The Star-Touched Queen Read online

  Akaran was a world completely alone. Elegant fountains and handsome statues paved the path to Amar’s kingdom, a sprawling palace adorned with ivory spires and silvery arches. Spirals of reflection pools next to stone sculptures of acacia trees fell on either side of us as we approached the entrance.

  “This is now yours as much as it is mine,” said Amar.

  Mine?

  I breathed deeply, closing my eyes, stilling the tremble in my fingers. Every now and again I glanced at Amar, waiting for him to talk about the richness of his grounds or the costliness of his palace. Whenever I’d spied on a foreign royal’s introduction to the Raja’s court, the wealth of the foreigner’s palace, beauty of his queens and plumpness of his livestock always preceded his name. But Amar was different. He had said his name first and nothing after.

  Once we were inside the courtyard, Amar leapt from the water buffalo. I tried to do the same, but my legs felt clumsy. Amar lifted me gently, his hands lingering at my waist a moment too long before he drew them away. My face warmed, and I was glad when someone stepped out of the shadows.

  A clean-shaven man with a bulbous nose bowed to us. He was richly dressed, his brocade sherwani a gleaming silver next to Amar’s black robes. His arms were full of scrolls that he clutched at with ink-stained fingers. He looked like the studious court archivists. I looked at him intently, waiting for something inevitably strange to happen. What was he hiding? A tail? Clawed feet?

  His eyes were fixed on the ground and he lifted them slowly, as if he was fighting the moment when he finally looked at me. When our eyes met, his smile faltered. He made a strangled sound, a weird mix of surprise and disbelief. I ventured a smile, but that seemed to make things worse. The man swallowed air, his grip on the parchments tightening.

  “May I present Gupta, my councilor and dearest friend.”

  Gupta cleared his throat, staring at the ground. “Welcome to Akaran, Rani.”

  Rani, I repeated in my head. I really was queen. Gupta spoke softly, his voice trailing into a nervous stuttering. It was the kind of tone Ajeet had used when he disagreed with the Raja. Does he think I shouldn’t be here? Walking to him, Amar clapped a hand against his back. Gupta stared back, his expression a mask of hesitation and wonder.

  “Gupta is indispensable to the realm.”

  “Not nearly as indispensable as some,” he said, not meeting my gaze. He rocked on his heels, examining the scrolls in his arms. “I must excuse myself. I have matters to attend to.”

  “Join us for dinner,” said Amar. “You’ve never shied from eating with me before.” He smiled, before adding jokingly, “No one will judge you for trying to organize your grains of rice.”

  A smile flashed on Gupta’s face. “You could learn a thing or two from me the way you carry on with a plate.” But then he turned to me and the smile slid off his face. He shook his head.

  “Another time, my friend.”

  All of Bharata’s court archivists were arrogant, but Gupta’s cagey responses and narrowed glances bordered on insult. I was a princess of Bharata, not some foundling Amar rescued by a roadside. The next time he met my gaze, I raised my chin, my ears turning hot. For the first time, Gupta grinned.

  “I hope you will not mind the silence of our halls, Rani.”

  The memory of clashing iron rang in my ears. I could still see the lips of the soldiers as they shaped their mouths around a scream.

  “I’ve had my fill of noise,” I said.

  Gupta tilted his head. “Then again, perhaps our halls will no longer be silent. The Raja has waited a long time for you.”

  I frowned. “He waited a long time to marry?”

  “No,” said Gupta. “He waited a long time for you. I look forward to discussing your duties tomorrow morning, Rani.”

  He flourished a bow to me and nodded at Amar. And then he disappeared behind a pillar. Amar sighed, rubbing his temples through the fabric of his hood. He still hadn’t taken off the garment.

  “Gupta is not used to company,” he said. “I hope he did not offend you. He can hold a conversation for hours about sentient underwater creatures, but protocol and etiquette are beyond him.”

  “Perhaps that’s a good thing.”

  “You don’t care for councilors and their flowery speeches?”

  “They make me suspicious. In my experience, big words ornament bad news.”

  “A fair observation,” said Amar with a smile. “Please, follow me.”

  Amar led me from the antechamber to a large room filled with low-hanging lanterns. A panel of ornate mirrors covered the wall on the right, while windows filled the left. The open windows revealed a stretch of nighttime. Lanterns illuminated the room to a pale gold. In the middle of the room were two saffron-colored cushions, along with a score of small plates piled high with steaming rice cakes, bowls of hot dal and buttery slices of naan. I stepped inside, my gaze falling on the elaborate rug wrought with the image of a huge makara. Purling emerald silk formed its serpent body, shimmering beneath the lights, so that for a moment, the sea dragon almost looked real. Gauri filled my head once more, and I remembered the last night we spent together. We could have been twin stars or makaras with tails long enough to wrap around the ocean twice.

  Amar leaned against one of the cushions.

  “Please,” he said, pushing a golden plate toward me.

  My half-sisters had always feigned a poor appetite, but the naan looked too good to waste on modesty. For the next hour, I ate with happy abandon, my stomach warmed with dal and bursting with fullness. When we finished, a glass tray of mint tea and a bowl of candied fennel seeds appeared on the table.

  “What do you think of your kingdom?”

  “It’s beautiful,” I said. And very empty. Where is everyone? “It might even be dangerous to live in such luxury and repose.”

  “This is no place of repose.” Amar glanced outside where a sliver of moon glimmered behind clouds. “I am at the mercy of the moon to reveal the secrets of this kingdom. Until then, you must practice what it means to rule. I will test you, as this palace will, in its own way.”

  I straightened in my seat. “On what?”

  “Familiarity, you might say.” His voice was low. “All the usual aspects of ruling. I’ll test your fangs and claws and bloodlust.” He stopped to trace the inside of my wrist, and my pulse leapt to meet his touch. I scowled and grabbed my hand back. Treacherous blood. “I’ll test your eyes and ears and thoughts.”

  “Not geography, then?” I asked, half joking.

  “It’s useless here.” He shrugged. “You’ll see.”

  “History?”

  “Written by the victors,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m not interested in one-sided tales.”

  “Legends? Folktales?”

  This time, Amar grinned. “Perhaps. Do you have a favorite tale?”

  My throat tightened and I thought of Gauri standing outside my door and demanding a story. “Many … And you?”

  “All of them. Except for tragedies. I cannot abide those.”

  In the harem, all the wives preferred tragedies. They wanted stories of star-crossed lovers. They wanted betrayal and declarations of love that ended with the speaker dying at their feet.

  “You don’t find them romantic?”

  “No,” he said, an edge to his voice. “There is no romance in real grief. Only longing and fury.”

  He rose to his feet. “Tomorrow, you can tour the palace fully. It’s yours now.”

  His words echoed in my head. All of Akaran—its cavernous space, lush splendor and enchanted aura—was mine. Even though I had walked through the Night Bazaar and tasted its fruit, my soul staggered. My joy was ghostly, like something not quite realized. I kept thinking back to the moment where I had stood with poison against my palm, where I had owned nothing, been nothing and almost … was nothing. Even with this new kingdom, my heart still focused on the one I knew before.

  “My kingdom—” I started, hesitat
ing, “is it unharmed? Do you know what happened to my sister Gauri?”

  Amar’s hands tightened at his sides. “Your sister is safe. Now, come, let me show you our chamber.”

  Every bone in my body ached, but my nerves made me feel tense and awake. Wordlessly, Amar led me from the golden dining room through a series of hallways. I squinted into the darkness, trying to make out details or edges. But shadows concealed everything.

  Finally, we reached a marble door that could only be the bedroom. My pulse quickened, and for a moment, I thought my nerves might make me retch the contents of my rich meal. Amar pushed open the door, revealing a room with a high ceiling and a circular bed. A translucent gossamer canopy fell from the ceiling, rippling in silken pools. Handsome borders gleamed along the edges of the wall. The rooms in Bharata’s palace could’ve been a pauper’s hovel compared to this.

  “The adjoining room should have anything you may need,” said Amar, pointing at a tucked-away door. He then inclined his head politely and entered a private chamber.

  He said nothing about sharing a room.

  Maybe he was too tired or too full. Or not interested. A flicker of disappointment shot through me. I didn’t have Parvati’s milky complexion or Jaya’s thick-lashed gaze, but I wasn’t revolting. In the imposing room, I felt small and ridiculous. No servant appeared to help me with my garments, but I did not mind. I was used to taking care of myself in Bharata. Strangely, there were no mirrors inside the bedroom, but one swipe of my hand across my face was enough to know how I looked. Smudges of kohl had left my eyes and pooled against my temples. Groaning, I splashed my face with water and began the tedious task of removing my sari and jewelry.

  I felt blindly at my face, poking at my nose and stretching my cheeks taut. After seventeen years, I still hadn’t grown into my nose. My skin felt shiny, and irritated bumps trailed across my forehead. I glanced down, taking stock of my narrow shoulders, sharp collarbones and straight waist. I looked boyish. Maybe that’s why he showed no interest.

  I walked back into the bedroom. Amar was standing by the foot of the bed, playing lazily with the cuffs of his sleeves. I tensed. That foolish disappointment was gone.

  “Are you frightened?” he asked.

  Don’t cower. I straightened my back. I would’ve stared him in the eyes if I could. “Should I be?”

  “I should hope there are more frightening things than sharing a bed with me,” he said. He flourished a bow. “Did I not promise you that we would be equals? Your will is where I lay my head. I will not touch you without your permission.”

  I moved to the bed, taking stock of the unnecessary amount of cushions. I could feel Amar’s gaze on me and rather than tossing the cushions to the ground, I stacked them in the middle of the bed. Amar followed me and slid onto the opposite side. The fire in the diyas collapsed with the faintest of sighs.

  “A daunting fortress,” he said lazily, prodding one of the pillows. “Have you so little faith in me?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed and the sound was unexpectedly … musical.

  “The dark is a lovely thing, is it not? It lets us speak in blindness. No scowls or smiles or stares clouding our words.”

  I lay in bed, my body taut. Amar continued:

  “I spoke no falsehoods in the Night Bazaar,” he said. “I would rip the stars from the sky if you wished it. Anything for you. But remember to trust me. Remember your promise.”

  I fell quiet for a moment. “I remember my promise.”

  After that, I said nothing.

  The air between us could have been whittled in steel. An hour passed before I ventured a glance at Amar. His face was turned from me, leaving only dark curls half visible in the light. Moonlight had limned his silhouette silver. The longer I stared at him, the more something sharp stirred within me and I was reminded of that strange ache in my head, where forgotten dreams jostled for remembrance.

  I stared at the ceiling, fighting the giddiness dancing in my chest. I replayed the day slowly, languorously, reliving every detail—from the Night Bazaar’s sky seamed with light and the sensation of my teeth sinking into the fragrant rind of fairy fruit, to the splendid emptiness of Akaran. I rehashed the day again and again, wearing down the memory like a river pebble, until I had convinced my own stubborn mind that everything had truly happened, that every bit was real.

  Even so, what tasks did a kingdom that lay between the Otherworld and the human realm want? And why me? Already I knew that Akaran was as different from Bharata as night to day. But there was something thrilling in its differences … a promise of change in its stone hallways.

  9

  A TURN OF THE MOON

  When I woke up the next morning, Amar was gone. I stretched my hand across the bed, pressing my fingers into the side where he had slept. It was cool to the touch—he’d been gone for some time. Not a good sign for the first day as queen. I pulled at my hair, biting back a groan and hoping he’d left while the room was still dark. My hair fell in knotted waves around me. I probably looked feral.

  Gray daylight puddled onto the floor, illuminating the room’s golden borders and carven doors. I tilted my head up, eyes still disbelieving. Yesterday morning, I thought I would be wandering the halls of the dead. But instead, I was here.

  “Rani?” came a voice from outside.

  I recognized the voice. Gupta.

  “Please dress at your leisure. I’ll wait outside to escort you to the dining hall, where we can go through your engagements for the day.”

  Escorted? Engagements? In Bharata, I’d never lived by a schedule.

  “Good, thank you,” I said, my voice wavering.

  In the adjoining room, steam curled around water basins. I stared at my hair, pulling at some of the dirty strands. I might as well have never left the jungle.

  By the time I had washed and returned to the room, the bed had been fixed and a brilliant green silk sari was spread across the sheets. There were heavy rings piled in a quartz bowl, a handful of bangles in another and dainty anklets fashioned with dangling nightingales in a third.

  I wrapped the silk around me slowly, savoring its length across my body. I was almost too scared to move around in it, convinced it would tear. But it didn’t. My hands drifted across the heavy jewelry, but in the end I couldn’t wear anything. The hollow of my throat felt cold and empty in the absence of my mother’s necklace. None of this finery compared.

  When I walked outside, Gupta flashed the bare bones of a smile before nodding and starting off down one of the halls. Despite Akaran’s coldness, the pallid corridors and mirror-paneled foyers sang to me. The same dining room from before had been laid out with a placemat set with rich foods, fruits and water. I drew my chair to the table, stealing glances out the window toward Akaran’s barren landscape. Loneliness in Akaran was worse than being stared at by the Raja’s harem. At least I knew who was doing the watching. Here, even the walls were leering, weighing and examining me.

  “I trust you slept well,” said Gupta.

  “Yes, thank you.” I glanced around the wide dining room. “Will you be joining me?”

  He hesitated. Like yesterday, he didn’t meet my gaze.

  “I suppose that will be agreeable.”

  I stopped myself from joking. I don’t bite … often.

  The moment Gupta sat down, he began to rub at the table, inspecting an invisible speck of dust.

  “I hear Amar apologized on my behalf.” This time his voice was softer, hesitant.

  I froze. He had referred to Amar by his first name. I’d never once heard a councilor or adviser—no matter how close he was—call my father by his first name. They’d sooner behead themselves. Gupta’s gaze was shy, perhaps curious about what I’d make of his familiarity. When I said nothing, he noticeably relaxed.

  “He did, but there was no need,” I said. “I think it’s … refreshing, that you grew up away from the protocols of court speech and etiquette.”

  Gupta itched his hawk
ish nose, his eyes widening. “You do?”

  I smiled. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

  Gupta grinned back and his nose spread impishly across his face. “I’m glad to hear that, Rani.”

  I chewed my cheek. I didn’t want to be locked in by invisible rules of caste or rank. My father’s words echoed in my head: Immortality lay in emotions. If this was going to be my kingdom as much as Amar’s, I needed to prove it. And that meant knowing Gupta the way Amar did. Not as a councilor or an adviser, but as a friend.

  “Call me Maya.”

  Gupta’s hands clenched and he quickly looked away. I thought I saw tears glittering in his eyes, but instead of facing me, he rubbed at a spot on the table.

  “I detest dirt. Did you know there are at least five thousand different kinds of tiny beasts in a unit of dirt? It’s appalling. You can’t clean it properly,” he said, crinkling his nose.

  “How do you know that?” I asked, torn between disbelief and laughing.

  “I am the scribe of this kingdom,” he said, drawing himself up. “I make it a point to know as much as I can. For instance, I once interviewed a snail that had slept for three years. I have also detailed the song of sunbears and translated the treaties of autumn trees. Absolutely critical things to know.”

  “I see. Well, I hope … I hope we can be friends.”

  He stared at his lap. “Once a friend, always a friend.”

  A sound spidered through the floor. A laugh, a trill. The ghost of another’s voice. I spun around, expecting someone standing behind me, but there was no one. Nothing but empty space and gleaming walls.

  “What was that?”

  “Or who,” said Gupta casually.

  “Who?”

  “I’m not sure … it could be anyone. Or anything. It could be a wind angry with its lover and dreaming of revenge. It could be the voice of a nagini remembering her first kiss. Akaran’s strange position makes it a home for a thousand voices.”

  I remembered Amar’s words from yesterday.

  “Is it because Akaran lies in between the human and Otherworld?”