The Star-Touched Queen (The Star-Touched Queen #1)(57)

Airavata bowed his head. “Poor thing. Poor being of secrets and nighttime. There is nothing you can give me that I would ever take willingly.”

“What do I need to do?”

“I do not know. I only know that I cannot let you in. There is something unfinished that you carry with you. Rid yourself of it and you may enter.”

The elephant regarded us patiently, not breaking the exchange. I sensed that he was hiding something, but he wouldn’t say. And I wasn’t going to press him. I could tell, from years spent battling Mother Dhina and Mother Shastri, when an argument or a rationalization was useless.

I opened my mouth to say something, but Kamala spoke first.

“Then give us a cloud bridge. To get back to the other side. There is more than one way into the Otherworld.”

“We’re just going to turn around?” I asked incredulously.

“If you know the area where the Dharma Raja will be, I can sniff out his location,” said Kamala.

“How?” I asked.

“When death is close I become alive…”

I stared at Kamala. I had already given her my hair and pledged her a bite of my skin. I knew she was bound to help me. But it never struck me that she might do so voluntarily.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Why do I do anything? Why do I hate beets or lust after the feeling of hair in my mouth instead of blood? Maybe I like the thought of being filled. Of being less empty,” said Kamala with another ghoulish grin. “Maybe I am bored and your company is a funny thing. Your energy is a strange one. You are a pillar of salt I want to lick and break, but save and love.”

Where would I even go? I couldn’t chase false horizons hoping it would somehow land me in front of him. There had to be a specific place, somewhere he’d be drawn despite himself. Amar’s words floated back to me:

I love you, jaani. My soul could never forget you. It would retrace every step until it found you.

Retrace every step …

Death always visited his familiar haunts. Blood-damp stretches of battlefields, sage-sharp mats of midwives’ huts, rain-slick rocks of riverbeds. But maybe there was another place he would go. A place that, once, had meant something to us.

I fished out the onyx stone filled with two memories. I could use it to find my way back to Amar. Back to the Night Bazaar. Back to Nritti and her ice and honey words. Back … to myself.

Airavata batted his ears. “And what do you expect me to do?”

“We need that cloud bridge.” I turned to Kamala. “When we get back, there’s something I must do, and I hope that will tell us at least where the Dharma Raja will be. And then we can use your … talents … to get us all the way.”

“Delightful,” murmured Kamala. “I have not been so excited since a massacre twelve years ago. All those bodies. So delicious.”

Airavata bowed his head in assent.

Hooking a cloud between his curved tusks, he began to comb it. A billowy vapor formed a mist over the ocean before flattening into a uniform stretch of white, dotted here and there with iron and purple storm clouds. I reached for Kamala and swung myself onto her back.

Gently, I kicked my heels into her side and we took off onto the cloud bridge. I had thought the cloudy material would be soft, like running on sand or fresh grass, but the cloud bridge was as hard as stone. Airavata walked beside us, sinking ever deeper into the waves until only his head was visible. His eyes twinkled, a knowing glint in his eye. But if he had a secret to tell or a thought to give voice to, he would not share it with me.

And with that, he sunk beneath the water. As Kamala raced over the bridge, I leaned over, reveling in the occasional spray of seawater. Tears burned in my eyes, but I wouldn’t let this failure set me back. I had to succeed. I clutched my mother’s necklace tight around my throat, praying it would give me strength, and looked around me. On my left, I could see what the ocean looked like at night. Its waves were higher, the crests of its ripples stretching far onto the shore. I caught glimpses of luminescent creatures bobbing just under the surface. Occasionally, a dorsal fin cut the water. On my right, sunshine capped the waves gold. Fish as green as parrots wriggled by the cloud bridge and twice I saw a limpid pink jellyfish.

Where was Amar? I turned back to the shore. Already the beach seemed like a distant gray line. I drew out the bracelet of my hair. With my memories came the love I had always felt for Amar leaving me heavy and weightless at once. I hated that I didn’t tell him that I love him. And I hated how those memories—though fleeting—felt like wounds reopened. But even then, I found hope. My heart had not been false and that knowledge was unshakable and scrawled on the secret joints of my soul, like a spell that kept it whole.

“Are you weeping, young queen?” asked Kamala.

“No,” I lied, “the salt is stinging my eyes.”

“Pity,” grumbled the horse. “I have not tasted tears.”

My whole body felt worn out from tension and I closed my eyes, my arms wrapped around Kamala’s neck as I fell asleep. In my dreams, I danced with Amar. We spun in circles to the heavenly music of the gandharvas. We danced around a wide courtyard filled with colorful birds until I stumbled forward, my arms spread out to brace my fall. I cried out loud and my eyes fluttered open—

“We are here,” said Kamala.

The ocean remained, but the sky above was a normal hazy gray-blue. Before us, a great jungle unfurled dark green leaves in invitation. I rolled my neck. Whatever peace I had found in sleep vanished. All I could feel now were my aching muscles. My skin reeked of salt water and my hair was whipped around my face. I glanced at Kamala and bit back a gasp. Her once thin flanks bulged with muscle and her coat gleamed with soft white hairs. Even her eyes were now a dark crimson instead of the rheumy white from earlier. Kamala plodded forward carefully, occasionally warning about low branches.