The Star-Touched Queen (8 page)

“I make this bond to you in blood, not flowers,” he said. “Come with me and you shall be an empress with the moon for your throne and constellations to wear in your hair. Come with me and I promise you that we will always be equals.”

My mouth went dry. A blood oath was no trifling undertaking. Vassals swore it to lords, priests to the gods. But husbands to wives? Unthinkable.

Still, Bharata’s court had taught me one thing: the greater the offer, the greater the compromise. And I had neither dowry nor influence from Bharata, nothing to give but the jewels I wore.

“You’re offering me the world, and you ask for nothing in return.”

“I ask only for your trust and patience.”

“Trust?” I repeated. “Trust is won in years. Not words. And I don’t know anything about you—”

“I will tell you everything,” he cut in, his voice fierce. “But we must wait until the new moon. The kingdom’s close ties to the Otherworld make it dangerous grounds for the curious.”

In my stories to Gauri, the new moon weakened the other realms. Starlight thinned their borders and the inhabitants lay glutted and sleepy on moonbeams. The thing is, I had always made that part up.

“Why that long?”

“Because that is when my realm is at its weakest,” said Amar, confirming my imagination and sending shivers across my arms. “Until then, the hold of the other realms binds me into silence.”

The night before the wedding ceremony, there was no moon in the sky. I would have to wait a whole cycle.

“And in the meantime, you expect me to go away with you?”

“Yes,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Do you accept me?”

He held out his hand to me, the cut on his palm bright and swollen. Against the glow of the bazaar, Amar’s form cut a silhouette of night.

I looked past him to the glittering secrets of the Otherworld. The Night Bazaar gleamed beneath its split sky—an invitation to be more than what Bharata expected, a challenge to rise beyond the ranks of the nameless, dreamless harem women. All I needed to do was slip my hand in his. I was reaching for him before I knew it and the warmth of his hands jolted me.

“I accept.”

*   *   *

The Night Bazaar unfurled before us in a spectrum of color and life. Carts bearing persimmons and custard apples weaved between the crowds. Stores hopped across streets to greet likely customers. Other shops shrank to the size of thimbles, fit only for clientele no wider than a mouse. The Night Bazaar was filled with the sound of reedy flutes and the rill of haggling tongues.

I kept turning around, practically spinning as I walked. Twice, I just barely avoided careening straight into a band of animated
sitaars
and drums. It was a world already vivid with my dreams and each time I blinked and opened my eyes anew, something warm spread slowly across my chest. To see the Night Bazaar before me, to feel its warm and irregular ground beneath my feet and let my fingers trail against the licorice teak of its balustrades, lulled me into a stupefied walk. I never wanted to blink again, as if in a second, this whole fragile secret would crumble out of sight. But it was there. It was solid. And I, against everything I had believed only the night before, was
here
.

The scent of fresh berries, ripe fruit and the smokiness of roasted nuts and salted corn wafted around me. I could feel it tangling in my hair. Every sound was a new song expanding in my chest and imprinting onto my memory.

The inhabitants of the Otherworld moved airily through the Night Bazaar, sidestepping dancing conch shells and examining iridescent fruits. With their long limbs, stark cheekbones and symmetrical features, they were too perfect to be mistaken as human. They walked with a lope and glide so graceful, it would’ve made Bharata’s
devadasi
dancers look like broken dolls.

Wherever I moved, my skin prickled under the weight of watchful eyes. Everywhere we walked, the inhabitants bowed their heads in polite acknowledgment.

“You seem quite popular. I suppose your cloak is failing its camouflaging purpose.” I hoped the last part would have needled him into drawing the hood from his face, but it remained stubbornly pulled over him.

He shrugged. “They recognize and appreciate our duty to keep them safe.”

Our duty
, I repeated silently, a tendril of warmth coiling in my stomach. “I didn’t realize the Otherworld needed protecting. Are you … some kind of guardian?”

Amar moved like a weighty shadow. A not-unpleasant chill emanated from him. Even the Night Bazaar inhabitants who greeted him did so with a touch of franticness in their eyes.

“I prefer that term, but I think others see my occupation as something that takes rather than protects.” No sooner had he spoken than his hand flew to his throat. For a panic-stricken moment, I thought he would collapse. But a moment later, he relaxed, swallowing a mouthful of air. “I apologize,” he rasped. “I was not lying when I said I could not reveal Akaran’s secrets. Not yet, anyway.”

A guardian, then, I mused. But of what? None of the folktales I had read made any mention of wardens straddling the divide of human and Otherworldly beings. Just then, a herd of dark-eyed
kinnara
children rushed past me, their cheeks rosy and their legs and feet clawed like birds. The sight of them made me ache for Gauri. Was she safe? What had happened to Bharata? I comforted myself with those images of the guards marching toward the harem and Amar’s assurances. Still, a twinge of guilt nettled me. I wanted to believe that I had fled Bharata because I had no choice, but the thought that I had abandoned Gauri continued to bite.

I was still thinking of Gauri as we wandered into the thicket of the Night Bazaar. There, the sound of shopkeepers haggling and screaming—sometimes in languages that only registered as sharp whistles—enveloped us.

Amar hung back some distance behind me as I stopped by strange tents and vendors. The first tent was draped in a black velvet cloth that giggled at the touch of my hand. Small glass ornaments hung from its awnings, little spinning planets that emitted a drowsy song.

“Place one beneath your claw or foot or what have you and I guarantee a restful sleep!”

The owner—a bull-headed being—immediately began tearing them from the tassels, rolling them in front of me like glittering dice.

“I’ll give you five for the price of three! And all it will cost is the sound of your voice for a week.”

“No, thank you … I was just looking,” I said apologetically.

The owner harrumphed
,
gathered his nights of restful sleep and hung them back on the tent with a glare on his face. I walked quickly to the next table, where the owner, smoking a pipe of rose quartz, fanned her hand indifferently around her wares.

“A snarl of nightmares,” she said, gesturing to blinking, fanged wisps of smoke, “or a tangle of daydreams. Your choice. I could care less.”

I reached out to hold a daydream. They looked like they were spun from glass and yet their touch was silk-soft. As they drifted between my fingers, I
felt
them—a nap in the sleepy sunshine of a winter afternoon, a reverie where a sea alight with flowers and bright candles washed over my ankles.

The next table was crowded with animal bones. I picked one up lightly before shivering and hurriedly putting it down. It felt like the bone was
reading
me.

“Those are for auguring,
dikri
, for scrying futures,” wheedled a matronly looking being. She had wings pinioned to her back that were dull gold and edged in fire.

“I’m not interested,” I said, thinking of my own horoscope.

“What about a love charm, then?” persisted the owner, pushing a flower carved of pearl to me. “To awaken your lover’s interest,” she added with a wink.

At this, Amar walked to the table and slid the flower rather ungently back toward the owner.

“I am her husband. She needs no charm to hold my interest.”

At the sight of Amar, the shopkeeper grabbed the flower and bowed repeatedly. We continued walking through the market when I saw a being with arms banded like a snake holding a platter of carrot
halwa
high above his head. It was Gauri’s favorite dish. The longer I looked at the
halwa
, the more I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten.

I was
desperately
hungry. I fought the knee-jerk urge to swipe something off one of the hundred platters of food. I was a queen now, or something like that. I had to show composure. Calm. My stomach betrayed with me a loud grumble and Amar’s lips quirked in a smile.

“Have you had anything to eat all day?”

The reek of mandrake poison stirred in my memory. Somewhere between thinking I was about to die and fleeing for my life, eating hadn’t factored into my plans.

“It seemed unnecessary,” I said drily.

“After your brush with death, your first taste should be sweet and bitter. Like freedom itself.”

I glanced back to the carrot
halwa
. “It’s too late for bittersweet food.”

“I can change that.”

8

THE PALACE BETWEEN WORLDS

Trees like cursive script stretched above dark plots of earth, entwining against pale beams of ivy and sprouting flowers that turned their heads to watch us pass.

“This way,” said Amar, lifting a cluster of branches.

An orchard festooned with silver trees greeted us. Amar walked through them, leading me toward a grove of five trees. The first had emerald bark, the second sapphire, the third ruby, the fourth quartz and the fifth pearl. Sparkling fruits hung beneath their dark branches.

“Pick one,” said Amar, plucking a shining sapphire.

I winced, waiting for his teeth to chip and clang against the rind. But his teeth sank into the sapphire fruit and juice dribbled between his fingers. I was still suspicious, but I reached into the pearl tree and pulled out a fat fruit with spherical markings. It was light in my hands, as if hollow. Slowly, I bit into it. The pearl fruit tasted like warm chestnut, ripe pears and rich honey. I sighed, devouring it core and stem before eyeing the other trees.

Just as I was reaching back into the pearl tree, a ruff of feathers brushed against my fingertips followed by an indignant
hoot!
I barely had time to jump back when Amar’s shadow fell over me and his hand encircled the small of my back.

“They’re just
chakara
birds,” he said in a low voice, close to my neck, close enough to drink in the scent of him—mint and smoke, cardamom and wood.

He stepped toward the tree, lifting the branches to reveal four pairs of narrowed orange eyes.

“Rather grumpy birds. They think the moon belongs to them,” said Amar. “But, irritable or not, they’re harmless. Not like some of the other things here.”

I turned to look into his face, but he quickly stepped away, revealing the awning dark behind him. No silvery branches arced in those shadows. The tangle of brambles and fallen stones had the unmistakable gloom of something avoided. And for good reason. The dark was more than impenetrable, it was
sticky
, as if it would devour whatever fell into its path. Something swayed in the distance, catching in the darkness. And though I wanted to convince myself otherwise, whatever hung beneath the disquieting trees looked an awful lot like … bodies.

“Not everything wants the boundaries of the Otherworld and human realm maintained.”

“Why not?”

He was silent and I wondered whether the pull of the Otherworld kept him from responding. Finally, he said, “Because not everything respects balance. Not everything wants to be contained to one side or the other. Some things crave the chaos.”

I thought back to the woman in my room, the way the darkness glommed around her, choking off all the light. Her voice needled at the back of my mind—
I need you to lead me.

“We must leave,” said Amar, his voice cutting through my thoughts.

We left behind the sparkling fruits and yawning shadows and traveled back to the Night Bazaar’s slice of day. The water buffalo lumbered to Amar’s side, pushing its nose into the palm of his hand.

“Are you ready?” asked Amar.

I took in one last glance. The Night Bazaar had ensnared me. I could smell its perfume on my skin—of stories and secrets, flashing teeth and slow smiles. In this land, I was no stronger than a calf in a lion’s jaws. But I liked it. Even though I couldn’t admit it aloud, even though I comforted myself that I had no choice but to go with him, the truth was that I
wanted
this. I yearned to draw breath beneath a split-sky leaking with magic. And not just live within one of the other realms’ strange kingdoms, but
rule
it. Without answering, I lifted myself onto the water buffalo’s back. Amar bowed his head, another ghost of a smile at his lips. The animal took off at a brisk pace and my heart raced.

My head bowed against the harsh wind as we sped down the same tunnel we used to reach the Night Bazaar. When the wind died down, I turned, expecting to see the ghost-lights of its torn sky. Instead, there was only a gnarled
parijaat
tree. Its thick trunk clung to the hill and sparse branches twisted into the sky like wrought iron.

“Welcome to Akaran,” said Amar as the water buffalo moved down the hill and the palace came into view.

This
was Akaran? After seeing the Night Bazaar, I’d expected another crowded city filled with thin Otherworldly beings and strange shops. But Akaran was empty. The hill sloped into a huge, flat gray valley. As far as I could see, there was nothing but scrubland and rock. I stared around me, but the emptiness was almost solid. There was so much
space.

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.