The Library of Fates(15)

“I have a home, a family . . .”

Carefully, gingerly, I touched her hand to comfort her. She gripped my fingers tightly.

“I will help you, I promise,” I assured her. “But you must tell me—”

She cut me off. “You will release me,” she said. “I’m sorry for what it will cost you.” Her voice didn’t waver this time, and her eyes were resolutely fixed on me.

I was taken aback for a moment. “What do you mean?”

She pointed to the key in my hand. “There’s a key. But you don’t yet know where to go. I will show you the way.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head. Her eyes were still hazy, and I wondered if she was even cogent. But I asked her again: “Why are you here? Why did he bring you?”

“It won’t matter. There are more important things. You’re about to go on a journey.”

My heart sank. “To Macedon, you mean.”

She looked away. “He loves you, you know.”

“Who? Sikander?”

“The boy you kissed in the mango grove. He’ll save your life.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up when she said that.

She closed her eyes tightly before she opened them again. “And what you’re desperate to know,” she said.

I waited.

“About your mother. Why they never spoke of her.” Her voice was low and conspiratorial. “I know the answer to this.”

The mention of my mother was so unexpected that I paused to take a deep breath. Had Sikander instructed her to say these words to me? Had he sent spies after me to catch me with Arjun? I wasn’t sure whether to believe her, to trust her. As it was, she was high on chamak.

I wore a mask of detached curiosity on my face. “You do?”

For a moment, Thala didn’t answer. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again to look back at me, I noticed that they had changed color. They were green now. I was startled at the sight of them.

Her voice was a frightened whisper. “He came bearing gifts,” she said. “Heed the warning in the gift.”

She paused and closed her eyes again, and this time when she opened them, they were the color of gold. The color of my father’s eyes that day when he looked out over the hills of Shalingar. The color of chamak in the light of the rising sun. Just the sight of them made me inch backward. I sensed a power in her that had been subdued by all the beatings, all the humiliations, all the assaults to her humanity, but it was there: She was one of the most powerful individuals I had ever encountered.

“You will recognize the signs of the attack,” she told me. “But it’s already too late. Your fate has been written. All you can do is go back and say goodbye.”

“Attack? Goodbye? What are you—”

“The animals will run loose. A fight will break out in the west. He says he wants friendship. He says he wants an alliance. Don’t believe what he says.”

My heart began to race. “Sikander? You mean he—”

“Once upon a time, I was just like you. A girl, free. You feel sorry for me now, but once upon a time, I had a family, a mother, a home. And then it all changed. You’ll understand what that feels like soon enough,” she said, and I felt the color drain from my face. “I’m sorry for it. I truly am.”





Seven



“IS ARJUN HERE?” I asked, trying to keep my voice measured and calm. Within minutes, he emerged from his quarters, dismissing his footman.

We walked the lofty corridors of the palace together in silence, our feet clicking on the marble. We observed parrots and bluebirds building nests on the rafters of the Durbar Hall, watched the way peacocks proudly wandered in and out of the interior courtyards. We pointed at the slippery movements of bright blue fish swimming across the pools in every verandah that Tippu the gardener lovingly watched after, traversing the terraced floating gardens that lined the balconies on the second floor of the palace. We ventured past the neem and walnut and lime trees that had grown into the palace compound, as though they were a part of the structure.

We pretended we had somewhere important to be, smiled and nodded to the footmen and cooks and gardeners and other members of the palace staff as we made our way past them, but the moment the door to my bedroom closed, he pressed me into a wall, his mouth on mine, the stubble of his chin nuzzling my neck, his palms on my waist, his fingers slipping up into my blouse. We kissed until I was dizzy and lightheaded. For however long it was, I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think; there was nothing else I wanted but the heat of his body against mine, the feeling of closing any space between us.

It was dark outside when I finally slipped away from his arms to draw my curtains.

“Aren’t your parents expecting you back in your quarters?”

He shook his head. “They’re still in a meeting with Sikander’s advisors. I don’t think they’re going to let out till late tonight. Is Mala going to come check on you?”

“She’ll come by in the morning.”

“So . . . can I stay?” he sheepishly asked, and I took his hand, pulling him into the bed with me.

We lay there together silently, and I felt a contentment wash over me. His arm was wrapped around my waist, my head buried in his chest, his other hand grasping a fistful of the cloud of my hair surrounding us. My body was aflame with a euphoria I had never before felt. And then I remembered Sikander, and my stomach lurched.