I peek out the window and into the darkness below. The drop must be at least two hundred feet to the palace grounds. I instantly take a step back. Glass shards and old daggers stick out from the top of the pink sandstone boundary surrounding Ambar Fort, separating it from the Walled City. Apart from the window and the door leading to the ramp, there is only one other door, with a sign that says STAIRWELL IN DISREPAIR. DO NOT USE TO AVOID INJURY OR DEATH.
Right. Of course. Then again, if I did care about injury or death, I wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t be in this palace at all.
I push the door open, revealing a steep staircase that disappears into the dark, moonlight pouring in from an overhead window. There aren’t any candles or lanterns, so I try magicking a lightorb. After a couple of failed attempts, I give up and make my way down.
As the sign said, the stairs are in bad shape, the stone crumbling in places. There is also no railing to prevent me from falling into the darkness below, only a slippery stone wall on one side. My foot brushes something in the dark—a furry something that squeals as it topples over the edge. I press myself to the wall, blood pounding in my chest and my ears.
Great. At this rate, I’ll probably fall to my own death before even seeing the king.
If you fall, you will float. The voice in my head sounds a lot like Ma. You have magic in you, remember?
For some reason, the thought calms me, and I slowly make my way down, one step at a time. Long moments later, just when I think the stairs will lead me nowhere, the ground beneath my feet changes textures—from cool stone to warm earth. Moonlight glows at the end of a short passage that leads outward. I duck underneath a stone ledge, squeeze between two hedgerows …
And hear birdsong.
A nightingale perches on the branch of a banyan tree, its voice breaking the quiet of the night. Nearby, nightqueens bloom in a shrub, the fragrance growing stronger the farther I step into the palace garden. It must be the garden. Nowhere else in Ambar have I seen trees this green or felt grass like this, a dewy carpet under my feet.
Beyond the trees, a shadow moves. I duck behind a tall hedge, glimpsing briefly the silvery tip of a guard’s helmet. Voices murmur, slowly rising in crescendo.
“Queen’s curses,” one of the women says, “where are Radha and Laila?”
“Probably still sleeping in the barracks. You know how they are.”
“Well, I’m not waiting anymore,” the first guard replied. “They should have been here when Sunheri first appeared in the sky.”
“We’ll get into trouble for leaving our posts!”
“If we get into trouble, so will they! They’re not Sky Warriors—just ordinary guards like us. I’m reporting them. This is the fourth time they’ve been late like this.”
I hold my breath, feel it ease out only when I hear their footsteps moving away, the creak of the garden gate shutting behind them. My daggers, I know, lie somewhere beyond the garden gate, in the bushes. I hold my breath, hoping the gate isn’t locked or magically sealed.
I brush a finger lightly against the gold grille. It creaks open with a slight push, the sound so loud that I freeze, wondering if it will bring the two guards running back. But no one comes. Ahead of me, the marble pathway leads up to Rani Mahal, gleaming in patches where the moonlight hits it from behind the clouds.
I locate the bushes where I tossed the bundle and, to my relief, find the glass daggers, still hidden exactly where I’d left them, a bloodworm crawling across the hilt of one. I brush the insect aside and hold them to my chest, reassured by their presence, even though I know I now have to look for another hiding place.
Keeping them in the servants’ quarters is out of the question—apart from my cot, there’s only a large cupboard that I share with the other girls, and the floor underneath is tiled. It will have to be somewhere else—a place I can access easily without being caught by a guard. I look both ways and slip back into the garden, closing the gate without further incident.
“Now where to put you?” I whisper.
The nightingale chirps, as if in response. I decide that the banyan tree is as good an option as any; the mud underneath it is dark, untouched by grass. A memory surfaces: my mother covering me with earth on a similar moonlit night.
You will not let our sacrifice go in vain.
No, Ma, I won’t. I slowly rise to my feet, throat tightening. It’s only a matter of time.
21CAVAS
I think of Gul in the dark of the night, long after Papa falls asleep. I think of her the day after, upon hearing the other stable boys talk of an altercation between a serving girl and the princes. I wonder how long she’ll last—if she will eventually give up her real name, and mine, as the one who helped her sneak in.
It’s not the only reason for my worry. Latif has disappeared after our last encounter, not showing up no matter how hard I rub the green swarna. He’ll come, I try to assure myself. He’ll keep his promise. Gul, on the other hand, is best forgotten, a girl synonymous with trouble ever since the day we first met. So I don’t understand—or perhaps don’t want to understand—why the strange tightness in my chest eases when I see her today, a whole week after I sneaked her in, a few paces behind Princess Malti.
I drop to one knee. “Shubhsaver, Rajkumari.”
“Shubhsaver, Cavas.” I sense amusement in Princess Malti’s high voice and find it when I look up,
