The Star-Touched Queen (The Star-Touched Queen #1)(62)

“Then it is settled. You will be my guest,” said Skanda.

“What about me?” muttered Kamala in my ear.

“And my horse?”

“And the horse,” said Skanda, with such false graciousness, I almost considered letting Kamala eat him.





22

EONS AND BLINKS

There’s nothing quite as strange as having an old and familiar haunt explained back to you in an alien language, with unfamiliar words and false skins stretched over each place like a new blanket. Skanda and his retinue of yes-men escorted Kamala and me through the grounds, asking us to bless things. I tried to act spiritual, but I wouldn’t consider it a rousing success. When Skanda asked me to make an offering that would bring him happiness, I threw an offering on Varuni. The goddess of wine. And when Skanda asked me to prophesy about the future of his reign and his legacy, Kamala urinated on his foot.

Skanda led us through the gardens, his gaze fixed on a pretty attendant who was constantly—although reluctantly—handing him a goblet brimming with some liquid dark as blood.

The gardens were a ghost of their former glory. My father had spent years tending these orchards, walking through them with his hands clasped behind his back. Years ago, there had been mirror-lined fountains to catch the sun. The orchard had been so illuminated that each new blossom wore a golden nimbus. There had been fish in inky ponds, shimmering iridescent beneath the water’s surface, lively moons in miniature. There had been thousands of trees heavy with jewel-bright fruit. I knew. I had climbed those trees, plucking fragrant guavas and devouring their rose and saltwater flesh right there.

All of that had changed. Bharata had changed. The air was leeched of all warmth, but that didn’t make it any less dry and dusty in my throat. The trees had been reduced to mere spindles. Someone had strung pennants in them, but they hung limply in the windless air. My throat tightened as I stared at the place that had once been so familiar. If Bharata hadn’t believed in ghosts when I lived beneath its walls, then it certainly believed in them now. This place, this city looked carven and gaunt. When we stood in the garden, Skanda dismissed everyone. Even Gauri, despite how stubborn she was about never letting us out of her sight, caught his mood and left.

“This is where my father once instructed me,” said Skanda, pointing to a familiar row of now desiccated neem, sweet-almond and fig trees.

Scolded, more like. I resisted the urge to laugh. “It is rare that a ruler would spend time in the company of his offspring. No doubt you are quite blessed, Your Majesty. What lessons did he impart?”

“He once told me to remember that the illusion of power is just as great as actual power,” he said slowly.

I stiffened. He knew I was no sadhvi.

“You understand my predicament,” said Skanda in a wheedling voice.

Kamala cast me a sidelong gaze and whinnied, pawing at the ground. She didn’t need to say any words of warning. The moment Skanda spoke, my eyes sharpened.

“Tell me what I should understand,” I said.

Skanda let out a long breath. “Times are very different for the realm than what they might have been once upon a time. My father died valiantly in battle. After that, people lost faith. There has been a war raging on the outskirts of Bharata long before I became the ruler of this realm. At one point, we had the upper hand. My father invited the war leaders here for a wedding.”

My hands clenched. “What happened?”

Skanda shrugged. “We don’t know. One minute the girl was there, the next minute she wasn’t. It made the leaders furious.”

“What happened to her?”

Skanda snorted. “Who knows? Who cares? She escaped all this.”

“No one remembered her?”

“I believe she had some horrible horoscope, one way or the other. I cannot remember. But horoscopes have gone out of fashion. No one cares about those things anymore. The stars have lied so much to us.”

I didn’t know whether his words were more comforting or dismal. The Bharata I knew had fixated on the abstract language of comets and star patterns. Listening to Skanda felt like examining an old scar. I saw the wound Bharata had left in me, but it was a relic of something time and magic had sewn together. If Bharata could have changed over so many years into some entirely different beast, then maybe I had too.

“The people have not seen a sadhu come through our palace walls in years,” said Skanda. “And I know for a fact that you are no sadhvi.”

My head jerked toward him. “Sire, I—”

“No need,” said Skanda. “Didn’t you hear me? I don’t care if you’re a fraud or not. The illusion is enough. I haven’t seen my people this excited in years. I’ll pay you whatever you want, just make sure you put on a good show. In particular, silence my sister. You already met her.”

“What exactly has she done wrong?” I tried to keep the protective edge out of my voice, but Skanda’s gaze turned flinty.

“She wants to volunteer herself on a useless reconnaissance mission to find out what happened to a handful of our soldiers.”

“Were they important?”

“They were elite members of the service. But new ones can be trained. Anything, and anyone, can be replaced,” he said, falling silent. “Even me.”

I regarded Skanda. He wasn’t as dumb as he seemed. He was, even though I hated to admit it, a little perceptive. If only he wasn’t so lazy. Perhaps he really would have made our father’s legacy something noteworthy. But I could sense his weakness. He was scared. He was selfish. And that was a dangerous combination.