The next table was crowded with animal bones. I picked one up lightly before shivering and hurriedly putting it down. It felt like the bone was reading me.
“Those are for auguring, dikri, for scrying futures,” wheedled a matronly looking being. She had wings pinioned to her back that were dull gold and edged in fire.
“I’m not interested,” I said, thinking of my own horoscope.
“What about a love charm, then?” persisted the owner, pushing a flower carved of pearl to me. “To awaken your lover’s interest,” she added with a wink.
At this, Amar walked to the table and slid the flower rather ungently back toward the owner.
“I am her husband. She needs no charm to hold my interest.”
At the sight of Amar, the shopkeeper grabbed the flower and bowed repeatedly. We continued walking through the market when I saw a being with arms banded like a snake holding a platter of carrot halwa high above his head. It was Gauri’s favorite dish. The longer I looked at the halwa, the more I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten.
I was desperately hungry. I fought the knee-jerk urge to swipe something off one of the hundred platters of food. I was a queen now, or something like that. I had to show composure. Calm. My stomach betrayed with me a loud grumble and Amar’s lips quirked in a smile.
“Have you had anything to eat all day?”
The reek of mandrake poison stirred in my memory. Somewhere between thinking I was about to die and fleeing for my life, eating hadn’t factored into my plans.
“It seemed unnecessary,” I said drily.
“After your brush with death, your first taste should be sweet and bitter. Like freedom itself.”
I glanced back to the carrot halwa. “It’s too late for bittersweet food.”
“I can change that.”
8
THE PALACE BETWEEN WORLDS
Trees like cursive script stretched above dark plots of earth, entwining against pale beams of ivy and sprouting flowers that turned their heads to watch us pass.
“This way,” said Amar, lifting a cluster of branches.
An orchard festooned with silver trees greeted us. Amar walked through them, leading me toward a grove of five trees. The first had emerald bark, the second sapphire, the third ruby, the fourth quartz and the fifth pearl. Sparkling fruits hung beneath their dark branches.
“Pick one,” said Amar, plucking a shining sapphire.
I winced, waiting for his teeth to chip and clang against the rind. But his teeth sank into the sapphire fruit and juice dribbled between his fingers. I was still suspicious, but I reached into the pearl tree and pulled out a fat fruit with spherical markings. It was light in my hands, as if hollow. Slowly, I bit into it. The pearl fruit tasted like warm chestnut, ripe pears and rich honey. I sighed, devouring it core and stem before eyeing the other trees.
Just as I was reaching back into the pearl tree, a ruff of feathers brushed against my fingertips followed by an indignant hoot! I barely had time to jump back when Amar’s shadow fell over me and his hand encircled the small of my back.
“They’re just chakara birds,” he said in a low voice, close to my neck, close enough to drink in the scent of him—mint and smoke, cardamom and wood.
He stepped toward the tree, lifting the branches to reveal four pairs of narrowed orange eyes.
“Rather grumpy birds. They think the moon belongs to them,” said Amar. “But, irritable or not, they’re harmless. Not like some of the other things here.”
I turned to look into his face, but he quickly stepped away, revealing the awning dark behind him. No silvery branches arced in those shadows. The tangle of brambles and fallen stones had the unmistakable gloom of something avoided. And for good reason. The dark was more than impenetrable, it was sticky, as if it would devour whatever fell into its path. Something swayed in the distance, catching in the darkness. And though I wanted to convince myself otherwise, whatever hung beneath the disquieting trees looked an awful lot like … bodies.
“Not everything wants the boundaries of the Otherworld and human realm maintained.”
“Why not?”
He was silent and I wondered whether the pull of the Otherworld kept him from responding. Finally, he said, “Because not everything respects balance. Not everything wants to be contained to one side or the other. Some things crave the chaos.”
I thought back to the woman in my room, the way the darkness glommed around her, choking off all the light. Her voice needled at the back of my mind—I need you to lead me.
“We must leave,” said Amar, his voice cutting through my thoughts.
We left behind the sparkling fruits and yawning shadows and traveled back to the Night Bazaar’s slice of day. The water buffalo lumbered to Amar’s side, pushing its nose into the palm of his hand.
“Are you ready?” asked Amar.
I took in one last glance. The Night Bazaar had ensnared me. I could smell its perfume on my skin—of stories and secrets, flashing teeth and slow smiles. In this land, I was no stronger than a calf in a lion’s jaws. But I liked it. Even though I couldn’t admit it aloud, even though I comforted myself that I had no choice but to go with him, the truth was that I wanted this. I yearned to draw breath beneath a split-sky leaking with magic. And not just live within one of the other realms’ strange kingdoms, but rule it. Without answering, I lifted myself onto the water buffalo’s back. Amar bowed his head, another ghost of a smile at his lips. The animal took off at a brisk pace and my heart raced.
My head bowed against the harsh wind as we sped down the same tunnel we used to reach the Night Bazaar. When the wind died down, I turned, expecting to see the ghost-lights of its torn sky. Instead, there was only a gnarled parijaat tree. Its thick trunk clung to the hill and sparse branches twisted into the sky like wrought iron.
“Welcome to Akaran,” said Amar as the water buffalo moved down the hill and the palace came into view.
This was Akaran? After seeing the Night Bazaar, I’d expected another crowded city filled with thin Otherworldly beings and strange shops. But Akaran was empty. The hill sloped into a huge, flat gray valley. As far as I could see, there was nothing but scrubland and rock. I stared around me, but the emptiness was almost solid. There was so much space.
Akaran was a world completely alone. Elegant fountains and handsome statues paved the path to Amar’s kingdom, a sprawling palace adorned with ivory spires and silvery arches. Spirals of reflection pools next to stone sculptures of acacia trees fell on either side of us as we approached the entrance.
“This is now yours as much as it is mine,” said Amar.
Mine?
I breathed deeply, closing my eyes, stilling the tremble in my fingers. Every now and again I glanced at Amar, waiting for him to talk about the richness of his grounds or the costliness of his palace. Whenever I’d spied on a foreign royal’s introduction to the Raja’s court, the wealth of the foreigner’s palace, beauty of his queens and plumpness of his livestock always preceded his name. But Amar was different. He had said his name first and nothing after.
Once we were inside the courtyard, Amar leapt from the water buffalo. I tried to do the same, but my legs felt clumsy. Amar lifted me gently, his hands lingering at my waist a moment too long before he drew them away. My face warmed, and I was glad when someone stepped out of the shadows.
A clean-shaven man with a bulbous nose bowed to us. He was richly dressed, his brocade sherwani a gleaming silver next to Amar’s black robes. His arms were full of scrolls that he clutched at with ink-stained fingers. He looked like the studious court archivists. I looked at him intently, waiting for something inevitably strange to happen. What was he hiding? A tail? Clawed feet?
His eyes were fixed on the ground and he lifted them slowly, as if he was fighting the moment when he finally looked at me. When our eyes met, his smile faltered. He made a strangled sound, a weird mix of surprise and disbelief. I ventured a smile, but that seemed to make things worse. The man swallowed air, his grip on the parchments tightening.