“This is the Small Council of Alaka,” said the attendant. “We will be watching and reporting back to Lord Kubera.”
They made their greetings. Vikram caught none of their names.
“Where are the other contestants?” he asked.
“Everyone inside Alaka during the Tournament of Wishes is a contestant.”
“Even you?”
“Even me,” said the attendant. “But the rules are different for Otherworldly beings. Human players are the only ones who can win or lose. The only thing we lose is time and we have plenty of it.”
“So how do you win?” asked Gauri.
“No one really knows,” said the attendant, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Even those who are judges don’t quite know what the Lord of Treasures looks for. He simply asks us things. Like what color a person favored. Whether they were smiling. What color the sky turned when they laughed.”
“Sounds irrational,” said Gauri.
The attendant’s face darkened. “Nothing he does is without reason even if we do not understand. But your tasks will be different,” said the attendant. “You are human, after all. And that is the nature of the game. The Lord of Treasures believes that the quest for power is a thing of loneliness. The game reflects that.”
“Loneliness?” repeated Gauri. “I thought we were fighting together.”
“Of course,” said the attendant. “The Lord of Treasures would never separate lovers. He is too devoted to his wife, the Lady of Prosperity and Wealth, the Kauveri River.”
“Lovers?” said Gauri.
Vikram elbowed her. Several of the council members’ expressions slid into suspicion.
“Are you not?” she asked, her voice sharpening. “That would change your ability to play as partners.”
“Of course we are,” said Vikram drily. “Do we not look wildly in love?”
“Not particularly.”
“What’s her favorite color?” asked a council member.
“The color of my eyes,” said Vikram quickly.
“Yes,” said Gauri woodenly. “They are so very… brown.”
“And her favorite food?”
Vikram slipped his arm around Gauri’s waist. She stiffened. “Council, is true love really so severe that you can measure it in questions about someone’s preferences? Our love is the kind that can’t be quantified.”
A couple of people sighed. But the attendant’s suspicion sharpened. She frowned, glancing at a piece of parchment. That did not bode well. He caught Gauri’s eye, one eyebrow half raised. What he saw in her face stopped him. She lookedfurious.But not with him. With what she was about to do. He didn’t have time to think. She only turned her head to his, but he felt the movement pinch the world. The people at the edge of the room disappeared. She leaned forward, pulled him to her roughly and kissed him.…
The rational part of him knew this was a display for the attendant. But every other part of him couldn’t care less. He threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her closer. Her kiss burned in his bones. And maybe it was the magic of Alaka or maybe his mind was splintering from everything they’d gone through, but he would have sworn she tasted like cold honey and caught magic.
He drew back. Her eyes fluttered open. She looked shocked. This close, her eyes were black and endless. In that stolen moment, a strange thought drifted to him. When he lived in the ashram, reading poetry aloud was a common pastime. He had spent hours listening to how the pull of certain people would supposedly make the world stop. Now he knew it was wrong. The world hadn’t stopped. The world had just started to churn and breathe and live.
Gauri cleared her throat and stepped out of his embrace. A mask of calm slid onto her face. She turned to the attendant and said:
“We prefer not to have an audience.”
The attendant looked away, her whorledyakshiniears tipped in pink.
“This way to your rooms, please.”
Songbirds filled their room. The walls rustled, a living thing thick with iridescent plumes. The softest musical notes bloomed in the air. Notmadesounds from crafted instruments, but elusive harmonies—growling thunder and silver rain, bird chatter and tree sway.
