“It is good to see you, my daughter,” she says. “For years, I wondered how you would turn out.”
“Are you talking to me, Goddess?” I ask, surprised. Or have I been mistaken for someone else?
The goddess smiles. “Many years ago, a woman lost her daughter to an illness. In protest, she came to my temple every day for a month. She fasted; she prayed. She cursed me for taking her daughter away from her and claiming her too early for my own. She surprised me with her dedication, pleased me with her spirit. And so I granted her a boon: a daughter for a daughter. My child for hers.”
I know, without being told directly, that she’s talking about my mother. About me. My hands curl into fists.
“Your daughter, am I?” Sarcasm is probably not the best tone to adopt in front of a goddess, but right now I’m too angry to care. “If I’m really your child, then why didn’t you ever come to see me? Why didn’t you help us when the Sky Warriors came into our home?”
The goddess’s eyes are sad, even though her smile does not falter. “Your mortal heart must think me cruel. For staying away from you all these years. For stoppering your magic since the day you were born.”
“You curbed my magic?” I ask, stunned. I recall the years of insecurity and taunts, the deep shame I’d always felt at not being able to access a power that seemed to hum in my veins. “Why would you do such a thing to me?”
“I had to, my child. So much power in a newborn … you would have drawn attention from the get-go. And then there was your birthmark to contend with. To survive and fulfill the prophecy I revealed to Raja Lohar’s priests, you had to grow up first. You had to remain undetected until your mind matured, capable of distinguishing good from bad, right from wrong. I did not want you to take your power for granted or use it irresponsibly.
“So I forced your magic back inside your body, not allowing it to emerge except when you were in desperate need or felt like you were in danger. Two years ago, you begged me for help in the stable. It was the first time you called on me—not for yourself, but to help a mare in need. I allowed you to open your mind and whisper to Agni, to all other animals.
“Also, you had just lost your parents. I knew that if I didn’t help you then, I would lose you. I needed you to have some hope in magic, to keep going. In Javeribad, I watched you from time to time. As a neighbor, as a beggar, sometimes as an animal. Earlier this year, I turned into a shvetpanchhi and watched the way you kept trying to whisper to me and form a bond, even when I plucked out your hair.”
“That was you?” I recall the red-eyed bird in the schoolroom at the Sisterhood’s house and try to ward off a chill.
The goddess smiles again, which I take as a yes.
“I listened to your talk with Juhi in the schoolroom. I realized that you would go to the palace, regardless of the strength of your magic. That’s when I knew you were ready. Bit by bit, I relaxed my hold on your powers. My real goal was to see you use death magic with care and intention, which you have learned to do. You can now perform these spells whenever your mind is still, in a perfect state of calm.”
My mind, for now, spins like a top, each revelation more dizzying than the next. “I’m dreaming,” I say. “All this can’t possibly be true.”
“Not all dreams are true,” she accedes. “But not all are false, either. Think back to everything that has happened till now, daughter. Judge for yourself what is true and what isn’t.”
I take a deep breath. Fine, I think. So maybe this isn’t really a dream. Maybe I am really seeing the sky goddess, and what she said is true. But then …
“What about that time in Chand Mahal?” I ask. “When Cavas and I turned invisible? How did that happen?”
The sky goddess’s face lights up, her laughter as brilliant as raindrops. “That wasn’t something I had planned for. That was all you, my girl. And the boy you’ve chosen for your mate.”
My mate? What in Svapnalok … Heat rushes through my cheeks. “Hold on. You didn’t send Cavas to me?”
“Not everything that happens in this world is written by the gods. We meddle at times, of course,” the goddess admits. “But I had nothing to do with Cavas’s entering your life. That happened through chance and circumstance. His fate became inextricably linked with yours when you chose to protect him in Chand Mahal and combine his magic with your own. You must, as that living specter said, stick together if you want to survive.”
Her words do little to ease the torrent of questions in my mind, though I limit myself to one more. For now. “Cavas wants nothing to do with magi. He wants nothing to do with me. What makes you say that we’re mates?”
“You must not judge him too hastily for words spoken out of anger or mistrust. Neither humans nor the gods behave the same at all times. Duality rules the world you live in. Illness walks hand in hand with health, evil hand in hand with the good. Injustice has a similar journey; wherever it goes, justice must follow. It’s a perfect circle, you see? Like this chakra I spin in my hand.
“The other gods and I agree that Ambar is where injustice first tipped the scales—beginning with Rani Megha’s edict against non-magi, followed with Raja Lohar’s escalating brutalities against his citizens. As the mother of Ambar’s first queen, I took responsibility for this and made a prophecy to the king’s own priests. A revolution is needed, and it will be an Ambari girl
