Couldn’t you?
The second trial had begun.
32
A BELLYFUL OF SNOW
VIKRAM
The world ended not with a break, but in a blink.
One moment, her body had been a column of fire against his. The next, she had disappeared into the baths. He’d slumped against the door, breathless. His gaze, not knowing where to travel, had ventured to the sky beyond the window, where wispy clouds carried the scarlet stain of dawn. The sight had jolted him. That blink of awareness—it’s a new day—flashed in his head. One blink later, and an empty, snowing hall filled his sight. His knees hit frozen dirt. Goose bumps pebbled his skin. He blinked. Breath knotted in his chest, leaving him gasping as his mind feverishly gathered scraps of observation—a kiss at the hollow of his throat, a shard of sky peeled back to reveal a new day. Snow in his eyes. A cold fire burning down to a new truth:
The second trial had started.
Cruel and swift.
His heart felt as if it was left dangling. He paused, pushing his fury out of the way. If he wanted to return to Gauri—and hewanted—he needed to focus. Vikram forced himself to a stand, racking his brains for Kubera’s warning.
It is a fight through fear…
… it is like having no tongue to taste victory and filling your stomach with snow…
Above him, a net of cobwebs formed the sky. Silken threads laced together, spangled with frozen rain like diamonds. It would have been beautiful, but he could feel the cold down to the root of his teeth. The light from those suspended droplets was as harsh as a knifepoint, and the air tasted rusty and dry. Like blood and dust.
He took one step forward. Ice cracked beneath his feet. He shivered. Gauri had taken off his jacket, a thought that would have warmed him if not for the frost climbing over his shoulder. No sandals covered his feet. The frost burned. He took another step. A sound, like a slide of rocks, lit up the world. He looked up to see something encased in glass spinning before him. It was large, as tall and wide as him, and it was shaped like a chrysalis. Vikram cursed. He had no weapons. How could he win against fear if he couldn’tfightit?
The chrysalis spun around to face him. It cracked down the middle, splitting with a clammy unclasping sound. There, standing in all his splendor, was his father, the Emperor Pururavas. Puru smiled, his face crinkling with warmth. Vikram stepped back, away from the illusion of his father.
“Son, you’ve done so well,” said his father. “Merely speak and let me know that you want the throne and it is yours.”
His father held out his hands and a miniature Council of Ujijain nestled in his palms, staring up at Vikram expectantly.
Vikram opened his mouth, but not a single sound rose out of his throat. He was mute. He clawed at his skin, trying to scream. Trying to speak. Nothing but air whistled from his teeth.
“What’s this?” asked his father, tilting his head. “Your tongue is your greatest weapon, Fox Prince. It is the thing you’ve shaped your life with. Will you not speak and claim your throne?”
Vikram looked up, shocked. His greatest fear taking shape in front of him—
He had no voice. No power.
Puru’s face disappeared, replaced with the pet leopard’s head. Blood flecked her muzzle. Flat animal eyes stared down at Vikram, full of taunting.
“Well,” said the leopard with his father’s voice. “You were always a weak thing. Now you can’t speak. In that case—”
It lunged, tearing free of the glass confines.
Vikram ran.
Another fear sprang from the sky. Gauri. He skidded to a halt, heart wild with hope. But then he saw the ghostly shimmer of her skin. Another illusion. Vikram should have known. After his years spent manipulating the council, no two fears bore the same face. This was a fight they’d endure separately.
“It was so easy to fool you,” she laughed. “I wanted a wish and now I have your heart and your empire. I wonder what it will be like to break both. Or maybe I’ll show you some of that elusive mercy after all and cut you down where you stand. Speak, dear prince. Go ahead. Or I’ll show you my famous mercy.”
He tried. Over and over, he tried. But the words escaped him.
Gauri raised a sword high above her head. Vikram slipped where he stood, just barely avoiding the killing blade of his phantasm fear. He clambered to another stand, feeling the press of bodies all around him. His mother hung in the air, spinning and sightless. A collar of frost circled her broken neck.
“I died for you,” she said. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”
