The Library of Fates(3)

Papa looked at me and laughed. “Or perhaps it’s just magic,” he said, and his eyes sparkled as he challenged me.

I shook my head. “No such thing.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he quietly responded, and for a moment, I was regretful of my words because a mask of seriousness transformed my father’s face again. “One day, after you’ve seen the world, you’ll understand just how special Shalingar is.”

“I know how special it is, Papa.” I sighed. “If I could stay here forever . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

“You always did speak of traveling the world, didn’t you?” he wistfully asked. “Now you’ll have the opportunity to do so.” But I could hear the lack of conviction in his voice. We both knew that this, what was about to transpire over the next few days, was not what either of us had in mind when I spoke of traveling the world.

“Sikander was a friend of yours once, wasn’t he?” I changed the subject.

If he had once been a friend of Papa’s, how bad could he really be? I wondered. I had, for the past several weeks, asked everyone I knew a variation of this question.

“They’re all just . . . stories, aren’t they?” I had queried Arjun, my best friend, the night before as we slowly walked the grounds together.

“Of course they’re just stories,” Arjun had mumbled.

“Like that thing about how he had all the advisors on his father’s council stoned to death?”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Arjun shook his head vehemently before he pressed his lips in a thin line. But his silence for the remainder of the walk didn’t inspire confidence.

¤

Now my father turned to me, and the light of the sunset caught his eyes, transforming them to gold. We looked alike, my father and I; people often told us this. I had his hands, with their long, tapered fingers, his smile, broad and easy, and his dark, wavy hair.

“Friends . . . something like that. But it’s all in the past. I haven’t seen Sikander since you were a baby. Now we’re starting anew.” The uneasiness in his voice was difficult to ignore. I assumed he didn’t want to discuss it. It had never been his way to be open about the past.

But I knew some things about Sikander and about Macedon beyond what my tutor, Shree, had taught me about the Silk Road and Sikander’s conquests. I knew that my father had first met Sikander when they were both young scholars at the Military Academy of Macedon. And that they had been friends, once upon a time, at least according to Bandaka, Papa’s advisor and Arjun’s father.

That was before Sikander took the throne by assassinating his own father and declaring himself the new emperor. After that, he battled his way through Anatolia, Syria, Phoenicia, Judea, Bactria. After his overthrow of Persia he became Sikander the Great, who led the greatest and fiercest standing army of all time. In just fifteen years, he had nearly quadrupled his territories, largely through battle. Who was he really, though? Who was he back when my father knew him?

I attempted a different tack. “Did you like Macedon?” I asked Papa.

“It’s . . . very advanced in some ways. Buildings so tall they block out the light. Giant arenas that took hundreds of years to build. They’re used for fighting: slaves fighting one another to the death. People cheering like madmen over it. Everyone has a slave, practically.” He shook his head. “They don’t believe in equality between the sexes. To question the leadership is considered a sin. And they like war. Very much.”

I was quiet as I considered that it didn’t matter anyway what Macedon was like. I would see it from my window in Sikander’s harem, living among his other wives. I wouldn’t visit the great cities of the world, or rule over my kingdom the way my father had. I would be nothing more than a prisoner in Sikander’s bejeweled zenana of toys.

I knew the thought of this sickened my father, just as it horrified me. I wanted to believe that my fate wasn’t yet sealed, but we both knew that my father’s options were limited. He could agree to Sikander’s proposal of marriage to me, and Shalingar would remain stable and have a powerful ally. Or he could refuse, and Sikander would undoubtedly take umbrage, as he was often known to do.

In fact, we were expected to be thrilled, honored that Sikander was seeking to build diplomatic relations with our little kingdom. That was Sikander’s new strategy, now that he had battled half the world. Or rather, that was the only choice left for the tiny kingdoms he hadn’t yet conquered. Agree to all of Sikander’s terms with regard to the negotiation of trade relations, developing trade routes from the east to the west, and the fate of your daughters and sons, and Sikander would be your most powerful friend.

Displease him, disagree with him, question his motives, and another outcome awaited you.

What concerned my father, beyond my own future, was the future of our kingdom. While Shalingar would have an ally in Sikander once I took his hand in marriage, would it also mean that Macedon’s ways would bleed into our own?

In just a few weeks, Arjun was expected to make the journey to attend the Military Academy of Macedon—the best military academy in the world. For the longest time, I had desperately wanted to join him, and I still remembered the day that I learned that the Academy didn’t accept girls. I was devastated to learn that the fate of a woman in Macedon was so circumscribed. There were no women on Macedon’s Leadership Council, and all the diplomats and scholars sent from Macedon to Shalingar were men. Women weren’t allowed to own businesses in Macedon. Or work, for that matter. They weren’t allowed to attend school, or walk down the street unescorted.