of my arm. The girl sleeping in the cot next to mine grunts, and slowly, the events of the previous day sink in again.

  The cage. The mammoth. King Lohar staring at me with murder in his eyes.

  Winning at the cage means that I am free to come and go between the Rani and Raj Mahals, to continue living in Ambar Fort or leave it, if I wish. Or so the king said, right after I was released from the cage.

  As he spoke the words, I spotted Prince Amar, his eyes widening ever so slightly. For some reason, the expression on the prince’s face reminded me of Cavas’s, standing outside the palace, watching as I stepped out with the king.

  “The Ambarnaresh is kind,” I replied with a lowered gaze. “But I am only a serving girl. My duty is to my rani and to you, Raja Lohar. I have nowhere to go.”

  The last part, at least, is true.

  Though my answer seemed to please most of the court, four faces stood out: the king, Crown Prince Sonar, Prince Amar, and Major Shayla. The king and crown prince looked like they had been force-fed cow dung. Amar gave me a smile and a quick nod, and this, for some reason, relieved me. Major Shayla was the only one whose expression I couldn’t understand—her initial bloodlust replaced with calculation.

  I force myself off the cot and head out of the servants’ quarters, to the washing area near the kitchens. After long days in the Ambari heat, the well water is lukewarm, but I still shiver after splashing my face.

  What now?

  Pickpockets and assassins work best unseen. Winning at the cage may have saved my life, but it has also brought me unwanted attention. Did you think this was going to be easy? I ask myself. That you were going to stroll in, stick a dagger through the king’s throat, and stroll out?

  The king’s death will not save Ambar from destruction, the sky goddess said in my dream. If that really was the sky goddess. There are stories of humans’ seeing the gods after years of meditation or having visions of them after inhaling lines and lines of Dream Dust. But I’m no holy woman, nor was I drugged. What I saw had to be nothing more than a vision concocted by my overwrought mind.

  Then why did it feel so real?

  I wish Juhi or Kali were here now to give me advice. I even miss Amira and her sharp tongue. I’m so lost in my thoughts that it’s only when she’s standing in front of me that I realize I’m not alone.

  “Good. You’re up early.” Yukta Didi looks as polished as she always does, even though it’s dawn, her braided hair perfectly in place. “I was just coming to fetch you.”

  I frown. It’s still far too early to begin chores, but who knows? Maybe the blood bats are back. “I’ll get dressed—”

  “There’s no need.” Yukta Didi’s eyes scan me from head to toe. “I’ll be dressing you myself today. It’s not every day that a girl—even a freed one—gets to join the king and queens for an afternoon meal at Raj Mahal.”

  The brass mug I was using to wash myself falls to the ground with a metallic clang. I bend quickly, hoping Yukta Didi didn’t see the shock on my face.

  But the old supervisor misses nothing. “Yes, it’s not every day that a girl gets an opportunity like this. I hope you realize how lucky you are.”

  Her tone says: I hope you realize how quickly your luck can change.

  “Goddess be praised,” I say.

  “Goddess be praised.” Yukta Didi nods. “You are wise to keep your position here at the palace, Siya. If you work hard, perhaps someday you will be where I am today. Yes,” she goes on after witnessing my surprise. “I won my own freedom at the cage many years ago. At the time, Rani Megha was reigning, of course.”

  “The cage was there at that time, too? I thought Raja Lohar … I thought it was more of a recent thing.”

  “The cage was there since before I was born, since before the current Ambarnaresh was born. It has always been there to resolve crime, to pass judgment. I came to the palace as an indentured laborer, bought at the flesh market for the things I could do.”

  She bends down to pick up a stray feather lying on the ground. When she waves it in the air, birds erupt from it, flutter into the sky above us. “Rani Megha found me amusing,” she says coolly. “She indulged me more than she did her other pets. So one day I asked to be a challenger at the cage. My opponent was a beast of a man, used to crushing heads twice my size. I conjured, I outwitted, I survived. For my reward, I asked to serve my rani for life.”

  Tyrants always replace other tyrants. I recall Amira’s words, wonder why they make me feel so uneasy now.

  “But you had your freedom,” I point out. “Why did you give it up?”

  “Freedom is relative, child. I am free to bind or remain unbound if I wish; I am free to come and go between the palaces. For me, that is enough—as it should be for most people.” I don’t miss the warning in her voice or the frown that appears on her face. “Come now. There’s a lot to be done. Starting with your hair.”

  * * *

  As a servant, my meals at Ambar Fort have been fairly simple: bajra rotis or rice, a bowl of black lentils or creamy white kadhi with freshly cooked vegetables. Sometimes, if we are lucky, we’d get a few honeyweed dumplings in our lentils. The food, though delicious, isn’t very different from the meals I ate growing up.

  The royal family dines differently. Along a low table, gold dishes brim over with different vegetables and paneer, with curried lamb and spiced rabbit. Steam gently rises from rock crystal tureens filled with lentils in different colors. At the center, there’s a goat, which has been roasting on a spit for the past two days, the chef informs the king. The goat’s legs are folded over as if in a sitting position, its head rising over a tray of rice garnished with nuts and rose petals.

  I enter the room behind Yukta Didi, who points to the king seated at the head of the table on a plush carpet surrounded by silk cushions. She leaves with a bow, while I stand in place, waiting, unsure of where to sit.

  “Come here, child,” the king says, gesturing to a cushion on his right, between him and the crown prince. He sounds almost paternal. “Sit.”

  The seat to the right of a king or queen is usually for a favored spouse—or an honored guest, Yukta Didi told me this morning. I glance at Queen Amba, but her face is impassive. I settle down, cross-legged like the others, grateful no one can see my knee
s shaking.

  “When Subodh was still larking around here trying to broker deals for that foolish Samudra king, I told him, ‘Do you know, Subodh—I eat your subjects!’” the king says, laughing.

  There’s a roar of answering laughter at this, though more dispersed than I expect it to be. Queen Amba and Prince Amar, the only two royals with no meat on their plates, do not laugh.

  “I don’t know what the fuss is about, Ambarnaresh,” Queen Farishta says, sounding bored. “In the Brim, we eat meat all the time. Sometimes, the meat eats us. It’s a part of life. Besides, Subodh wasn’t some innocent. He was a lion, by the goddess!”

  “Pashu,” Amba says shortly. It’s the first time she has spoken throughout the afternoon meal. “He was Pashu. A rajsingha, if you want to get specific.”

  “Psh. Who cares about all that? The point I’m making is that he ate meat,” Farishta retorts. “The first four kings and queens of Svapnalok ate every animal—lion and lamb alike.”

  “We must praise the goddess that the Four Blessed drew the line at eating each other,” Amba replies. “It has spared me the indigestion that would surely come from having to eat you, Farishta.”

  More laughter this time, while Queen Farishta fumes.

  “Looks like our newly freed bird doesn’t eat meat, either,” Sonar says. I feel him eyeing the serving of vegetables, roti, and lentils on my plate. “Squeamish, are we?”

  “My needs are simple,” I say. I may not eat meat, but if he expects my stomach to turn at the sight of it—the way it does for some other Sisters—he is in for a disappointment.

  The king smiles at me, but the look in his eyes is shrewd. “Indeed, you have been most humble in your win, Rani-putri Siya. It is a trait we value most in our servants. In those whom we bind with.”

  Across from me, I sense Queen Amba stiffening. I place the partly torn roti aside and take a sip of water from a small golden tumbler to moisten my dry mouth.

  “Which is why, Siya, I will give you a reward today. You will bind with Yuvraj Sonar on the twenty-fifth day of the month, a week before the Month of Tears turns into the Month of Flowers. A most auspicious time.”

  The shock that comes with the king’s announcement must show vividly on my face. But it does not matter, for the others are shocked as well—the queens most particularly. Queen Amba looks furious, even though she says nothing. Only Sonar looks unperturbed; the king must have already discussed my so-called reward with him. My limbs feel numb. I barely even sense the finger lightly running down my neck, pausing right at the collarbone.

  “Now let’s see how much of a fuss you make,” Sonar whispers in my ear.

  30

  GUL

  After lunch, Yukta Didi arrives again to escort me back to my quarters. In Ambar, once a binding is announced, the two mates do not see each other until the day of the ceremony.

  A week, I think. I’m to be bound in a week.

  As a young girl, I never wanted to bind. It drove Ma up the wall whenever I said it, made her wild with anger. “Do you plan to live with us forever?” she always demanded.

  The memory slides through me, leaves behind more grief than bitterness. To my surprise, instead of taking me back to the servants’ quarters, Yukta Didi leads me to a door next to the green room that I’d helped clean only a few days earlier, the wood embellished with gold Ambari roses.

  “Raja Lohar has said that this will be your room for now. After your binding, it will be accessible by the yuvraj, of course.”

  I resist the urge to vomit.

  My daggers. I need my daggers.

  I wait for Yukta Didi to leave the room before slipping out again, this time to the ramp leading into the servants’ quarters and then down the corridor and rickety staircase, into the garden, next to the bush of nightqueens. Heat beats down on my head. Peeking both ways, I wait before heading to the banyan tree where I hid the daggers and, to my relief, still find them there.

  I’ve just retrieved the first when I hear the scrape of a jooti against the ground.

  “Siya ji.” Prince Amar watches me with curious yellow eyes, a half smile playing on his lips. “I was hoping I could find you here.”

  “Rajkumar!” Heart racing, I bow—a quick jerk of the head—holding my dirty hands behind my back, along with the dagger I’ve unearthed, the scabbard pressing hard into my skin.

  Prince Amar glances at the dug-up earth and then back up at me. “Looks like the gardeners forgot to smooth out this patch of soil,” he says mildly.

  “You said you were looking for me, Rajkumar Amar.” I force a smile, hoping I can distract him, even though a part of me wonders about how much he saw. If he will tell the king.

  “Yes,” he continues. “I wanted to congratulate you in person for your remarkable duel with the mammoth. Especially after being confined by Prithvi Stone.”

  I frown. “Prithvi Stone?”

  “Confinement,” he says, as a way of explanation. “The small building you were kept in before the cage duel is made of Prithvi Stone. The material, when mixed with a clever bit of magic, can drain your energy by a considerable amount, can even lead to hallucinations.”

  I frown, remembering the tiny anklets Malti wears. “Do Rajkumari Malti’s anklets have Prithvi Stone in them, too?”

  “Ah, so you noticed.” He seems oddly pleased by this. “Yes, they have the tiniest slivers of the stone in them—enough to keep her magic in check, but certainly not enough to cause any visions. Malti’s earth magic is too powerful; it needs to be contained until she has more control over it.”

  I study Amar’s face: his firestone-yellow eyes, his thin nose, his perfectly cut mustache. “You came to see me, didn’t you? In confinement. You kept telling me to wake up.”

  There’s a long pause. For a moment, I think he’s going to deny this, but then he says, “I didn’t think you’d remember.”

  “I thought I was dreaming,” I admit. “Or having a hallucination, as you called it. But I don’t understand. If the Prithvi Stone drained my energy, why didn’t it drain yours?”

  “I was wearing a tunic made of firestones under my clothes.” He shifts aside the collar of his white tunic. Underneath, I spot chain mail, embedded with yellow and red gems. “It isn’t perfect, but it does the job.”

  A spotted dove flutters past, perches on a branch overhead. I feel it staring at us and wonder, for a wild moment, if it’s the sky goddess again, come to watch over me.

  “Why did you come see me?” I ask Amar, ignoring the bird.

  “I wanted to warn you about what you might face in the cage.” He bites his lip, as if nervous. “I couldn’t overrule Major Shayla, not for a security breach, but I didn’t want to sit on my hands and do nothing. Unfortunately, that Prithvi Stone worked too well on you.”

  “It did,” I acknowledge wryly. What am I supposed to tell him? That it was the thought that counts when it really doesn’t?

  Prince Amar is silent for a long moment. Then, to my surprise, he raises his hands and snaps his fingers. A buzzing sound fills my ears, the kind that tells me a sound shield is now in place.

  “I can still help you,” he says now. “I’ve been looking through our library of law scrolls in Raj Mahal. There is an old custom in Ambar, where a citizen—any citizen—is allowed to challenge an unwanted binding, even one commanded by the throne. If my father tries to force your hand, you can challenge him to a death duel. Did you know that?”

  A death duel. I vaguely recall the words mentioned once at a school I went to. A death duel is the only kind of fight where murder isn’t punishable by the law.

  The unease I’d felt upon seeing Amar in the garden a moment earlier triples. Why is he telling me this? Is he testing me? Could Amar possibly know why I’m really here? Who I am?

  I curb my instinct to cover my right arm with a hand. Prince Amar has no way of knowing about my birthmark.

  “Who told you I don’t want to bind with the yuvraj?” I barely keep the quiver out of my voice.<
br />
  “You don’t have to say anything to show displeasure,” he says gently. “You have a most expressive face, Siya ji.”

  “You want me to challenge the king, the most powerful magus in Ambar, to a death duel,” I say slowly, not believing his words. “Why in Svapnalok would you want me to do that?”

  “You are powerful, too, Siya ji. You crossed the rekha. No other woman, in all these years, has been able to do so.”

  “Major Shayla has!”

  “Major Shayla has a token the maker of the rekha gave her, which allows her to pass through. Her magic isn’t powerful enough to let her through without its aid.”

  “Who is the maker of the rekha?” I ask.

  “I am.”

  “You’re lying.” But he isn’t. From the sick sensation in my stomach, I realize I believe him. He’s telling the truth.

  “I’m not,” he says now, a sad smile on his face. “And you know it. I’m not lying to you, Siya. I … I never have wanted to lie to you.”

  Siya. Not Siya ji. There’s a warmth in his eyes that I haven’t seen before. No, I correct myself. Maybe I have seen it. When we met outside the green room. When he conjured those flowers for me. Amar isn’t like his two brothers. Instead of cruelty, he possesses many of the qualities that the old stories say princes should have: charm, intelligence, a sense of fairness and justice.

  But he’s not Cavas. Unscrupulous as I have been this whole time, I cannot bring myself to fake affection for one of the few people who have shown me kindness in this deceptive place.

  “Yet, to you, I may very well be Sonar,” Amar says, forcing a smile. “Isn’t that right?”

  “Rajkumar Amar, it’s not that. It’s…” My voice trails off. What do I say? That I like him—but can’t imagine kissing him?

  “We cannot help who we want. Or who we love. I’m attracted to you, Siya; I’ll admit that. But I also know when to step back. I don’t like taking what isn’t freely given.”