The Star-Touched Queen (The Star-Touched Queen #1)(51)

I couldn’t forget his lies.

“Go near that tree and I will lose you forever,” he said fiercely. “Your memories won’t keep. Your powers will be gone.” Amar staggered toward me, and this time, I couldn’t help but look at him. His eyes held mine in a firm, unyielding gaze. “Jaani, I put too much of myself and my own memories into the tree.”

Around us, the candles sputtered, their mirror shards brightening like miniscule comets before extinguishing into smoke and ash. Each time a light went out, Amar clutched at his rib cage, as if something was tearing at his heart. By now the flames had reached the middle of the trunk, writhing golden and serpentine, spitting out ash and memory.

“You must destroy the tree now!” roared Nritti. “He lied to you. I would never lie to you. Don’t let yourself be one of the many women who was fooled by him. Do not look at him, sister. Look at me. I am the one who came here to protect you.”

Each memory roared. I could hear the fire warping the voice of my past life, turning it into shrills and bellows. Voices burst from the trunk, echoing in the room. It was fire and chaos and sound. I backed against the tree trunk, the knife gleaming with sweat in my hands.

Amar’s eyes darted between me and the tree, but I refused to move. I tried to summon the tingling sensation of power, but it only buzzed weakly at my fingertips before abandoning me. The tree was beyond my control.

Amar shut his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was haggard, sweat shining on his neck. “Destroy that tree and I will be stripped of my memories. No one will remember who you are or what you mean to me,” he said, his voice rasping.

“He’s lying to you!” screeched Nritti. “You will not remember yourself if you do not destroy the tree while you have the chance. Whatever you do, do not look at him.”

The tree’s shadow lengthened, its limbs stretched forward in glaring whorls of branches. Everything loosened. Whole branches the size of full-grown men spluttered to the floor, splintering like glass. The room was spinning. All the smoke from the extinguishing memories wreathed my hair and filled my lungs. I tried to fight the dizziness, to focus on Amar’s and Nritti’s faces, but they seemed far away.

I couldn’t fade away. I couldn’t let myself be lulled to weakness out of false love. Tears streamed down my face, pooling on my neck. My lips were full of salt. No matter how I felt about Amar, one thing was true—

I didn’t trust him.

I plunged the knife into the tree, pushing all my force, my heartbreak, my broken dreams, into the tree’s thick bark. Shrieks tore through the room. I heard Nritti yelling, laughing, and it felt wrong. Her laugh … it was identical to that of the intruder in my room. Had it been her?

I need you to lead me …

Instinctively, my eyes clasped on Amar’s. He was shocked, his face pale. He grabbed me; his hands entangled in my hair even as my fingers were wrapped around the hilt that destroyed him.

“I love you, jaani. My soul could never forget you. It would retrace every step until it found you.” He looked at me, his dark eyes dulling, as if all the love that had once lit them to black mirrors was slowly disappearing. “Save me.”

The glow of the candles cast pools of light onto the ground, illuminating his profile. I knew, now, why Nritti begged me not to look at him. His gaze unlocked something in me. It was both visceral and ephemeral, like heavy light. The eyes of death revealed every recess of the soul and every locked-away memory of my past and present life converged into one gaze …

I was weightless, my vision unfocused and hazy until the memory of the woman in the glass garden engulfed me. Slowly, the woman turned and a wave of shock shot through me—I was staring at myself.


I remembered another life …

Once, my skin wasn’t covered in smooth snake scales like the naga women or striped in hide like the shape-shifting maidens. Once, my skin bled from one hue to the next, shifting to reflect the transition from evening to night. Before, I never left the riverbanks unless my skin was the cream and pink of a newborn sunset.

But something had changed … I had met someone. Someone who had seen me the way I was and had not sneered. He had seen me, reached for me when my skin was velvet black and star-speckled. I could still feel his stare—lush as obsidian, star-bright and pouring into the crevices of my dreams.

*

I remembered meeting the Dharma Raja’s gaze and wreathing his neck with a wedding garland of sweet marigold and blood red roses. Death clung to him subtly, robbing the warmth of his eyes and silvering his beauty with a wintry touch. And yet, I saw how he was beautiful. It was his presence that conjured the brilliant peacock shades of the late-season monsoon sky. It was his aura that withered sun-ripe mangos and ushered in the lush winter fruits of custard apple and singhora chestnuts. And it was his stride that adorned the Kalidas Mountains with coronets of snow clouds.

His hands moved to my shoulders, warm and solid, and his arms were a universe for me alone. He had enthralled me, unwound the seams of my being until I was filled with the sight of him and still ached with want.

“I hoped you would choose me,” he said.

I blushed, suddenly aware of my unbraceleted arms and simple sari. “I have no dowry.”

He laughed, a hesitant, half-nervous sound that did not match his stern features. “I don’t care.”

“Then what do you want from me?”