“Clever prince,” laughed Kubera. “Only a month of your fleet-footed human time.”
“My lord, how do we… which is to say what exactly are you asking of us for this trial?” I asked. “Will we fight? Trade riddles—”
“You seek the wealth of a wish,” said Kubera. “And how does anyone achieve wealth? Do they cut throats and slit the heavy bulges of a merchant’s purse? Do they breed kindness like a plague and collect smiles instead of coins? What is it worth to them? Do as you will.”
That answered absolutely nothing. How would our trials be judged? Everything that came out of Kubera’s mouth was its own riddle. I’d felt this way before with Skanda every time he spoke around a lie. When I bargained with my brother, I had to know exactly what he wanted or the price I paid would be too great.
“May I ask you something, Your Majesty?”
Kubera tilted his head. “Yes, little jewel, go ahead.”
“Why do you want us to compete in this Tournament? What do you win?”
“I win a story,” said Kubera, smiling slowly. “And that treasure is infinite and will change and grow wings. The world is entering a new age. After this game, there will never again be a Tournament of Wishes. The Otherworld will close its portals. It will smile at the human realm, but nothing will pass its lips. Those who play our Tournament and live to tell the tale will let us breathe in that new age. With a tale, we will not simply exist as figures in stone temples, all our myths static and told and fixed. We will live. Passed between mouth and mind and memory.”
Kauveri clapped her hands. “You sound so ominous, my love. I think you’re overexcited.” She spread her hands and a thin mirror of water pooled and widened between her palms. “The key to immortality is in creating a story that will outlive you. Each tale is its own key, hiding in plain sight beneath all the things we want and all the things that eat away at us.”
A ruby flashed in the water mirror, glinting and bright as the invitation to the Tournament of Wishes.
“Your first task is to find one half of the key to immortality,” said Kubera.
The image disappeared. I didn’t know whether to bow or run, thank them or scream. Find akey? It wasn’t even clear whether that was an actualtangiblekey or not. Kauveri reached forward and cupped my face. Her eyes flickered from smoky quartz to brackish brown, like a drained riverbed.
“We find you through your hearts, you know,” she said softly, stroking my cheek. “So bright and earnest. I almost envy you, for there are so many things I would wish for.” Her eyes flashed. “Or maybe I just wish to want as you do. Perhaps I shouldn’t. Desire, after all, is such a poisonous thing.”
She drew away her hand. Where she touched me, my skin felt icy and damp. Vikram’s expression sharpened.
“Enjoy the amenities of the palace, dear contestants,” said Kubera, his teeth unsettling and sharp in the bright room. “And please indulge in the festivities of our Opening Ceremony. On the new moon, we like all manner of enjoyment.”
19
THE FEAST OF TRANSFORMATION
GAURI
The light faded. Once more, Vikram and I were left staring at an impassive rock face. I looked down the hall to see people laughing and singing on their way to the Opening Ceremony festivities. Vikram’s touch on my arm jolted me back to the moment. Pale lights had sprung up along the walls, illuminating our faces. Gone was the usual lilt and mischief in his eyes.
“I didn’t know,” he said, his gaze intense and unwavering. “If I had any idea that only one of us would be able to return, I would never have kept that from you.”
“I believe you,” I said. “But we have a month, Vikram. We can search for a way out even as we try to win. You heard Kubera. He likes to break his own rules.”
A smile flickered on his face as he let go of my hand.
“I think you’re right.”
“May I have that in writing?”
“I’ll write whatever you want if we win and get out of here.”
“Fair.”
The sounds of the Opening Ceremony called to us from beyond the hall.
“The first half of the key to immortality,” I said, sighing. “How much of that is just a riddle, or a symbol of one thing standing in for another?”
“Magic likes to be philosophical,” said Vikram.
“Magic should consider being less pretentious.”
