The Library of Fates(13)

Sikander smiled, his voice even. “I’m merely offering you a gift. The best my kingdom has to offer.”

“If the best your kingdom has to offer is its cruelty to human beings, a lack of democratic values, slavery—”

“It’s not his gift to refuse,” I cut in, my voice surprisingly calm. Everyone in the room turned to look at me. My eyes met my father’s, but I was speaking to Sikander. “Your Majesty, I thank you for your . . . generous gift. What is her name?”

Sikander was silent for a moment. He turned to his man.

“Her name is Thala,” Nico responded.

“I will take Thala to her chamber. You said she needs to be kept . . . in darkness?” My voice was flat, unaffected.

“Answer her, Nico,” Sikander commanded.

“She’s most useful when she’s kept in darkness,” Nico sternly replied. I tried not to cringe.

“Well, that’s settled.” Shree smiled a tense smile. “Now, shall we convene to the State Room for discussions, Your Majesties?”

My father was glaring at me, but I knew I had done the right thing. Someone needed to take control of the situation, and my father was too emotional. I had never seen him like this before.

I gripped my bracelet tightly, thinking through my next steps. All I knew was that there was no way I could leave the palace with this cruel man.

I bowed before Sikander, thanking him again. I waited till Papa and Sikander and their advisors had left the room.

“I’ll have the guards escort the two of you,” Shree mumbled to me before she took off to join them.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Arjun whispered in my ear.

I shook my head. “I’ll find you later,” I said to him. Once he was gone, I released a terrified breath.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off the girl. Her thin shoulders trembled, but no one had reached out to help her. Somewhere in the palace, someone slammed a door with a loud bang, and she flinched at the sound. I noticed that her small hands were bound in rope and that she had cuts on her wrists, bruises and burns on both her arms and legs. On her left shoulder was an image—a tattoo of a swirling, living thing with tentacles. It took me a moment to realize that it was a tree. Her eyes scanned the space around her until they met mine. And even without her saying the words, I knew what they conveyed.

Please, they said. Please help me.





Six



I TRIED TO SEE OUR WORLD through her eyes, and I felt as though I were observing the palace grounds for the first time. What struck me was how vibrant and expansive they were, even on a gray day like this. Rolling emerald greens, peacocks with their shimmering train of turquoise feathers tipped with a million yellow eyes dancing in the light drizzle. Large palms swaying in the wind. Plumes of hibiscus, groves of ripe yellow guavas. I plucked one off a tree and offered it to Thala.

She looked at me as though she didn’t know what to do with it.

“You can unshackle her,” I said to our guards, and they removed the iron shackles from her feet, the rope that bound her hands together. I tried to look away from the cuts on her arms and legs, but it was impossible.

She was stumbling more than walking, so much so that the guards had to prop her up.

“Are you all right?”

I tried to hand her the guava again, and she stared at it for a long time, finally taking it and turning it in her hand.

When she looked up, I noticed her eyes were rimmed red and looked faraway. Chamak. I recognized it. I had witnessed these symptoms only in the ascetics who came the palace grounds once a year, asking for alms, blessing the palace, and occasionally delivering messages from the Sybillines, but Thala’s eyes resembled those of the saddhus—hollow and red, her pupils dilated.

I choked back the jet of emotion spouting within me. She’s just a girl, my age, in a condition that terrifies me, that no girl should ever be in. How could every type of control—over her destiny, her mind, her body—have been taken from her? I wanted to reassure her in some way, let her know that we had no intention of harming her, but I didn’t know what to say.

“We’re taking you to the Temple of Rain,” I said to her in Macedon. She squinted her eyes into the sun, a groan emerging from her throat. It was a despairing sound of resignation, as though she didn’t care where we were taking her.

I wasn’t even sure if she understood me, but I kept talking.

“You’ll be safe there,” I told her. “It’s . . . not a temple, exactly. Well, we’re not quite sure what it is. I suppose you’ll just have to see it to understand.”

She said nothing. It was only when we reached the mouth of the temple that she uttered the first words I ever heard from her.

“Theé mou!” she gasped in awe.

“Don’t be scared,” I whispered as we began to head down into the Temple of Rain, a stepwell made of stones. We descended a grand stairway, sinking through a series of carved corridors and pavilions until we could no longer see the light of day. The guards had brought lanterns with them, and the oily orange glow of fire lit up the subterranean friezes and colonnades that filled the cavern.

We quickly descended another flight of stairs, turning into a doorway. I watched her pressing her palms to the wall, feeling her way down the dark corridor.

“It’s all right. It’s dark, but you’re safe,” I said to her.