But he’s not Cavas. Unscrupulous as I have been this whole time, I cannot bring myself to fake affection for one of the few people who have shown me kindness in this deceptive place.
“Yet, to you, I may very well be Sonar,” Amar says, forcing a smile. “Isn’t that right?”
“Rajkumar Amar, it’s not that. It’s…” My voice trails off. What do I say? That I like him—but can’t imagine kissing him?
“We cannot help who we want. Or who we love. I’m attracted to you, Siya; I’ll admit that. But I also know when to step back. I don’t like taking what isn’t freely given.”
I’m sure he can see me blushing. “But surely Raja Lohar would release me from the binding if I asked him to. I’ve won my freedom at the cage. Why the need for a death duel?” I demand. “Do you want the king to die?”
“Of course I don’t!” he says. His head turns this way and that, as if scanning our surroundings, and for the first time during this conversation, I realize he looks afraid. “Under ideal circumstances, I don’t want the king to die. But I also know my father.
“As a boy of five, I asked him for a toy—the model of an Ambari foot soldier that could walk and talk. My father had the best conjurers in the land make it out of gold and firestones. It was beautiful, as big as a kitten. Then, he had me and my brothers brought before him. He smiled at me and then tossed the toy onto the paisley rug in front of him. ‘Win it,’ he said.
“Sonar got to the toy first, as always. I watched him break off the soldier’s arms and legs as my father and his courtiers laughed in the background.”
Amar’s face is taut with memory. “So you see, Siya, he is not the sort of king who will let you go if you simply ask him to. He relishes combat, thrills in it. As I’ve grown older, I’ve seen the damage my father has done to this kingdom and his people. For all the power I supposedly have as a prince, I have done nothing except play the role of a useless bystander.”
His voice grows bitter now and, for the first time, I sense the undercurrent of an anger that’s years old. “You were the one who reminded me again of the Code of Asha. Of what it means to be honorable. My mother considers dishonor to be worse than death. So did the kings and queens of old. If my father dies in the duel, then he dies. You will not be blamed for it.”
“What about Raja Lohar’s successor?” I ask. “Yuvraj Sonar will never pardon me.”
Amar shakes his head. “Sonar may be the least honorable person I know, after my father, but as Ambarnaresh, he will be forced to uphold the law. The law on death duels is pretty clear.”
Yes, but laws can change, I think. Before Lohar came to power, no girls were hunted for their birthmarks. It wasn’t lawful to kidnap anyone or kill entire families.
The sky goddess’s warning echoes in my head again, mingles with what Amira said about tyrants. For years, I didn’t want to think or consider what would happen once I killed the king—if I even came close to it. If I did succeed, I didn’t expect to survive.
You must be a leader when all hope is lost.
But I have never wanted to be a leader. I have never wanted anything except to avenge my parents and stop the king’s senseless kidnapping of marked girls.
“I don’t need to challenge the Ambarnaresh to stop him from binding me with the yuvraj,” I tell Amar finally. “I won my freedom at the cage. I can leave the palace right now, and no one can stop me.”
“Yes, you can leave,” he agrees. “But my father and brother can be determined. They will track you down, and also track down the people you love. Have you no family to speak of?”
I picture them in my mind—my parents, Juhi, Kali, Amira—and am grateful that they are nowhere near this place. “None whatsoever,” I say.
“What about that stable boy?”
“What stable boy?”
The buzzing in my ears recedes. Overhead the dove hoots, a strange gurgling that sounds like someone being strangled. Amar’s eyes never move from my face, which I struggle to keep straight and unaffected.
“Be careful, Siya ji,” he says finally, his tone formal again. “The palace has eyes everywhere. And I am not the only one who notices things.”
31GUL
Moving around the palace as a free woman should be a lot easier than it was as Queen Amba’s serving girl. Yet, after the king’s pronouncement about my binding to Sonar, I am suddenly surrounded by more people than I want, including the girls I once shared a room with in the servants’ quarters. Girls who taunted me now push one another out of the way to curry favor: offering to braid my hair, wash my feet, scent my bathwater with jasmine oil.
The morning after my encounter with Amar in the garden, I find a package waiting for me in my new room. Inside it: my second dagger, along with a brief note that says: You might need this.
I feel my skin flush hot and then go cold. There’s no doubt in my mind about who sent the package. Prince Amar: the most honorable man in Ambar or the best liar I’ve ever met. I still don’t fully believe in his intentions. Yet, if what he said about the old law and death duels is true, then I have the perfect excuse to commit regicide—and not be blamed for it.
For now, I’m grateful for the reassuring weight of the daggers in my hands, relieved to see them glow green in response to my thoughts. It’s dangerous
