thevanaraqueen falls to her knees.
But a heart broken too sharply is like a glass flower dropped.
Sift through the pieces, and one can find a weapon.
She seeks vengeance, but none will champion her cause
And if she cannot find vengeance, then she must grow it.
A BIRD WITH NEEDLE FEATHERS
The world ends, not with a snap but with a sigh
A tether cut loose: before and after, beloved and bereaved, wishful and widowed
Rich loam for heartbreak.
Richer loam for demon fruit.
A body.
A bone.
A bounty of tears.
That is how the world ends
And curses begin.
Years pass
Names are dropped and picked up again
Kingdoms creep closer to the shadows, waiting.
And a queen turned to rock waits for a kiss.
42
HONEY-SPUN FLAMES
VIKRAM
He waited for her in the courtyard of Alaka. Now that the Tournament of Wishes was over, everyone had moved. Thevishakanyas’ tent stood empty, the enchanted silk pennants lay strewn across the grass. The orchards had been stripped of their fruit—no musical instruments or jeweled apples sparkled beneath dark branches. Noyakshasoryakshinisfloated by on gauzy wings or tossed horned heads in his direction.
The quiet was unsettling, but freeing. He had imagined victory a hundred ways. He thought he might ride golden elephants into the city. Or maybe appear in a shower of coins in the middle of a council meeting. Perhaps not the last idea, for fear of the golden coins smacking him in the head.
Before the Tournament of Wishes, he knew the shape of victory—wide and casting a shadow that seeped through the pages of history—but not the feel. The feel was something glittering and urgent pressing against his bones, pushing him to make space for a new version of himself. He didn’t know how to accommodate this new Vikram, or the weightiness that came with having a former self and a new one.
Vikram had lost all sense of time as he stood before Kubera and Kauveri, watching as the stories undulated above him. Before he came to Alaka, he dared to hope that he was meant for something more. Now he dared to hope that he could shape that meaning for himself. All this time, he had expected that magic would stitch his future together. But all magic had done was show him how to stitch it together for himself.
He glanced at the enchanted document in his hand. Not even a wish was a solution. Although it was certainly a start.
“What do you wish for, Fox Prince?” Kubera had asked.
Before magic, the answer had seemed simple. He believed that the throne of Ujijain should be his and he thought that the magical tournament somehow validated that wish. But that was silly. All he had ever wanted was the potential in himself recognized. He couldn’t magically shore up those deficiencies overnight. They needed to be earned, just as he needed to learn.
“I wish for others to see the potential in me.”
