The Star-Touched Queen (The Star-Touched Queen #1)(59)

I faced the tree-blurred horizon. Somewhere behind that tangle was Bharata. The same Bharata I had abandoned to warfare. Or was it? Guilt slid up my spine.

I would soon find out.





21

THE WARRIOR OF BHARATA

The jungle zoomed past us, a flurry of brown and green branches with slants of scattered sunlight. Within an hour, Kamala slowed to a trot. Up ahead shined the familiar gates of Bharata. It was missing some stones, but remained sturdy nonetheless. I squinted, leaning forward; there were more guards than I remembered. An outdoor pavilion that I had never seen towered above us, strung with pennants and bearing a strange crest.

My father’s sigil, a lion and an elephant—for strength and wisdom—had been replaced with a fire bird arcing its way toward the sky, while below it was a small golden city. It was superficially lovely. I imagined Skanda thought it meant something meaningful, perhaps an envisioning of a kingdom soaring into the ranks of legend. But to me, it reeked of arrogance. It said, Let me abandon this city and leave it forgotten in a quest of borrowed greatness.

A crowd had formed outside the city gates, people cursing under their breath and exchanging pointed glances. We stopped some distance away from them, and as I jumped off Kamala’s back, clouds of dust coated my ankles. I never thought I would be here again. It was strange, like moving through a dream. I held out my hand, closing my eyes to feel the sun beam down on me and wash my skin in bright gold.

Hundreds of people crowded the city, but when they saw me and Kamala, they fell silent. My palms turned sweaty beneath their gaze. What was it that sadhus and sadhvis did? Did they utter blessings or stay silent?

This thought, however, didn’t seem to cross Kamala’s mind. She lunged forward, baring her teeth and shaking her mane. Half the crowd scattered.

“Effective,” I said, patting her neck.

“You’re most certainly not a sadhvi,” huffed Kamala. “You can go up to them, you know. You can ask for anything you want, and they’ll probably give it to you. Nobody wants your curses.”

“How do I curse them?” Wouldn’t be a useless skill to have, all things considered.

“Oh, I don’t know. You could set me on them?” Kamala smiled and her eyes flashed red.

I cringed. Horses should not smile.

“Can we get around them to the palace?”

All I wanted was to bury the necklace in peace.

“I can rend flesh,” Kamala huffed. “I can’t fly.”

The crowd had re-formed around the gates, still chanting. Their sweat smelled sour, their eyes were bloodshot. And their clothes … tattered things. No better than the ascetic garb I wore around my body. My father would have never let his people dress in such a manner.

“I can smell their hunger,” said Kamala softly.

I took in their hollowed stomachs and cheeks, the yellow tinge to their skin.

“I believe you.”

“It is the scent of drought and famine. An imbalance, no doubt.”

“Of what?”

“Of the worlds,” said Kamala.

The memory of the tapestry loomed in my mind. The texture of the tear that rent down the middle. Threads writhing, blackened and burning beneath them. The tapestry stretched out, engulfing and weaving the patterns of an infinite number of stories. It’s what kept the worlds in balance. The flicker of memories from my time in Naraka rushed through me. I remembered my feet sliding into the reincarnation pool and the dull warning in the back of my mind … that fleeing would leave behind a horrible tear. A chronic rift. And what better evidence than the threads in the tapestry? I looked at the crowd of people in front of the gates. I didn’t want to know how far the consequences of my actions had gone, but I was beginning to get an idea.

I couldn’t simply bury Gauri’s necklace and run. Bharata had once been my home. This earth, now dry and cracked as parched lips, had once hid me from danger. I owed it more than a casual run across its surface. I owed it whatever help I could give. My home may have been broken and shadowed, but it was mine all the same.

“Come on.” I pulled on Kamala’s reins.

“What about the Otherworld?” Kamala’s ears swiveled. “I thought you wished only to cover your cold stone in colder dirt?”

“It won’t crumble away in the time it takes us to know why everyone is furious,” I said. But my voice trembled. I knew I was gambling against time.

Amar’s plea—save me—was an urgent thing. But I had to trust my instinct to tell me what was right and wrong. I heard his voice, echoing and filtered through lifetimes. I remembered when I saw the tapestry for the first time, the gut-wrenching nausea of fighting its pull to rearrange the threads. I remembered when Amar had left me alone in its company. Then, his parting words were simple, unfettered: Trust yourself. And I would.

“Do you know when the Dharma Raja will come to the mortal world again?”

“Oh, anywhere between an eon and a blink.”

“That’s not even a remotely useful range,” I pointed out.

“It is what it is.”

“Well, would you be able to tell when he is here?”

“Yes.”

“And we could get to him in time from Bharata?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”