Her chin tilted up and her black eyes filled with the sky. For a moment, she looked as if she were made of light. Vikram caught himself staring and turned from her sharply. The Otherworld was playing tricks on his sight.
The Lord of Treasures must have a foul sense of humor to have set him up with the enemy princess. He thought the promise of a wish would keep her from killing him, but she wanted nothing to do with magic. Even now, she was looking for a way to get out, scanning the Night Bazaar like a predator stowing away information for later. If Bharata wanted her dead, then why did she want her throne? The callous part of him thought she simply wanted a toy she no longer had. Another part of him suspected there was more to her. Who was this girl who softened beneath a sky full of magic and hoped that the city she’d stepped inside traded on dreams? Vikram straightened his shoulders. Forget it. He didn’t need her life story. He needed her partnership in the game or else he couldn’t get into the Tournament of Wishes. She had to be it. He’d felt it the moment he’d thrown the ruby to her, like a thread snapped into place. But how could he make her want to play?
As they walked, tents leapt in front of them, shaking their wares: golden fruit that grinned, splitting down its middle like a smile (“for when your speech must be comely even when your heart is a rotten thing”); a chain of star fragments, each one humming with celestial song (“for temporary wisdom and brilliance”); the ghungroo ankle bells of an apsara dancer (“guaranteed to bring the wearer beauty … seller-shall-not-be-responsible-for-mistaken-affections-from-less-compelling-potential-lovers”); a tray of teeth taken from a makara (“aphrodisiacs for the lover seeking a bit more fight and bite in the bedroom!”); and more.
The vanaras first purchased a jar of heartbeats from a woman with no eyes. Gauri fidgeted. The apple still hadn’t left her hand. She was staring at the path they’d walked down, as if plotting an escape.
“Very useful in battle,” murmured the yellow one. “Pour it down your throat and you may get a mouthful of last words.”
“How do you harvest heartbeats?” asked Gauri.
“You snip them from the chest while a child loses his footing, or a new bride hears the footsteps of her husband outside the threshold of their bedroom. Humans waste their heartbeats,” said the woman. “Why, girl, do you wish to make a trade?”
She opened her mouth to speak but the vanaras pulled their lips back from their teeth and hissed: “No. She does not.”
Next, they marched them through a tent full of thousands of bolts of silk. Vikram strained against his manacled wrists to touch them. There were silks crafted of apple blossoms and a golden net of whirring honeybees, bolts of river water where fish bones drifted through the waves and threads of birdsong hanging in the corner. The vanaras haggled viciously over a cloth sewn of shadows.
“I’ll give you the shadow cloth and throw in a cursed brooch if you’ll give me the handsome human boy,” smiled a thin young woman with needles for teeth.
Vikram froze.
“Do I want a brooch?” asked the yellow vanara to the gray one.
Please say no.…
“You do not want a brooch.”
Vikram sagged against the chains, relieved. The woman shrugged and handed over the cloth. As they walked away from the tent, they crossed a booth of strange-looking weapons carved from crystal. Gauri tensed. When the vanaras pulled them, she sucked in her cheeks, feet planted. Was she going to try to topple into a table of weapons? He watched her expression narrow. Yes, Yes, she was.
The moment she sprang up, the vanara in front of them snapped his fingers. Gauri froze in midair.
“Bad beast,” he snarled, yanking her out of the air and pulling her chains until she stood upright. “Walk. Or I’ll cut off your feet.”
She walked.
Last, the vanaras dragged them to a platform in the night section of the Night Bazaar. Twelve women stood on the dais. Blue stars shone on their throats, and impossibly bright flowers covered the stage. One by one they withdrew their veils. The twelve women were so beautiful that every single person in the audience sighed. Even Gauri raised a disbelieving eyebrow. The women looked like temple carvings, distant and perfect. Some had the silky complexion of burnished gold. Some had skin the deep blue of a peacock’s throat, and some had no skin at all but scales. The only thing the women shared was the blue imprint of a star at their throats. Gauri’s eyes widened. Vikram stared at them … a word danced at the tip of his thoughts. Something that made him step away from the women. Gauri drew in a sharp breath.
“Vishakanyas,” she whispered.
That was the word he remembered. Vikram shuddered. Most of Ujijain treated them as rumor, but his father had told him that his uncle had been felled by the touch of a poisonous courtesan. She had been sent as a gift by an enemy kingdom. One day later, the uncle was dead and the courtesan had disappeared. A single touch would kill a man.
“You recognize them?” asked the yellow vanara, impressed. “That makes sense that you would recognize your own. They started out human.”
Gauri looked horrified. “They used to be human? Do those women even want to be vishakanyas?”
Vikram stared at Gauri. Most of Ujijain’s court treated women like fashionable baubles, easily traded and replaced. His mother, a former palace singer, had been one of those discarded fashions. The moment the court discovered she was with child, she was sent away. He’d known only a few royals who considered the lives of those outside their courts.
Gauri opened her mouth to speak, but the shrieking cheers of the audience drowned out her words. A vishakanya had selected someone from the crowd. A handsome musician ascended the platform and sat before her.
“Are they going to kill him?” asked Vikram.
“They can’t kill us,” said the vanara. He nodded at them. “Well, you, certainly. And her. There is no better food to a vishakanya than human desires. And don’t look at me like that, rude girl. You won’t meet your end with them. We’d rather save the pleasure of killing you for ourselves.”
“Then why did you bring us here?” she spat.
“To witness their last performance!” shouted the other vanara. “Tomorrow they will disappear for the Tournament of Wishes—”
Vikram’s expression brightened. What if they could follow the courtesans to Alaka? But his expression must have given something away because the yellow vanara started laughing.
“You’re not the only man who wishes to be spirited away with them, boy. But you cannot fool their magic into taking you.”
Gauri raised her head sharply, her gaze flying to Vikram. His gut twisted. Poisonous courtesans would be at the Tournament?
“While they’re away, no one will be able to send them to the human realm and end the life of a foul or unpleasant king, and that means no demonstrations,” sighed the yellow vanara. “No pleasure.”
On the stage, the vishakanya sang and stroked the musician’s neck.