“Have I ever praised your eloquence?”
“No. But you have my leave to start at any time.”
We walked through a garden of ice where snow drifted slowly upward. A white tree pressed skeletal fingers against the sky. Around the edges of a winter pool, twelve men and twelve women with haggard faces and wasted limbs stroked their reflections.
A wall of gold roses parted at the end of the garden path. Standing at a podium, with her back to the entrance of an ornate palace, a tall, spindlyyakshinieyed us. Gossamer wings slipped from her shoulder blades, fluttering in the windless air. Vikram placed the ruby before her and she smiled:
“The Lord of Alaka, Keeper of Treasures and King of Kings, sends his greetings and welcomes you to the Tournament of Wishes.”
17
COLD HONEY, CAUGHT MAGIC
VIKRAM
In Ujijain, the council had been quick to teach him who he was. At first, they had showered him with little slights, so small that when he was younger, he hadn’t even recognized them. But enough tiny sharp jabs can cut as deeply as any knife. When he was twelve years old, the council brought him into an amber room on the far side of the palace. The Emperor never visited this room, they told him.
“Secrets are very powerful, young prince,” said one of the council members, a man with a curved nose and chipped emerald eyes. “They make you dance.”
At the center of the room stood a dais for shadow puppets. This was his favorite part of every festival held on the grounds. He loved watching a story bloom to life with nothing more than bits of paper and sticks. A strong puppet wearing a crown danced onto the screen.
“This is a prince,” said a council member.
Vikram had clapped his hands, delighted. “Like me?”
Silence.
“No,” one said. “Not like you.”
“When you do not have the right blood to rule, the burden becomes very heavy.…” said another council member.
A shadow puppet limped onto the screen, something heavy bowing and breaking its back. Vikram had frowned. This was not the story they usually played.
“You see, young prince, this is you should you take the burden of that crown. But we can help,” they said. “We can make it so that you’ll stand tall. Like the other puppet.”
“But I… I am a real prince. Father says—”
“Whatever your father may say, he knows the most important secret about you, little prince. He knows you are not his blood. We know the truth too. And do you know what happens when a secret like that is no longer a secret?”
One of the council members grabbed his chin, jerking it toward the screen. The broken puppet crumpled.
“So you see, little prince?” sneered the council member. “We have a secret. Do you want to stand tall—” The strong puppet popped onto the screen. “—or not?”
Vikram had spent the rest of his life fighting that image. But the council had been right. Secrets did make people dance. And he had made it his calling to know every single secret there was about Ujijain, until he could hold them in his fist and force the people around him to dance. But it was never enough. His own secret mercilessly tugged his strings.
The moment he spoke his secret truth before the gate, his heart sank. He had expected that Gauri would fix him with the stare he’d grown up with all his life. But she didn’t. Understanding filled her gaze, and the force of it knocked the wind out of his lungs. He hadn’t realized, until then, how much it mattered that she didn’t see him the way everyone else did. And when she parted with her own secret, he understood. Threads had strung them up and tugged on both of their limbs. All this time, they were both just trying to cut themselves free.
The attendant led them down a path of marble and honeycomb chambers. At the end of the hall, a group of Alaka’s magical attendants gasped and whispered behind their hands.
“—so pleased, so pleased!”
“The Jewel of Bharata!” hissed one excitedly.
“Oh,” huffed someone in disappointment. “I thought it was anactualjewel.”
“And there’s the Fox Prince! They’re here!”
Vikram bit back a groan. He was getting tired of that nickname.
