The Star-Touched Queen (The Star-Touched Queen #1)(37)

And then one night, Amar appeared for dinner. He sat across from Gupta, not meeting my gaze. Outside, the moon waned to a paring. Just two more days.

“Tomorrow, you must make your decision,” said Amar quietly.

He left abruptly after that, hardly touching his food, hardly saying a word. Worry bit at me. What if I made the wrong choice?

When I walked back to the room, I heard a soft song calling out to me for the first time in days.

You are running out of moon time Listen to my warning rhyme I know you hear me in your head I know the monster in your bed I shook off the voice and shut the bedroom door behind me. I felt like insects made of ice had crawled under my skin. The palace was filled with riddling voices. It was nothing. It meant nothing. Maybe tomorrow I would find a room playing out a skit where one character said those words to another. My heart calmed, but my mind wasn’t convinced.

That night, I dreamed of locked doors and baying hounds, rooms that were night-dark and a beast-king that smiled and laughed around a mouthful of broken stars to sing one phrase over and over: I know the monster in your bed.





15

VEINS OF MAGIC

I stood before the tapestry. Sweat stamped my palms. Even now, the threads dazzled—shifting, coiling, breathing, pulsing. Impossible to tame, like the sea in a storm. Amar faced me. He looked haunted. His hair was mussed and when he finally turned to look at me, it was with a mix of hope and fear.

“What have you decided?”

I tried to think about a decision, but each time, I was struck by the memory of the helmets piling up in my father’s inner sanctum. I forced myself to look at the tapestry. I already knew what it would show me. The bodies of my father’s people being dragged through a foreign empire that would herald peace but at a deadly cost. A future of fragile peace won more quickly, with less bloodshed, but with no memory of Bharata’s great legacy. Worse, its people would lose all their sovereignty and identity. Some might even be forced into slavery, but all would be forced to obey a new ruler.

“Why do we need to make this decision now?”

Amar’s hands tightened, but he relaxed them almost immediately. He was quiet for a moment and I colored from his silence.

“The longer you wait, the more the threads unravel,” he said. “See?”

Amar was right. Several of the glittering threads had begun to fray. My fingers hovered over them—the white one gleamed with Vikram’s potential as a leader, the red one shone with Vikram’s potential as a warrior. Both threads held the promise of peace and both came with a different cost. And yet, with either path, it seemed like Bharata would pay the price.

Amar circled me, his hands clasped behind his back. “You have to make this decision.”

I could feel his gaze on me—sharp, unrelenting and also … desperate.

“We must choose the thread that affords the best outcome for the most people, thus maintaining a balance of peace,” he said. “You see, though, how it draws on so many different aspects. It is not just one person. They are all interconnected.”

I stared up at him. For a moment, his eyes searched mine and in the depths of his gaze, I felt a swell of sorrow. He turned sharply from me and I forced myself to summon the most diplomatic tone I could.

“The red thread carries too much risk,” I said. “The peace was accomplished more easily, but who’s to say that the peace will hold long after Vikram dies? The risk is far greater. What is lost is more than just lives. It’s an entire city. I think a peace that is won through words and advocated tirelessly will hold better than an alliance of bloodshed even if … even if it means at the price of more blood.”

Tears burned behind my eyes. How many people had I doomed?

“Then your decision is made. Rip the thread.”

I brought my hands slowly to the tapestry and wound my fingers around the red thread. It pulsed, struggling against me. I searched myself for the nerve to pull, but when I closed my eyes, all I saw were my people burning and bleeding.

I drew my hand away, scalded.

“I can’t.” I dropped the thread, backing away from the tapestry.

Sweat coated my palms. I didn’t feel solid. I felt as limp and soft as a pile of threads. I fixed my eyes on the floor. More than anything, I had wanted to prove that I was more than a sheltered princess of Bharata. I wanted to show that I could handle this enormous task and not fail.

“Weakness is a luxury you can no longer afford,” said Amar.

“Compassion isn’t weakness.”

“It is here.”

“When you took me to the Night Bazaar, you said you wanted my perspective and my honesty,” I said, facing him. “I’ve given both.”

“You knew the decision the moment you saw the outcomes. I know it,” challenged Amar. “Now you have to follow through.”

The accusation in his voice taunted me. Where the throne room had once filled me with possibility, now I felt small.

Amar grasped my hands. “I know you’re not comfortable with this.”

I clenched my jaw. No matter what I said, he would think less of me. And all too often, I found myself caring about what he thought.

“It feels wrong. What if—”

“Never let your doubts cripple you.” He stepped back, his arms raised in a surrender that made me feel anything but victorious. “I leave this to you. I trust your instincts, Maya. As should you. Trust yourself. Trust who you are.”