As we make our way into the palace complex, I see the first four rulers of Svapnalok intricately carved into the pillars and arch that make up the inside of the Moon Door, their heads bent in supplication. Overhead, the gods and goddesses perch on clouds, serene smiles on their faces as a Sky Warrior shoots down a peri from the air, his atashban breaking one of her wings. I think of the peri I saw today, the terrible scars on his back, and turn away, slightly sickened.
“Be careful of the magic here,” Cavas says. “It can be strong. Tricky.”
I’m about to ask what he means when I’m suddenly hit by a cloud of perfume so intense, so delicious that it feels like eating rose-flavored ice shavings or a chandrama on a two-moon night. The scent seeps into my skin, my veins, my very bones. If I let it, it will lift me into the air. My feet move of their own accord, the red gravel path giving way to smooth sangemarmar tiles that feel cool to the touch, even through my jootis. I’m tempted to take them off and walk barefoot, to see if this is the case, when Cavas grips my arm, pulling me harshly to the side.
“Careful,” he says before I can snap at him. “Keep to the path’s edges.”
I look back at the path I’d been forced to abandon and saw something that I’m sure wasn’t there before.
A black-tailed shvetpanchhi, similar to the one I knew in Javeribad, an arrow speared through its breast. Flies buzz over the bird’s corpse; it looks like it has been freshly killed.
“The princes like to hunt. Sometimes without magic,” Cavas says.
I try not to vomit. “I didn’t … I didn’t even see—”
“Tricky.” His voice is oddly gentle. “Remember?”
I look toward my own feet, at the hem of my borrowed ghagra, which is now caked with the dirt from our journey, and am suddenly grateful for its very ordinariness. When I look up at the palace again, something about its beauty shifts, like a crack in marble, or a scar marring otherwise smooth skin. I force myself to look away. Cavas averts his eyes as well.
“That’s the entrance to the royal gardens,” he says. The smell of roses—the sort my father always wanted to grow—wafts out from beyond the arch engraved with flowers in different colors. The trees are much greener here, their leaves untouched by the red sand that smears everything in Ambarvadi and the Walled City, including the skin under my clothes.
“And that’s Rani Mahal,” he says, pointing to the building ahead of us. “The king and the princes live with their servants on the other side of the garden in Raj Mahal.”
“What’s Raj Mahal like?”
Cavas raises an eyebrow; I must have sounded a little too eager. “Even if I lived there, I wouldn’t be able to tell you,” he says. “Besides, I rarely ever go to that side of Ambar Fort.”
A secrecy spell, then. Just as I’d suspected.
“Do the queens ever get to see the king?” I ask, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “Or does he prefer hiding from them, too?”
“It’s not a bad idea to remain hidden in this palace.” The corners of Cavas’s mouth turn down in a grimace. “Speaking of which … you’ll need to be careful. Occasionally, a prince or a Sky Warrior can take a fancy to a servant and force them to do things they don’t want.”
“It’s good that I have my daggers with me, then.” By the time the words slip out, it’s too late to snatch them back. Way to open your big mouth, Gul.
Instead of looking surprised or eyeing the bundle I hold so tightly in my hands, Cavas merely laughs. “Oh, yes. I forgot whom I was talking to. You can take care of yourself.”
I am suddenly aware of everything: the sweat matting strands of hair to my cheeks and forehead, the body that my mother always called too sharp, too thin. Too girlish to ever be womanly. But Cavas does not really look at my body. He’s staring at my face, his gaze pausing at my lips. Focus, Gul, I scold myself. You haven’t come here to roll in the grass with a boy.
“You mentioned the princes. How many are there?”
A blink. Whatever softness I saw on Cavas’s face now disappears behind a scowl. “There are only three—all Rani Amba’s sons.” He pauses. “You know, you could always bind with a prince if everything else fails. That’s one way to meet the king. He’ll have to bless the binding.”
Was that a joke? With Cavas, I can never tell.
“I? Bind with a rajkumar?” I ask innocently. “I am far too simple for that. I am, as someone once said, more along the lines of an ordinary thief.”
There’s a long silence, in which Cavas stares at me. Was that a flicker of amusement in his brown eyes? The lightest touch of a smile on his lips? I’m so busy trying to figure out his expressions that I might not have even noticed the footsteps pattering on the ground or felt the sudden change in the air if Cavas’s face hadn’t hardened in warning, a blur of color appearing right behind him. A small girl dressed in a bright-blue ghagra shot through with threads of indradhanush, the gold dust on her round cheeks making them glow.
“What are you waiting for?” My voice is loud. Sounds cruel to my own ears. “Get back to work!”
“Ji.” Cavas is better at hiding his feelings than I am. With a bow, he turns away, walking past the hedges surrounding the palace and disappearing around the bend.
The girl, who appears to be no more than six or seven, is still staring at me. I give
