The Ivory Key, page 18
A few minutes later, two young boys showed up at his door, looking positively terrified. Because he had nowhere else to go, he’d lingered off to the side uncomfortably, watching them work and pretending he didn’t hear their hushed conversation.
“I can’t believe they’re allowing a killer to live in the palace.”
“No. Didn’t you hear, the maharani cleared his name.”
“That doesn’t mean he didn’t do it.”
They’d worked quickly and left as soon as possible, without saying anything directly to him. But their whispered words burrowed deep within him. Maybe this was how it would always be—constantly wondering if the people around him thought he’d truly conspired to kill his own mother.
He had never had many friends, not like his sisters. He had Ronak, and he had his work—and that was all he’d ever needed. But as he stood in his empty room staring at the remnants of his old life, he was hit with the sudden realization that he didn’t even have that anymore. Ronak was getting married. There was a new palace mayaka—one who, unlike Kaleb, was properly trained. And Kaleb hadn’t gone to university as he’d planned, so he didn’t have his studies to occupy his time either.
He sank into one of the divans, lowering his head into his hands. The world had moved on without him. He hadn’t left his mark in any meaningful way, and the life he’d wanted to return to simply didn’t exist anymore.
When he’d dressed and eaten a quick meal, Kaleb went to see Ronak. He climbed the stairs two at a time, pushing open the door to his brother’s room. “Ronak?”
No response.
Kaleb looked around the room. Nothing had changed in the months that Kaleb had been gone. The perpetually drawn curtains, the messy desk, the armoire door left open, the faint scents of sandalwood and neem that clung to everything: this was definitely Ronak’s room. The familiarity of his brother’s space tugged at Kaleb’s heart.
He made his way to the piles of half-finished paintings. How had his brother seen the world in the last eight months?
Before he could help himself, he was rifling through the canvases.
Peacocks strutting through overgrown grass, a ghost of a temple in the background. The palace lake, an empty rowboat drenched in pale moonlight. A boy sitting in a cell, his arms wrapped around his knees, his head hanging down.
Kaleb sucked in a breath, unable to look away. The Kaleb in the painting looked so young. So broken. Was this how Ronak saw him? Was this who he had become?
He let the paintings fall back against the wall with a thud.
His eyes landed on a stack of books on the bedside table, and he sat on the bed, running his fingers over the spines. Ronak had always managed to find the most outlandish tales in the library, staying up all night to devour adventures in far-off lands and then recounting all the details to Kaleb the next day.
For most of their lives Kaleb had ignored him, sure that Ronak was wasting his time on stories when he should have been focusing on his studies. But in the dungeons, things had changed. With nothing to do and no one to talk to, Kaleb had clung to the tales in those books, begging Ronak for story after story.
Kaleb reached for one of the books, but when he opened it, he found it wasn’t a book at all. The inside was hollowed out, the rectangular space filled with folded scraps of paper and a pouch of coins. He blinked in surprise. He knew he ought to put the items back. It was not his business whatever Ronak was doing, whatever he was hiding.
But then he saw his own name scrawled on one of the papers. Kaleb pulled the papers out, unfolding them. They were plans—to bribe guards, to threaten the mayaka, to free him. And beneath that was something else. The piece of the map that led to the Ivory Key. Kaleb looked at it in confusion. Ronak had been the first one to declare Papa’s quests foolish—the first one to stop participating in Papa’s silly puzzle games. It didn’t make any sense that he had this, why it wasn’t still locked up in the library.
“What are you doing?”
Kaleb jumped. But it was too late to hide the evidence. Ronak stood at the entrance to the door, watching him with anger. His expression morphed to shock. “Kaleb?” He glanced at the door, then back at him. “How are you here? You’re free?”
Ronak rushed forward, throwing his arms around his brother. Kaleb instinctively hugged him back, but his eyes remained on the bed, on the pieces of paper outlining details he’d never known. There were a few lines that Kaleb never crossed. He didn’t keep secrets from his brother, and he certainly never lied to him. Ronak, however, didn’t seem to share those principles.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” Kaleb asked.
Ronak pulled away, confused, until he followed Kaleb’s gaze. He snatched the book away, shoving everything back inside it. “Of course I was.”
“When? The night you broke me out of the dungeons?”
The defiant look on Ronak’s face was answer enough. “You would never have agreed to it.”
He should have known. All that talk of escape and finding new lives—he should have known it was more than just talk, more than wishful thinking on Ronak’s part.
“I told you I didn’t want to talk about leaving, Ronak. You didn’t listen to me.” Kaleb rose. “You speak of escape and freedom, but all it is is running away. What are you so desperate to avoid? What do you think you will find out there that you can’t find here?”
Ronak shook his head. “I don’t know. But we’ll have choices.”
“We have choices here, too,” Kaleb said. “And you’ve found a way to make plenty of choices in the pursuit of freedom—despite your belief that our titles only imprison us.”
“That was different,” Ronak snapped. “I was trying to save you.”
“Perhaps you should have asked me whether I needed saving.”
“Don’t you get it? Running is the only way for us to keep our lives. To be able to make our own decisions.”
“And what kind of life can we hope to have when people still think the worst of me?”
“People will think what they want, brother.” Ronak gestured to himself. “They think the worst of me, too.”
“This is different, Ro. No one is calling you a murderer.”
Ronak’s voice was hoarse when he spoke. “You would rather stay here and be Vira’s puppet than seize a new life that you can call your own?”
“Of course not. But we can’t start a new life as fugitives.”
“There are places in the world where no one will know. No one will care.”
“I will care.”
Silence rang out.
“I get to make my own choices, Ronak,” Kaleb said. “Even if you don’t like them.”
Ronak’s eyes narrowed. “Why did Vira free you? Why now?”
Kaleb stared his brother down. He hadn’t planned on saying anything, but the words burst out of him. “Vira asked me for help in finding the Ivory Key.” He pointed to the book in Ronak’s hand. “So do you want to tell me why you have a piece of it?”
But before Ronak could answer, Vira stormed in through the open door, fury in her gaze.
Chapter Twenty-Six
— Vira —
VIRA STRODE INTO Ronak’s room, Amrit and Riya on her heels. “Where is it?” She shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course he would stop at nothing to keep her from getting what she wanted.
She stopped as she realized that Kaleb was also there. He’d bathed and dressed in one of his old kurtas, and for a moment everything felt so normal—as if this were an everyday occurrence. Except she could see the effects of the months of imprisonment in the way the clothes hung too loose on his frame, in the dark circles under his eyes.
“Kaleb!” Riya threw her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Vira tried not to feel jealous of their warm greeting.
Ronak looked bored as he faced Vira. “Where is what, sister?”
“I’m not in the mood, Ronak,” Vira snapped. “The map that leads to the Ivory Key. I know you have it, and I know you had Riya steal the dagger from me.” That hurt, too, but Vira was too angry with Ronak to worry about Riya’s betrayal just then.
“Well—”
“It’s in the book he’s holding,” Kaleb said, sounding tired.
Ronak didn’t stop Kaleb as he reached for the book, withdrew the piece of the map, and handed it to Vira.
All at once her anger faded to a dull throb, and all she could think about was that the three pieces of the map were united. It seemed fitting somehow to do this here, in Papa’s old study, all of them together.
A hush fell over the room as she sank to the floor in front of the bed. Riya tugged open one of the curtains as Vira laid out all three pieces on the floor, their torn edges lining up.
Amrit crouched on the floor beside her. Riya knelt on her other side. Kaleb sat on the bed behind her, and Ronak stood in front of them all. And they watched with bated breath as all at once the three pieces fused back together, as if the map had never been torn.
The lines on the map around the temple were shifting, changing, rearranging, until they formed a map of Ashoka as it had looked five hundred years ago. Somewhere in the northwestern part of Ashoka was a lake. In the middle of the lake was a temple. And above it, the symbol of a key.
The key to unlocking the quarries.
“We find the temple, we find the key,” Vira said.
“We need a map of present-day Ashoka,” Amrit said.
“I have one,” Ronak said, moving items around on his desk and pulling out one of Papa’s old maps that had been rolled up in the corner. He spread it out on the floor next to them. Vira watched as Ronak’s finger traced back and forth.
“It’s somewhere here,” he said, pointing.
The realization hit Vira like a blow to her stomach. Ritsar. The land she’d lost to Lyria.
“It’s not there,” Riya said. She pointed to the border, and then the temple, slightly more north. “It’s in the mountains.”
That was even worse.
“That’s mercenary territory,” Kaleb said.
Despair threatened to overwhelm Vira. She put a hand on the ground to steady herself. The very land she’d lost was what she needed to protect the rest of the country.
“We’ll find a way to get there,” Amrit said. “I promise.”
Vira’s heart was heavy with success and failure, with discovery and loss.
Kaleb pointed to the edge of the journal that was poking out of her bag. “What’s that?”
“We found it with the map,” Riya said, pulling it out. “And this mirror, too.”
Kaleb took the journal while Ronak reached for the mirror, examining it just as Vira had in the monastery.
“‘May this always remind you of your greatest treasure,’” Ronak read. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” Riya said. “The treasure is probably the key.”
“It says your treasure, not the treasure,” Amrit noted.
“How would a mirror remind you of treasure?” Ronak asked.
“Vira, did you look at this?” Kaleb asked.
She turned at the sound of confusion in his voice. “No—why?”
Kaleb turned the book around and pointed at two words. Maharani Savitri. The first maharani of Ashoka. Their distant ancestor.
“Listen to this. ‘The first phase is complete,’” Kaleb read. “‘Maharani Savitri is already establishing the new’—” Kaleb frowned. “I don’t know this word. ‘The new’ . . . something. ‘Now everything rests in the hands of the ambassadors. I know them to be difficult’—no, fierce?—‘warriors and deeply loyal, but I cannot help but fear for their safety. Savitri would caution me to trust, to believe. I wish that came as naturally to me as it does to her.’” Kaleb lowered the journal. “I think whoever wrote this lived five hundred years ago. They knew Savitri.”
No one knew much about Savitri, or what the world had been like half a millennium ago. Since the capital had been relocated from the Maravat province south to Dvar, the records in the palace stretched back only three hundred years. And here in their hands might be the only surviving record from a time period forgotten even by the history books.
“Can I keep this?” Kaleb asked, flipping through more pages.
Vira nodded. She didn’t have the time—or patience—to read old Ashokan, and there could be something useful within the pages. “Tell me if you find anything interesting.” She picked up the map and reached out to Ronak for the mirror. “It’s probably best that I keep these until we figure out a plan.”
“Wait.” Riya grabbed Vira’s hand. “Look.” She pointed at the mirror. In the mirror, the back of the map wasn’t blank. Instead, there was red writing on it.
“Bring it closer,” Vira said, and Ronak—for once in his life—obeyed without question. It took a moment for Vira to make out the words. “‘When the equinox sun sets, the mirror will illuminate your path.’” She turned the map over and held it to the mirror. The front, too, had writing on it, right above the temple. “‘The only way out is through.’”
“The equinox sun?” Riya repeated, frowning. “That means we have to be at the temple in less than two weeks.”
“Eleven days,” Ronak corrected.
Vira exhaled. That didn’t give them a lot of time. “We have to leave—” She looked up at Ronak. His engagement ceremony was in a week.
“The day after the ceremony,” Ronak finished.
“That doesn’t give us much time,” Amrit said. “We can’t go directly into Ritsar. There are too many troops stationed there. So our best bet is to go here”—he pointed to the east of Ritsar—“and cross into the mountains.”
“We still have the border walls,” Riya said.
“I’ll take care of crossing the border,” Vira said. “But that still leaves us walking through mercenary territory.”
“And I’ll take care of that,” Amrit said.
“Papa had a lot of tools stashed away, from all his trips,” Kaleb added. “Up in the library, but also in his personal collection.”
“I’ll work with Kaleb to sort through that,” Riya said. “We’ll need some other things, too. Kaleb can forge them for us.”
“I’m coming with you,” Ronak said.
Vira looked up in surprise. “What?” She didn’t think he cared about any of this. “Why?”
“I’m part of this family, too. Papa started this. If you’re all going, I’m coming with you.”
Vira opened her mouth, but Kaleb spoke first.
“You didn’t seem to care much about that half an hour ago.”
“I’ve changed my mind, brother.” Ronak didn’t face Kaleb. “I didn’t think I had to consult you.”
“That’s unfair,” Kaleb said. “I’m doing what I have to—”
“I had a plan.” The words tore out of Ronak as he whipped his head around to finally look at Kaleb. “A plan to get you out of there.”
“A plan I wanted no part of.”
A plan to get you out of there. Out of the dungeons. Out of Vira’s grasp. The pieces slotted together, and realization dawned on Vira. “He agreed to help me,” Vira said. “That’s why you’re so upset? That Kaleb chose me—”
“I did not choose anyone,” Kaleb said, cutting in. “And I can speak for myself, thanks.”
But Vira’s words had their desired impact. Ronak’s jaw tightened. “What do you know about that temple?” he asked. “Do any of you even know what it’s called? Or the significance of the equinox? Or where to go once you’re in the temple? Because I do.”
None of them answered.
“You need me,” he said. “You might know more about magic or solving puzzles or picking locks”—he pointed at each of them—“but none of you know nearly as much about the history of Ashoka.”
“He’s right,” Riya said after a pause.
Kaleb had followed in Papa’s footsteps as a mayaka. Vira had taken on his obsession with treasure. Riya had inherited his sense of justice and action. But it was only Ronak who had fallen in love with Papa’s true passion: uncovering the past. It was Ronak who’d devoured every book, every myth that Papa had ever put in front of them. It was Ronak who was here in this room now, living in Papa’s library, surrounded by all of Papa’s stories.
Vira had believed that Ronak hadn’t cared about the Ivory Key, or any of the quests Papa had set out on. But maybe it was just that he cared about it differently.
“All right,” Vira said. “We’ll find it together.”
“What will you tell the Council?” Amrit asked.
Vira exhaled. “I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”
“The anniversary of Papa’s death,” Kaleb suggested. “It’s in two weeks. That’s our way out of the palace.”
“We can say we’re all going to Gauri Mahal,” Riya added. “They can hardly say no to that.”
It was a good idea. Gauri Mahal was a smaller palace in the north—less fortified, used mainly in the spring, when they traveled there to celebrate the start of the new year. They hadn’t gone there in years. The Council would be incredibly unhappy about it.
But for once, Vira didn’t care about the Council. “I’ll arrange it.”
Three days later, Amrit was waiting on Vira’s balcony when she returned to her rooms. She walked forward slowly, through the open doors at the far side of her room, to where he was standing, elbows resting on the marble railing, long fingers twined together as he looked down into the depths of the ocean. She came to stand beside him, inhaling the salty air. She could hear the waves crashing against walls of the fort below, the only sound in the otherwise still night.
“I hope it’s all right that I let myself in,” he said, turning slightly.
“You’re welcome here anytime. You know that.”
“How was the meeting?” Amrit asked.
