The Library of Fates(32)

“The alley where we came from!” Thala yelled.

“No! It’s completely empty.” I turned to her. “We need to find a crowd.” I thought for a moment. “Follow the monks!” I pointed to the clusters of men and women in orange robes making their way through the narrow lanes of Ananta. There was a pattern in their collective movements, a procession. They were on a pilgrimage, and their destination was a small shrine on the top of a hill.

“Let’s go!” Thala cried.

We pushed past the monks as we ran up the narrow and winding cobblestone streets that led up the hill. In the distance, I could see an ornate white building with a turquoise and silver minaret. I remembered seeing it from my window at the palace.

I grabbed Thala’s hand, my feet moving as though they were separate from my body.

We ran as fast as we could, weaving between packed bodies, darting around wayward neem trees growing vertically up the terrain, clinging onto structures as though for dear life. We dodged street vendors pushing carts full of tomatoes and peppers and limes through the narrow streets.

It had never occurred to me when I looked out my window that this precarious promontory was a miniature city itself, lined with colorful homes that dotted the steep hillside like multicolored blocks tumbling off one another, pink and ochre, pale blue and sea green. Lone palm or banana trees grew from tiny squares of earth, wrapping themselves around the vibrant structures and ornate metal grills that muzzled doors and windows. Small children played with toys or dolls on the front stoops of their homes, stopping to glance up at us as we pushed our way past them.

I turned to look back. Nico and his men were behind us, shoving people in their path to get to us.

“Faster!” I urged Thala. “They’re close!”

“Every path on this hill seems to lead to the shrine. We need to lose them, or they’ll eventually get to us.”

She was right.

I took it all in, frantically searching for a place to hide. Now we were only about a hundred paces from the temple. On either side of the cobblestone path, in between the homes, vendors sold garlands of brilliantly ochroid marigolds, clay figurines of the gods. A mithai vendor was frying gold and scarlet rings of syrupy jalebi in a massive iron pot, bubbles of heat sputtering across the surface of the glistening slick. Even in my terrorized state, just the smell of it made my mouth water, and I realized that I hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

We mounted a flight of stairs and turned around the bend.

“Hey! Careful, you!” yelled the vendor of a spice store as Thala almost knocked over a pyramid of glass vessels. I looked at the rows and rows of shelves, lined with jars of fragrant spices—cinnamon sticks and crimson chili, canary-colored turmeric, grassy coriander.

“Sorry!” I cried as we turned under an ivy-covered archway into a quaint café where men and women ate rice out of small clay bowls. They all glanced up at us as we ran past.

And then I felt someone grabbing for my sleeve. I turned to see Nico’s eyes fixed on mine, his face inches away. I quickly yanked my arm back, ripping the fabric of my blouse. Nico lost his balance and tripped, stumbling into a table before him. The crowd at the restaurant scattered.

“Get them!” he yelled at his men, and Thala and I raced up the narrow streets, Nico’s men on our tail.

“Where do we go?” Thala cried, and I heard the hushed desperation in her voice.

There were five of them and only two of us, and they were getting closer and closer.

I gasped. Before us was a logjam of bodies. The movement up the hill had stalled, and there was no place we could go.

Nico’s men were right behind us, shoving bodies out of their way, gaining on us. My heart raced with terror; my mind was blank.

All I could think was that perhaps this is where the story of my escape from Sikander would end. Maybe this was where we would be caught, both of us thrown into boxes and carted back to Macedon.

And yet, some stalwart part of me refused to accept our capture. Some sense of justice within me screamed in rage at the idea of being married off to the man who had killed my father and Mala, plundered the palace, invaded my home, taken my beloved Arjun prisoner.

And Thala. I couldn’t let her be taken into Sikander’s custody again.

My eyes met those of a small boy playing with a toy horse in a tiny square patch of grass next to us. Thala noticed him too. She crouched down beside him.

“Hello. My name is Thala. My friend and I . . . we need a place to hide. Could you help us?” she asked him, an urgency in her voice that made him shrink away from her. But she continued to plead. “It would just be for a minute. We could . . . hide in your house,” she said, gesturing to his front door.

But the boy shook his head. “My mama doesn’t like me to play with strangers.”

“We’re not strangers.” Thala forced a smile at him. “We’re friends. Can’t you just let us in . . . for a moment?” She continued to beg him as I reached into my satchel and pulled out the dagger Mala had given me. It fit perfectly into my hand. I could see Nico approaching now, and I knew that I would have to kill him or be killed myself. All I knew was that I’d rather die than be Sikander’s slave. I’d rather kill.

I turned to look at the boy, realizing that he would have to witness me stab someone. He was watching me carefully, and I realized that my scarf had loosened and that my face was exposed. I tried to cover myself back up but wondered if there was even any use.