“There you are,” said the sage, opening his eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you for quite some time, Fox Prince.”
Vikram stilled, suspicion prickling in his spine. No one waited for him. No one looked for him. The mongoose around the sage’s neck yawned. Something tumbled out of the creature’s mouth. Vikram reached for it, his heart racing as his hand closed around something cold and hard: a ruby. The ruby shone with unnatural light.
The mongoose yawned … jewels?
“Show-off,” said the sage, bopping the mongoose on its nose.
The creature’s ears flattened in reproach. Its fur shimmered in the dark. Bright as true gold. Bright as … magic. When he was a child, Vikram thought enchantment would save him. He even tried to trap it. Once he laid out a net to catch a wish-bestowing yaksha and ended up with a very outraged peacock. When he got older, he stopped trying. But he couldn’t give up hoping. Hope was the only thing that lay between him and a throne that would only be his in name. He clutched the ruby tighter. It pulsed, shuddering as an image danced in its face—an image of him. Sitting on the throne. Powerful. Freed.
Vikram nearly dropped the ruby. Magic clung to his body. Starlight raced through his veins, and the sage grinned.
“Can’t speak? There, there, little Fox Prince. Perhaps all the words are knocking against your head and you simply can’t reach out and snatch the right one. But I am kind. Well, perhaps not. Kindness is a rather squishy thing. But I do love to lend assistance. Here is what you should say: ‘Why are you here?’”
Shocked, all Vikram could do was nod.
The sage smiled. Sometimes a smile was little more than a sliver of teeth. And sometimes a smile was a knife cutting the world in two: before and after. The sage’s smile belonged to the latter. And Vikram, who had never been anxious, felt as if his whole world was about to be rearranged by that grin.
“I am here because you summoned me, princeling. I am here to extend an invitation for a game that takes place when the century has grown old. I am here to tell you that the Lord of Wealth and Treasures caught a whiff of your dreams and followed it until he found your hungry heart and cunning smile.”
The ruby in Vikram’s palm quivered and shook. Crimson light broke in front of his eyes and he saw that the ruby was not a ruby, but an invitation in the shape of a jewel. It shook itself out … unfurling into gold parchment that read:
* * *
THE LORD OF WEALTH AND TREASURES CORDIALLY INVITES YOU TO THE TOURNAMENT OF WISHES.
Please present the ruby and a secret truth to the gate guardians by the new moon.
This ruby is good for two living entries.
The winner will be granted their heart’s wish. But know now that desire is a poisonous thing.
* * *
Vikram stared up from the parchment. Distantly, he knew he should be frightened. But fright paled compared to the hope knifing through him. That shadowed part of him that had craved for something more was no childhood fantasy gone twisted with age. Perhaps it had always been a premonition. Like knowledge buried in the soul and not the sight. True but hidden things.
The sage nodded to the ruby. “Look and see what awaits you.”
He looked, but saw nothing.
“Try singing! The ruby wants to feel loved. Seduced.”
“I wouldn’t call my singing voice seduction,” said Vikram, finding his voice. “More like sacrilege, honestly.”
“It’s not the sound of your song that coaxes out truth. It’s the sincerity. Like this—”
The sage sung no song, but a story. Vikram’s story. An image burned in the ruby. Vikram clutching the Emperor with one hand and tightly holding a bundle of blue flowers in the other. Voices slipped out of the gem: muffled displeasure, the title “heir of Ujijain” spoken around a laugh. He saw the future Ujijain promised him—a useless life of luxury wearing the face of power. He saw the nightmare of a long life, day upon day of stillness. His chest tightened. He’d rather die. The sage’s voice had no tone. But it had texture, like a scattering of gold coins.
“If you want a throne, you’ll have to play
The Lord of Treasures loves his games and tales
A wanting heart will make his day
Or you can waste your life recounting fails
But say it, little prince, say you’ll play this game If you and a partner play, never will you be the same.”
The ashram huts loomed closer and the fires crackled like topaz. The idea took root in Vikram’s mind. He’d built his life on wanting the impossible—true power, recognition, a future—and now magic had found him the moment he stopped looking. It breathed life into all those old dreams, filling him with that most terrible of questions: What if …
But even as his heart leapt to believe it, the sage’s words made him pause.
“Why did you say partner?”
“It is required of your invitation.”
Vikram frowned. The princes in the ashram had never inspired his faith in teams.
“Find the one who glows, with blood on the lips and fangs in the heart.”
“Sounds as though they would be hard to miss.”
“For you, doubly so,” said the sage. His voice expanded. Not quite human. The sound rose from everywhere, dripping from the sky, growing out of the dirt. “Say you will play. Play the game and you may yet win your empire, not just the husk of its name. You only get one chance to accept.”
The sage sliced his hand across the flames. Images spilled out like jewels: A palace of ivory and gold, riven with black streams where caught stars wriggled and gave up their light. There were prophecies etched on doorframes, and the sky above was nothing but undulating ocean where discarded legends knifed through the water. A thousand yakshas and yakshinis trailed frost, forest brambles, pond swill and cloudy coronets. They were preparing for something. Vikram felt as if he’d tasted his dreams and starved for more.
Magic plucked at his bones, begging him to leave this version of himself behind. He leaned forward, his heart racing to keep up with the present.
“Yes,” he breathed.
As if he could say anything else.
The moment split. Silently, the world fell back on itself.
“Excellent!” said the sage. “We will see you in Alaka at the new moon.”
“Alaka? But that’s, I mean, I thought it was myth.”
“Oh dear boy, getting there is half the game.” The sage winked. “Good for two living entries!”
“What about two living exits?”
“I like you,” laughed the sage.
In a blink, he disappeared.
PART ONE
THE GIRL
1
TO BE A MONSTER
GAURI
Death stood on the other side of the chamber doors. Today I would meet it not in my usual armor of leather and chain mail, but in the armor of silk and cosmetics. One might think one armor was stronger than the other, but a red lip was its own scimitar and a kohl-darkened eye could aim true as a steel-tipped arrow.
Death might be waiting, but I was going to be a queen. I would have my throne if I had to carve a path of blood and bone to get it back.