“Why do you care if I live or die?” My own father didn’t.
Latif makes a sound that might be irritation. “Your father cares for you, boy. And no, I’m not talking about the man who sired you, but the one who raised you. Your mother cares for you, too.”
“So she’s still a specter, then.”
Latif nods. “She hasn’t faded yet.”
I frown. “Faded? What does that mean?”
“Living specters remain chained to this earth only until their deepest desire remains unfulfilled,” Latif says simply. “Once that happens, we vanish, never to be seen again—even by half magi.”
While a part of me wonders what still keeps my mother chained to the living world, the thought is superseded by another, bigger question.
“If my mother is a living specter, why didn’t she come see me now?” I ask Latif. “She didn’t answer even when I rubbed the green swarna. Does it work only for you?”
“No, the swarna doesn’t work only for me.” Latif hesitates. “Your mother has her reasons for not coming to see you right now.”
Silence falls between us, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the distant barking of dogs.
“She doesn’t care about me anymore,” I say.
“Don’t be a fool, boy.”
“But you already think I’m a fool, don’t you? Calling me to the moon festival on unknown pretexts, luring me with false promises so that I bring a strange girl into the palace, sending your ten-year-old minion to me in a fog that nearly gets me killed.”
“Indu isn’t a minion. She would be offended if she heard you call her that. Besides, you wouldn’t have been killed. Gul was with you.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“I mean, why was Gul with me? Why is she so important?”
“She’s not the only one who is important. You both are. It’s why Indu told you to stick together. It’s probably why you’re drawn to each other in other ways, too.”
“Will you answer the question?” I feel my voice growing louder.
“I would if you were ready to know the truth. But I think you’ve had enough truths for one night.”
I take a deep breath that does little to suppress my anger. What does it matter what Gul is to me, anyway? My interactions with Latif have always been about business. Which reminds me …
“You said you’d get us out of the tenements if I got Gul in,” I say. “Well, she’s in the palace now.”
“Change of plans.” His voice is so smooth it’s almost as if he’s expecting this. “Get her out and I’ll make sure you and your father are safely out of the tenements.”
He barely blinks when I throw my jooti at his head—it goes right through without hurting him. “We had a deal!” I shout. “I’ve been trying and trying to contact you, but you kept ignoring me. Why don’t you admit that you lied? That there is no way out of the tenements.”
Except by joining the army. As General Tahmasp said all along.
“I didn’t lie to you,” he says calmly. “I still fully intend to fulfill my promise. But you need to get the girl out of the palace now. There are other forces at work, and she’s in serious danger.”
“She doesn’t need my help! She’s a magus. A powerful one, considering she survived a mammoth in the cage!”
“Exactly. She has drawn too much attention to herself.” Latif’s voice grows dim, the way it always does in the moment before he disappears. “Help her if you can, boy. If that girl dies, nothing else matters.”
That night, I dream of my mother again. I follow her right into the storm, to a valley littered with bones. Beyond the valley, shadows rise: the rooftops of havelis, the spires of temples, a winged creature flying overhead.
“Ma!” I cry out. “Ma, where are you?”
The wind carries her words away before I can hear the answer.
“Name?”
“Xerxes-putra Cavas.”
“Occupation?”
“I work at the stables in the palace.”
The Ministry of War has several branches across the kingdom, including one right next to the Ministry of Bodies here, in the Walled City. The officer in charge at this branch has a bald head and fleshy lips stained red from chewing on betel leaves. He eyes me beadily from head to toe. “Why the sudden change of profession?” he asks abruptly before reaching out to spit in a small steel pot on his table.
I focus my gaze at a point on his chin. “I could use the coin.” A partial truth. “Also, General Tahmasp suggested that I join.”
“Does your family know you’re here?” the officer asks.
I think of the devastation on Papa’s face when I told him last night about my decision, a look that told me I’d betrayed him in the worst way possible. “Neither I nor your mother wanted this for you,” he told me.
“Yes,” I say now. “My family knows.”
After another long look, during which I do my best not to flinch, the officer reaches for a scroll behind the table, along with a small bottle of ink. “Thumbprint and signature on the line,” he says, voice turning almost indifferent now that I’ve been deemed worthy of enlisting in the army. “Or—in your case—just a thumbprint is fine. You’ll have to go through a medical examination in a week. Make sure you’re up to the task. You’ll get details on that in a letter once you enlist.”
“Do you have a quill I could use?” I ask politely after pressing my thumb to the scroll.
The officer stares at me for a long moment. His teeth, I note with revulsion, are nearly as stained as his lips. “Hey! Hey, Pramod! Get me a quill, will you!”
I quietly sign my name with a quill that Pramod digs out of a drawer. The ink glows green for a brief moment before turning black again.
“Amazing!” The officer is still staring at me. “A dirt licker who can write. I thought you lot didn’t go to school anymore.”
I can feel his gaze as I walk out the way I came in—from the back of
