His tone was an invitation; the order underneath, anything but. Her fingers twitched as the outer rings of his irises burned scarlet.

  Beneath the earth, something stirred. Like the dark thing behind Lasya’s eyes. Like the misgivings within her own heart.

  For years, she had been running from something she hardly understood. Some would call it fate, or dharma. Only she had ever considered it a curse. Considered it to be the reason why Lasya was good and she herself was not, why it felt so satisfying to give in to violence and disorder, whether in the form of throwing a brick through a window or imagining her hands around someone’s throat.

  It was easier to run. To ignore. To deny. To starve the weak, pleading parts of her.

  But Kajal suddenly decided that she was very, very tired.

  She didn’t want a repeat of Siphar. Didn’t want the chaos and the guilt, the fear that dogged her like her own personal blight. Didn’t want Lasya and Tav to be caught up in something that was her responsibility, no matter how much she wished otherwise.

  So it was with her own unfeeling smile that she looked back at Advaith and said, “It won’t work.”

  “Figures that you’re a pessimist,” he said, unconvinced. “Let’s try, shall we? The sooner I enter Patala, the sooner I can locate Lord Dukha and get answers about how to stop halahala.” He nodded to Tav. “This is what we want.” He said it in a way that suggested he was in the habit of making choices for Tav, and it only bolstered Kajal’s irritation.

  “Even if it’s what you want, it won’t work,” she said again. “Because I’ve already tried.”

  Lasya’s arm brushed up against hers, a silent bulwark.

  “What do you mean?” Advaith asked slowly.

  Kajal took a deep breath, smelling the cold mountain air and the hint of the camp’s fires.

  “I also thought about manipulating the blight. To concentrate it in one place and force the gates of Patala open. But in the end, it wasn’t possible.” Her heart beat a sickening rhythm beneath her sternum. Lasya’s hand found hers and squeezed. “And it cost me everything.”

  That horrible day in Siphar, black vines had writhed up from the earth and smashed into the nearby cave, causing it to collapse and kill the six miners inside. But even with Lasya yelling in her ear, Kajal had persisted, unable to let go once she’d had a glimpse of the outline of an obsidian gateway.

  The overwhelming tamas had infected the miners, their gray hands scrabbling uselessly against rock. The energy had swelled higher and higher until the gateway had blasted apart, a hunk of it striking Lasya in the stomach and nearly bisecting her.

  There was movement in the corner of her eye now as Tav came closer. She kept her focus on Advaith’s growing smile.

  “Why would you try to open the gates to Patala?” Tav asked softly, so softly it hurt.

  “Tav,” Advaith said with exasperation, “isn’t it obvious just from looking at them?”

  The crown prince gestured to Kajal and Lasya, alike and opposite, morning and night, harmony and war, life and death.

  “They are the asura and deva of this generation.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The first sound that broke the silence was a laugh. Dalbir slapped a hand over their mouth.

  “Sorry,” they said, muffled. “Sorry, but…this can’t be right.”

  “I didn’t think it was possible either,” Advaith said. “After all, there have never been two asuras and two devas in existence at once. And yet, here we are.”

  Jassi’s brow furrowed as she scrutinized Kajal and Lasya, as if she could see the power in them if she stared hard enough. Vritika looked like someone had smacked her over the head. The demons showed the least amount of surprise; in fact, Vivaan seemed smugly validated, yet another of his suspicions proving true.

  And Tav…

  Kajal couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

  “It made sense, though, when I thought about it,” Advaith went on. “Tav and I died. An asura and a deva must be born to each generation. As soon as our lives were severed, the wheel of dharma spun on without us.” He twisted the iron bangle on his wrist. “And spat out our replacements.”

  “But you still have your powers,” Vivaan said, the shade of a question.

  Advaith held out his hand, ringed in crimson light. “Yes.” He turned pointedly to Kajal. “Do you?”

  Kajal’s hand was clammy in Lasya’s grip. This wasn’t supposed to be her role; Lasya was the talker, the charmer, the one who got things done. But Lasya said nothing, her fingers tightening in encouragement.

  “I don’t know.” Kajal struggled over the words, hating how weak they sounded, easily carried away by the strident wind. “We weren’t…We were never…”

  Advaith huffed in disbelief. “The demon lord didn’t summon you? No rakshasas came to train you?” Kajal shook her head, and he shared a frown with Tav.

  When Kajal finally saw Tav’s face, she immediately wished she hadn’t. He may have forgiven her for not telling her about Lasya, but this—this was a whole other level of deception. She could see it in the way his gaze held hers, filled with silent questions, a hurt that went beyond shallow lies.

  “Tav…I…”

  She didn’t know how to explain, so Lasya did it for her.

  “We were orphaned young,” Lasya picked up, and Kajal sagged in relief. “We wandered through our hometown for years, taken care of by neighbors, until we were old enough to travel. Not long after, a pujari found us.”

  Kajal slipped back into the memory like wading into cold water, something that stung yet had numbed with time. Even now, she could picture the elderly wandering priest happening upon them sleeping under a banyan tree, the way he had stared and stared, his eyes rheumy with age.

  They had sat, frozen, as he knelt and pressed each of his thumbs to the center of their foreheads. He’d closed his eyes, and Kajal had felt a curious sliver of something stirring and waking inside her. He told them he’d been drawn to this spot, answering a quiet prayer.

  Before they had fallen asleep, Lasya had wished for food to fill their aching bellies.

  It was the only time a pujari had been the one to give them something. He had taken a mango from his pack and presented it to them with both hands, calling them Holy Deva and Blessed Asura, and they had been too scared to say anything in response before he’d tottered off to deliver the rest of his puja to the nearest shrine.

  They hadn’t believed it, of course. What little they knew of the asura and deva came from stories they’d overheard, depicting larger-than-life figures powerful enough to carry the moon on their shoulders or dry up every river in Dharati. They were guardians and warriors, and the humans’ only links to the heavenly and subterranean planes.

  Kajal and Lasya were just two young girls—small, poor, and weak. They did not have the capacity for such greatness.

  Then yakshas and rakshasas started to approach them. Kajal and Lasya had been terrified by the array of unusual creatures, from sharp-toothed chimeras to wildcats made of braided cattails, but they were only tentative and curious, never meaning them harm. Eventually, the two of them grew bolder; Lasya asked the rivers to give up fish for their dinners, and Kajal called on ghost lights to whisper stories to them while they fell asleep.

  In this way, they slowly began to believe.

  But they could only learn in inches. In the stories, the asura and deva were each representatives of Patala and Svarga respectively, yet no one came to fetch them or tell them their duties.

  “We thought we had to train ourselves,” Lasya said. Her thumb rubbed over Kajal’s knuckles in a wordless question. Kajal nodded. “There’s a town in the south called Kusala with a large shrine many pujaris travel through. It’s notable because they pray not only to the yaksha deities, but also to the demon lord.”

  “Which is how it was always supposed to be,” Advaith interrupted. “Until towns started destroying their shrines to Lord Dukha.”

  “Kusala celebrates the old ways—or at least they did then. The two of us stood at the shrine and prayed for guidance. To have some sort of confirmation that we were meant for more.”

  That day had been hot, the eyes of passing townspeople heavy alongside their angry murmurs demanding why two girls were causing such a disturbance.

  Kajal couldn’t bear to hear Lasya say the next part, so she continued, “When there was no reply, I got angry. I yelled at the shrine, yelled that the asura and deva were ready to serve, that we wanted passage to the other planes. A couple of Vadhia came to shoo us away. When one grabbed Lasya, I attacked him.” She’d lunged at his face, leaving scratches down his whiskered cheek with her nails. “So they whipped me.”

  The words were flat, emotionless, but her chest kicked at Tav’s short, furious inhalation.

  “We did everything we could think of,” Lasya said. “But still no one came for us.”

  Lasya had claimed she was content to simply live their lives, but Kajal knew she hurt. It was the same hurt Kajal carried, the same yearning to belong somewhere, to be part of something bigger. Kajal’s spark of hope had flamed into resentment, wondering if they were being kept out for a reason—if they were not good enough, not smart enough, not strong enough. Kajal’s entire focus fell toward proving that wrong. She would force her way into Patala if she had to.

  And then, Siphar.

  Any trace of Advaith’s previous humor had fled. “This doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “When Tav and I were old enough, we were brought to the yaksha deities and the demon lord. Why wouldn’t they do the same for you?”

  Tav wrenched his gaze away from Kajal with effort. “We need answers from Lord Dukha.”

  Advaith nodded distantly, turning back to the encampment. “You’re right.” He paused. “Do you think he…?” He shook his head. “No. We have to focus on the task at hand.”

  “Your task will fail,” Lasya said. “When Kajal attempted to control the blight in Siphar, it backfired.” She laid her other hand on top of her sewn-up stomach. “It’ll backfire now.”

  Advaith stared at Lasya’s hand until his expression shifted. “It was you.” He spun toward his aides. “You said the blight started after the battle at the Harama Plain, but only recently has it escalated.”

  Understanding dawned across their faces, the same conclusion now twisting Kajal’s stomach. She bent around it, all the breath kicked out of her.

  Halahala, the nagi had said. It must be a clash of power…Of opposites.

  Of the asura and deva.

  “No,” she murmured to the grass, to the world, to the girl who should be dead at her side. “No, no, no—”

  The first tendrils of blight had sprouted when Advaith’s blade pierced Tav’s flesh. It had been a slow yet inevitable threat, creeping deeper into Dharati’s soil by the year. No one had therefore been prepared for the sudden rearing of its head, for its skulk to turn into a sprint.

  Because of what she’d done that day. Because she had been so impulsive, so wounded, so overconfident.

  Because she had killed her sister.

  “Fields of crops decimated,” Advaith whispered. “Poisoned yakshas and infected humans. Bakshi’s soldiers trawling the countryside for witches to blame. Because of me…” His eyes were fever-bright when he turned them on Kajal. “Because of you.”

  You are to blame for this disease on our land, Jagvir had snarled at her. And it can only be cleansed with your death.

  Kajal’s hand slipped from Lasya’s as she sank to the ground. Someone made a sound of dismay, but she couldn’t tell if it had come from her own mouth.

  Knowledge. What a dangerous thing—what an unwieldy weapon. The shape of it in an unfamiliar vessel could drive one to madness: a woman who sang while she worked, her voice so sweet and rich that she must be casting spells; a widow who lived alone, her womb empty of children, who must have killed her husband to consume his flesh and live forever; a young girl who stared at others and accurately guessed their ailments, a perversion only fire could cleanse.

  All of them monstrous and unknown. All of them a scourge.

  All of them poisoned by the wellspring she had dug with her own two hands.

  A figure knelt before her. She was too numb to feel their touch on her shoulder.

  “You didn’t know,” Advaith said quietly. If it weren’t for the rasp of his voice, she could have mistaken him for Tav. “Just as I didn’t know the extent to which halahala could spread. Without anyone to guide you, how could you have guessed what would happen? It was a mistake.” He held out his other hand. “But it’s one we can fix together. There’s still a way to redeem ourselves.”

  Sweat rolled down her neck. Below her, blight was spindling like roots through crust and soil, fingers prodding into the dark to seek out any trace of life. Kutaa sensed it too, lifting up each paw as if the ground had turned hot beneath him.

  She stared at the plain of Advaith’s palm, the calluses of his fingertips. She couldn’t feel herself take his hand.

  Advaith’s smile was surprisingly gentle as he pulled her to her feet. “We’ve both misstepped and suffered for it, but I’ll ensure it never happens again. We want the same things, in the end.” He brought her to stand beside him on the crest. “After we cleanse Dharati of halahala, I’ll teach you how to wield your powers. Tav can teach your sister.”

  Kajal stared at the encampment, at the small figures of the Vadhia soldiers going about their chores.

  Remembered the grin of the Vadhia who had whipped her.

  The shock and pain on Jagvir’s face as his chest had gaped open.

  Gurveer Bibi, and Gurdeep, and Riddhi.

  Perhaps the asura is merely doing what they do best, Riddhi had once said in a university classroom. Being evil.

  “Do you feel it?” Advaith whispered. And Kajal did, could pinpoint each diseased vein below their feet. “It won’t take much. Perhaps a little blood, or a mantra.”

  She was standing in the dakinis’ forest, her bloody palm pressed to rough bark as she summoned the tamas of the dead absorbed by the twisted pines.

  Easy. It would be so easy. She did not know how to be an asura, but this—she knew this. She knew death.

  There is a difference between making the right choice and having a choice at all, Ruhi had said.

  The longer she stood there doing nothing, the cloudier Advaith’s face grew. “Don’t make this difficult,” he murmured.

  No more, she thought, the phantom press of the bhuta’s fingers against her larynx, Siddhi’s wails ringing in her ears. No more.

  The asura is not destined to be wicked simply by the circumstances of their birth, Tav had told her.

  What Advaith wanted was control.

  What Kajal wanted was a choice.

  “It’s funny,” she said at last, staring at the encampment as her hand slipped into her pocket. “How much my life has followed the same pattern. Suspicion, capture, waiting for a trial. I’ve survived every ordeal, you know. Had to cheat my way through them, of course.”

  Advaith said nothing. Behind them, the others were deathly silent.

  “But I managed to escape each one. Even an ordeal of poison.” She huffed a quiet laugh. “Or so I thought.”

  Quickly, before anyone could stop her, she uncorked the vial of bitter almond extract and downed it in one go.

  There was a shout, a bark, and someone grabbed her, but she held her hand to her mouth and swallowed it all. The poison was sharp and tingling on her tongue, numbness already trickling down her throat in its wake.

  “Get it out of her,” Advaith demanded, grip frantic and tight on her elbow. “Vaan—”

  Kajal pushed his chest, and her hand lit up crimson. Advaith was sent flying backward, skidding over the grass.

  “Kajal!”

  She wobbled and fell into Tav’s arms. The poison was circulating far faster than she’d thought it would. Lasya knelt on her other side.

  “What did you do?” her sister cried, feeling for her pulse. “Kajal!”

  She wanted to apologize; she really did. She hadn’t meant for it to come to this. But just as they had taken her dagger away, sometimes it was better to remove a weapon than wait to see how it would be used.

  She was an asura. She was made for destruction.

  Hard to destroy anything when she was dead.

  “Don’t,” she gasped, holding on to Lasya’s arm. “Don’t let him revive me. Burn—”

  Lasya shook her head wildly as Tav ripped Kajal’s collar to have better access to her neck. Kajal tried to grab his wrist, but already it was a struggle to lift her hand.

  “Don’t,” she breathed again, and Tav looked down at her with eyes blazing blue.

  Warmth seeped into her skin, but it wouldn’t be enough. It only made him that much more determined. “Help me,” he pleaded of Lasya.

  “I— I don’t know how,” her sister stammered, face ashen. “I never—”

  “Do what I do. Focus your energy through your hands.”

  Kajal was already cold, her insides twisting sharply as short, pained gasps escaped her. Her skin prickled with needles, her blood boiling in her veins. She wondered if any of the bhuta’s victims had felt like this, before the end.

  She wondered if Lasya had felt this much pain.

  It was fitting, in a way. It was what she deserved. A life for a life for a life for a life.

  Her vision shrank. Tav and Lasya loomed over her, and if they were the last things she saw on the mortal plane, she’d be content with that.

  Lasya was sobbing. Kajal had always hated seeing her cry, so she locked eyes with Tav. He wore the same piercing look as when he’d tried to revive the lake yaksha, running up against the hard barrier of what his power was and wasn’t capable of. Her heart struggled under his hand, and he dug his fingertips into her chest as if to claw through bone and muscle to reach it.

 

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