Daughters of the Dawn, page 28
“V-Veer?” he gasps. “What did he do? What happened to him?”
Amara shakes her head. “Let go, Saeed. I can hear your father. His voice is calling me. . . .”
“No,” Saeed croaks out, trying desperately to cling on to his mother, but his fingers slip through her, as though sifting through sand. “Stay here. Don’t leave—”
“I must,” she says. And with a final, chilling exhalation, her body sheds to nothing but ash and dust in a sea of snow.
Amara
There is no sensation quite like pain. She knows this. It pulses inside her like a second heart, then flutters in her chest, spiraling into numbness. Yet the feeling pales in the face of his betrayal.
He tricked her. He used her.
His name takes a moment to come back to her, forgotten like those first moments upon waking from a dream. Sahil, the Snake Master. The man who’d rescued her—
No, she had rescued him. So why did his betrayal leave her gasping for breath, leave her in a pool of ashes and dreams deferred?
From somewhere afar, a bird crows. A burning sun sears the sky. She can feel her body on the ground, heavy as a sack of rice. Not ashes, then.
Where am I?
She tries to lift her leg. An arm. A finger. Nothing obeys except her head, which yields to one side as her eyes crack open to find an ocean of roses. Stretches of red petals reach up to touch her fingers, greeting her, lifting her up and pointing toward the threshold of a strange, glowing doorway.
A door . . . to where?
A deep ache swells across her body. She feels . . . empty without the Snake Master’s presence. As though she had given too much when allowing him room. Like she’ll never be whole again. But she never needed the Snake Master to be whole, did she? She only needed Kumal. And her son.
Dear Masters, will I ever see them again? she asks the sky.
Had Death opened a door for her? And had she willingly entered? The sheer shock of the realization feels like a jolt of lightning. She will never see Saeed again. She won’t harness the power of the cuffs. But she will also never again feel the pain of her father’s whip on her palms.
She wonders, briefly, if power is pain, or if pain is power. Without pain, she never would have found the Bloodstone. Without pain, she never would have felt the cuts along her arms that healed into scars. The cuts in her heart that never closed.
“Close your eyes, Amara.”
She fights against the voice before realizing it’s Kumal’s. A voice full of pain and loss, love and remembrance. A voice that once sang Kaaman lullabies to her son, soothing him to sleep.
Go past the wall, the snow that falls
In Kaama we dream of peace for all
Go past the gate, we seal your fate
In Kaama we answer the call
“I won’t,” she tells the voice. “I won’t.”
The thousands of roses crowd around her, angered by her resistance. Petals blacken at her touch, as if a horrid rot has taken root in the soil. Too soon, the vines wrap around her wrists, throat.
“Close your eyes,” he reminds her. For a brief moment, she continues to fight back, wrestling with the thorns. But it’s no use.
So, against the searing sunlight, she listens. The roses swallow Amara whole, burying her in a garden of her own making.
24
Rani
“Rani? Rani, wake up!”
I cough. Hands grope my arms and lift me up. Stars fill my vision as I come to.
“Abai’s sun,” I whisper. “Was that a dream?”
“Nope,” Amir says, clasping on to me with clammy hands. “I saw it all, too.” He glances over at the triplet queens. “Please, oh mighty queens, never do that again. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Me too,” Dhruv says from my right. Queen Meeta rises gently, but she rubs her head, face flushed.
“I’m afraid it was necessary. I trust you saw all you needed to?” Queen Sampada asks.
We nod. And shiver. But I’m certain none of them were possessed by the Snake Master the way I was. That felt like a power that belonged to me alone.
“Then you now see the truth.” Queen Sunita’s face hardens. “The Snake Master was born as a snake, not with malice in his heart, but poison. And when he was turned into a Master—”
“The other Masters feared his power. Harmed him. So he returned the favor.” The words pour out of me, and I feel the Snake Master’s rage and sorrow like it is my own, a monsoon of pain.
“After Raya’s death, I sensed other magic in the air. Not magic like mine. Soul magic. And when she turned to stone and was consumed by the Pit, all that was left behind was . . .”
“The Bloodstone,” Amir confirms numbly. “I thought that was supposed to be Amran’s gift or something.”
“In a way, it was,” Queen Sampada responds, her tone heavy with sadness. “It was Amran’s way of leaving something behind from Raya, for her sacrifice. For her loss of magic. That is why his blood runs through the stone. The Pit was complete after her death. It needed a victim.”
I shiver, remembering the Snake Master’s warring greed and grief. It was true, then. The Snake Master wasn’t just the Great Deceiver. He was once a father as well. He once loved his daughters. But that love was soon replaced by wrath.
“Raya’s death changed the world as we know it,” Queen Saira says. “Though few know her tale. The Snake Master ensured as much, consumed with vengeance as he was after her death.”
The phantom queens go silent.
“So the Snake Master took the stone for himself and used it for evil? To banish the Masters?” Amir asks.
“What do you believe?” Queen Sunita asks, head tilting at me with curiosity.
“I think the Snake Master wasn’t just one thing, not simply good or evil,” I say, my heart heavy with the weight of what I now know. “But regardless of his intentions, he was the reason for the Blood Moon—and this Eternal Night.”
Professor Neel and Jujhar have to take a seat, reeling from this information, while the queens mutter between themselves urgently.
Queen Saira points upward. “I sense the moon is almost full. You do not have much time left.”
A note of panic creeps into Amir’s tone. “For the Blood Moon to return . . . it would have to come from the Snake Master, as it did the first time. Does that mean the Snake Master has returned, too? That’s impossible, right?”
It should be. And yet . . . I recite the prophecy in my mind, thoughts churning like a roaring sea.
A missing heart to be restored . . .
“Of course,” I whisper. “The first line of the prophecy.” I look at Amir.
“A . . . missing heart?” he asks, nonplussed.
“Raya,” I tell him, feeling my own heart begin to thunder in my chest. “It has to be!”
“But how could her heart be restored?” Amir questions. “She’s dead. What does any of that have to do with this Eternal Night?”
“I’m not sure,” I say with uncertainty.
“The Eternal Night was a time of darkness and doom,” Professor Neel notes. “We scholars know that much. It happened once . . . it could happen again.” His voice turns grave.
Queen Meeta frowns. “Then we must make arrangements for the Malwan Pass immediately. Scholar Neel, thank you for your help. Queen Saira, Queen Sampada, Queen Sunita—we are in your debt, forever. Jujhar, would you draw a map for my son’s companions to begin their travels to the Pass?”
Jujhar nods, but his eyes flicker to the queens nervously. “I—I thought the queens of old were betrayers, just like my ancestors believed. But the Sky Master had trusted you for a reason. I—”
“There is no need for apologies,” Queen Sampada says with a kind smile, which quickly dims. “I believe it is time you leave. We cannot appear again, but our souls will continue to live here in this chamber, and we hope you will keep it open to all.”
“We will,” Dhruv says with a bow. “Always.”
The following morning, the gardens of the Saffron Palace greet me like an ocean. Marigolds lap at my ankles, the roots sturdy because of stonebringer magic from the Old Age, but rotted leaves falling from beckoning tree branches pepper the air. A sign of the seeping poison, I remind myself. Only now do I know where this poison is coming from—not just the Blood Moon, but the possible return of the Snake Master himself.
Nearby, Jujhar mounts his skyhawk, Sahara, who has grown ten times her size than when we saw her in the tavern. He offers me his hand-drawn map, the ink now dried. “The journey won’t be long,” he assures, “if you keep to the path.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, watching as Amir helps to load the luggage, chatting easily with a few palace hands not far from the front-facing gardens.
Jujhar follows my eyes to Amir, and then says, “Good luck to both of you. I’m kinda glad you visited me. But please get that damned talisman back, will you?”
I match Jujhar’s smile. “I promise.”
Sahara’s wings spread in a great span as she takes flight. I look back to Amir, unable to help myself, and then startle when I hear a voice come from beside me.
“Something is troubling you,” Queen Meeta notes, coming fully to my side. “The boy . . . Amir?”
I glance up bashfully. “How did you know?”
“Queens have a sixth sense.” She snickers. Warmth floods through me at her gentle teasing, so similar to Jas Auntie’s that it makes me want to confide in her.
“Amir and I are so different. I think he’s beginning to see who I really am. Who I’ll always be. The princess of Abai.”
“If I might give some advice,” Queen Meeta begins, stepping closer to me. Birds chirp overhead, peering in on our conversation. “Love is not simply a task to be completed. It is something we discover within ourselves and others, like pieces of a quilt to be stitched together. We do not need to be the same as others to match.
“You must listen to both your head and your heart. My marriage to my husband was made with my head, not my heart . . . and wasn’t made to last. He left for a quiet life in Retan’s most remote villages.”
“I had no idea,” I murmur. “I’m sorry.”
“It was more of a . . . mutual understanding,” Queen Meeta answers, eyes darkening. “It happened many years ago, during Dhruv’s rebellious phase.”
“Dhruv had a rebellious phase?” I scoff. Poised, princely Dhruv? Mischievous, sure. But rebellious? He was Professor Neel’s favorite, likely one of the smartest students at the Academy, and he wasn’t terrible at sharing his feelings, either. He was, in so many ways, perfect.
“Oh, yes. He was much like his father. He went horseback riding without permission far too often and would participate in Retan’s deadliest competitions. It was like he wanted to test his mettle. He spent time with a few of the currentspinners of the Island Market trying to learn a magic that couldn’t be learned by an ordinary boy. He sneered at his duties and wore simple clothes to the most elegant functions.”
That I can imagine. But a rebellious Dhruv is still too strange, despite his liking for pranks. I can’t imagine him doing anything to damage his reputation—or his family’s.
“What changed him?”
“Part of me thinks he changed when his father left. Part of me thinks that he became more aware of the expectations placed upon him as the prince.”
I knew that all too well, having been raised under the raja’s rule.
Queen Meeta rests a hand on my arm, looking queenly as ever. “Look at me, going on. I will stop pestering you about my son. Today is a big day. Retan will miss you both. I will miss you.”
“You don’t . . . despise me?” I wonder aloud. “For not knowing what I want?” In so many ways, I despise myself for it, for the muddled mess of emotions that I cannot decipher—and the people I’ve hurt in trying.
“Life isn’t about knowing what you want. It’s about finding what you need.” Queen Meeta smiles, wrinkles forming around her eyes. “And you deserve more than just a few weeks with a queen and her son in a foreign kingdom to figure that out. You have your whole life ahead of you, Rani. Live it.”
Her words bring tears to my eyes. “Thank you, Queen Meeta. For everything. You’re just as wise as the Three Blessed Sisters.”
“But not nearly as amusing,” she says with a wink.
We leave for the Malwan Pass within the hour. Dhruv insisted on coming along. Of course, Queen Meeta approved his travels first and, along with Ranjit, wished both Amir and me the best of luck. It felt odd hugging the queen of another kingdom farewell, and somehow familiar all the same. She understands the weight of royalty. She understands me where it seems like even my mother cannot. I can only hope the queen feels the same—and that I’ve done Abai, and my parents, proud in my time here. That an alliance is in our future.
A carriage pulls us away from the Blue Palace. I turn around once more to survey the three palaces: Gold, Blue, Saffron. Saira, Sampada, Sunita. When I first arrived in Retan, I had no idea of the treasures I would find within these palaces. The secrets the sisters held.
Nor do I have any idea of what Ria has been up to since the boat attack. I wish there was a way to speak to Ria to figure out what’s truly going on with Amara and the possible return of a Master.
I reach for my anklet once more. I connected with my sister once after we parted ways, but now more than ever, I desperately need to speak to her.
I keep the anklet in my palms, warming it with my magic the whole way to our first rest stop, a grand water well in a village called Nadi. Women hold barrels of water over their heads, moving elegantly through the streets with saris tucked and draped with hibiscus flowers. As Amir refills our waterskins, I stare at the water pooled beneath us, rippling my reflection back at me. A fragmented version of myself.
But as I move my mouth to speak, my reflection speaks first.
“It worked!” my sister bellows. Her face ripples in the well, clear as glass. Amir nearly drops his waterskin.
“Raja’s beard—is that Ria?” he nearly screeches.
I grab the waterskin before he can drop it. “Yes. Twins have power beyond magic. They have a connection. We have a connection.”
I smile down at my sister; I expect her to offer a sneaky one back, but instead see only a quivering smile and red-rimmed eyes.
“I didn’t call upon the mind link—how did you show up?” I ask her.
“I used the anklet just as you did the last time,” Ria tells me, voice uneven. “You didn’t answer for the first few attempts. But now—”
“I’m here,” I say, relieved. No wonder my anklet was warm. It wasn’t my magic—it was hers, calling to me. We just needed a vessel to communicate.
“Do you have news? You go first—” I laugh as we speak at the same time. But Ria pinches her mouth closed, like she is about to deliver a terrible story and can’t bear to tell it.
So I offer my story first. “We’re headed to the Malwan Pass in Retan, bordering Abai. We believe there is a trial set there by the Fire Master. We can obtain what we need to destroy the Bloodstone.”
“You found all that out from the scholars?” Ria asks.
“Not exactly.” I glance at Amir as he says, “Three triplet queens kinda helped us out. They were dead, though. For centuries. Reviving them was some tough work.”
My sister gapes. Amir tells her about how we learned to unseal the closed chamber the queens built beneath the palaces.
“We felt a strange rumbling yesterday. Did Amara use the talismans? Has she become the Soul Master?”
“Not exactly.” Ria fiddles with her hair nervously. “She made her wish with all the talismans present. But . . . it didn’t grant her wish. Instead, it set something within her free. Our infamous ancestor.” She doesn’t offer a name.
I parse through her words. She must mean . . . the Snake Master.
Nausea overcomes me, and I cling on to the well. So Amir was right.
“I know this is a lot to process, Rani, but I saw him firsthand. I . . . spoke to him. The—”
“Snake Master,” I shudder out. “The sister queens showed me a memory of his. It was . . . enlightening. When he used the power of the Bloodstone against the other Masters, he was left only a shadow of his former self. He must’ve disappeared into the Snake Pit, all those years ago.” The power of the stone was enough to leave any mortal deathly ill—like Queen Amrita, our ancestor who hid the stone in the Var River, knowing its dangers.
I’m more terrified than I am relieved that Amir was right about his Snake Master theory.
Ria speaks up. “Shima told me something after Amara disappeared into the Snake Pit: that someone was biding their time in the Pit. She couldn’t say his name; she was bound to her Master’s secret.”
“How did you learn this?”
“I . . . I spoke to the Snake Master. He took over Amara’s body when she fell inside the Snake Pit. He was too weak to escape on his own, so he made her think she was in control, getting the talismans for her own gain.”
Ria pauses, her mouth set in a grim line. “But instead, he used the talismans to strengthen himself. He turned it all against her so he could have his own body again.”
I try to process all this new information about the Snake Master, my mind a maelstrom of thoughts—how he existed within Amara. Yet it looks like Ria is holding something back. But before I can ask, Amir pipes up beside me.
“The prophecy said the Key of a Master would set souls free.” Amir bites his lip. “She could still find a way to get what she wants, and become the Soul Master to free her husband.”
“Unless that line wasn’t about her,” Ria says, almost beneath her breath. “I think the Key is something else. Not a physical thing but . . . a person.”
“Ria . . .” I touch the water, trying to feel her as I do the rippling well. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Her lips quiver. “It’s Amara,” she says quietly. “After the Snake Master betrayed her, he took all the talismans, along with the Bloodstone, and disappeared. After he was gone, Amara became weak. Like a part of herself was lost. . . .”
