The Serpent's Secret (Kiranmala and the Kingdom Beyond #1)(31)



“You’re the one who insisted we leave Lal alone.” Neel kicked at the ground in frustration. “Why did I listen to you? A stranger! Someone who has no idea what she’s talking about! Someone so selfish she never thinks about other people’s feelings!”

“It’s not all my fault!” I shouted, my shame and horror making me defensive. “What about you? You didn’t think you should tell me you were a half demon and your mom was out to snack on Lal? Or that you two had come up with some horror-movie spell to keep her out of the kingdom?”

Neel lifted the two spheres onto his shoulders without another word. But his jaw was working like he was chewing and swallowing down bitter emotions.

“Look, Neel, I’m sorry,” I said, blinking back tears. “I’m so sorry. For your brother, for Mati, your mother, for everything.”

Still, the prince said nothing.

“Do you hear me? I’m sorry! I’m going to help make this right—I promise!”

“Don’t you get it?” Neel’s eyes were shining with water, but he ground his words out with a fury that startled me. “You can’t do anything to make this right! Nothing will ever be right again!”





The silence was painful as we walked back to the main part of the palace. Neel set a fast pace even though he carried both the golden and silver spheres, and didn’t look over at me once. My emotions slingshotted between rage and guilt. How dare he blame me? I thought one minute. How could he not? I thought the next.

We walked down a marble hallway decorated with shields and curved swords. The ceiling sparkled with gems set in patterns to look like stars, moons, and swirling galaxies. There were lacy cutouts in the walls that let the breeze waft through, and I could see one after another fountain-filled courtyard stretching off in either direction. At the end of this hall was the throne room, and in front of the throne room stood a pair of moustachioed guards in tunics and baggy pants. The swords in their belts glittered. But they didn’t stop us, instead just bowed to the prince and let us through.

Before the royal audience chamber was a reception area separated from the throne room by a curtain. There were a bunch of people crowded there—merchants and customers arguing about who cheated who, nervous villagers waiting to complain about their landlords, courtiers in silk saris and tunics just milling around for no apparent reason. The glittering curtain parted and a gray-haired man in regal clothes, gold earrings, and miles of gold necklaces came out. He bowed to Neel, adding a kind of unnecessary set of hand waves.

“Your Royal Highness, welcome home.”

Neel inclined his head. “Lord Bulbul.”

“I am the Royal Minister of Sweets,” the elderly man said to me with a flourish, before he caught full sight of me. Then I saw his expression change into disgust. Man, what was this dude’s problem?

In the meantime, the guard parted the entrance curtain and Neel walked through, leaving me behind with Lord Bulbul. As I watched the prince’s retreating back, the hollow feeling in my stomach grew. To make matters worse, I noticed the minister guy was still staring at me. Following his gaze, I realized there was a gloppy mess on my beautiful tunic that looked as if I’d been playing with tar. To top it off, there was a bunch of long rakkhoshi hairs stuck in it.

“Eww.” I tried—pretty ineffectively—to clean myself off with the cloth that the guard supplied me. Unfortunately, I just smeared the stain even more over the silk top.

It was only then I realized that Lord Bulbul wasn’t bothered by my clothes, he was grimacing at the cobra mark on my arm.

“A bad omen,” he hissed, spitting in my direction. “An evil eye has touched you.” The minister backed away. He looked like he wished he had a bunch of garlic to ward me off.

This would have been a good time for my half-monster side to kick in, I thought, so I could smite this guy to death with an evil glare or something. But instead, I just stood there feeling small, and not particularly smite-y. Or snaky. Neel’s mom had called me a moon-chickie. Maybe I took more after my biological mom? I could only hope. Although what a moon maiden was like I had no idea. And I’d never heard of anyone moonbeaming someone else to death.

Finally, the guard just pushed me along. There was nothing else to be done but to follow Neel into the throne room.

I kept my hand over my scar, held my breath, and prayed no one would notice me. I didn’t feel any more regal now that I’d found out about my biological parents. In fact, I felt like an ordinary sixth grader from New Jersey masquerading in pretty clothes (that I’d already ruined).

In front of me was a long, carpeted aisle lined on both sides with all sorts of jabbering lords and ladies of the kingdom. Everyone was decked out in blinding color combinations—magenta and kelly green, turquoise and orange, violet and hot pink. The men were in turbans, chains, and earrings; the women in saris embroidered with gold thread and real pieces of glass, their dark hair threaded with heavy jewels. They were flirting, arguing, eating, laughing. Everyone, even the pretty ladies, seemed to be talking with their mouths full. No one seemed particularly interested in what anyone else had to say, but really interested in hearing their own voices. I shouldn’t have been nervous about anyone noticing me. A woman in a chartreuse sari and magenta blouse belched delicately, but no one gave me a second glance as I walked toward the royal dais.

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