The Star-Touched Queen (The Star-Touched Queen #1)(19)

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.