The Star-Touched Queen (The Star-Touched Queen #1)(26)

“Where are we?”

I was still trying to find my bearings in the strange woods. Amar stood by my side, his hands clasped behind his back. He raised a finger to his lips, nodding toward the outlines of two people in the forest—a mother and son. The mother’s hair fell about her shoulders and sweat gleamed on her brow. She looked feverish. Beside her, the boy jumped along the leaves and kicked over rocks.

“Is the silver thread hers? Can they see us?”

“Yes, the silver thread belongs to the mother. And no, they can’t. This is simply the projection of the thread. Nothing we do here affects them.”

He picked up a rock and hurtled it against the tree. But no sooner had he thrown it into the air than it reappeared by his feet.

“This moment in time is fixed.”

“Fixed? So it’s already happened?”

“In a way, everything has already happened and every option has already run its course. But those multiple fates are contained in the tapestry. Our challenge is selecting the best fate to maintain a balance of peace and letting the other outcomes fall away. Time runs differently in Akaran.”

“But if we can’t change anything about this moment, then why are we here?”

Amar held a finger to his lips and pointed at the woman.

She was leaning against a pair of twisted trees. With their outstretched limbs and arched trunks, the trees reminded me of someone in the act of falling. I looked at the other trees and a shiver ran down my spine. Each of the trees looked … human. And they were all in various shapes of collapse—mossy knolls for braced knees, spindly twigs for overextended arms, the language of a fall.

“What do you see?”

I tore away my gaze. “The tree reminded me of something.”

“A person?”

“But that’s—”

“—exactly what they are,” finished Amar. “This is a twilight grove, a place where the lines between the Otherworld and human realm are blurred.”

“What happened to all those people?” I asked, looking at the trees in new horror.

“They got stuck in the Otherworld.”

“Did they ever leave?”

“In a way. But by the time they were freed, they were no longer the same people and they could never return to the life they left behind.”

I watched the little boy pluck a handful of flowers for his mother.

“Then why are we here? Clearly, the mother shouldn’t leave her child behind.” My jaw clenched, my thoughts flitting to the mother I never knew, but had always wanted. Instinctively, my hand flew to my throat, fingers searching for the sapphire necklace. I kept forgetting it was gone. “Why does this need any more discussion?” I bit out.

“I’ll show you.”

Amar held out his hand. I looked once more at the little boy before slipping my hand in his. The moment we touched, the forest sank away, replaced once more with the throne room. This time I was prepared for the dizziness and I ground my heels into the floor to keep from swaying. Amar pulled at a dark green thread next to the silver one.

“This belongs to the boy.”

I looked at the thread; it was split at the end, diverging into two frays that entwined with different spectrums of color.

“Two outcomes?”

“Two fates. Let me show you the first one.”

Amar took my hand in his. I blinked once, and we were back inside the forest. But this time, the boy was alone. My heart ached just looking at him. He stood barefoot in the woods, his hands at his sides and his eyes glistening. Tears had left wet tracks along his cheeks and he wiped his eyes.

“Amma?” cried the boy.

“No,” I said, steeling my voice. “I don’t like this outcome at all.”

Amar’s hand steadied me. “Don’t be impulsive.”

Scolded, I forced myself to stare at the impassive outline of Amar’s hooded face, my cheeks flushing. It was the closest I could get to staring him in the eye, trying to show him that I wasn’t faint of heart. That I could, even if it hurt, witness this.

“The boy has two paths before him. Both are great in their own way. And both depend on when his mother enters the Otherworld.” Amar pointed to a white flag waving near the horizon. “Do you recognize that sigil?”

I scrutinized the flag—a red crocodile against a white background. It was the symbol of the Ujijain Empire.

“Yes.”

“The Emperor will come this way. He will see the boy and raise him as his own. He will be a hero among his people, a warrior both cunning and compassionate.”

As Amar spoke, my eyes fluttered shut. I breathed deeply and saw everything come to pass. I saw the boy training, his eyes battle hardened. I saw him grow strong, settle disputes between neighbors, win the affection of his countrymen. I saw how each night he peered at the moon, his handsome face drawn. His mother’s loss clung to him, a constant memory to live with kindness, with love. The vision sped up. I watched the boy age, listened to him tirelessly advocate for his country to choose peace instead of war. But all the while, the war dragged on.

Bodies piled up in the Ujijain Empire and my heart clenched. It was not just Ujijain that suffered. On the fallen soldiers, I recognized Bharata’s crest—a lion and an eagle, both with one eye closed. My people were dying at the cost of this slow reconciliation. Only when he lay on his deathbed, his hands pallid and wrinkled, did peace heal the fractured empire. I watched his final smile fade, his eyes still gleaming hopefully before the vision faded.