Kubera had smiled. The next moment an enchanted document was neatly sealed in his hand.
“Show it to your council,” he said. “And remember to tell a tale that is worthy of us.”
Vikram smiled, holding the parchment close to his chest along with Kubera’s other gift: a snake that constricted at the sound of a lie. He had named her Biju, for “Jewel,” and spent most of the hour testing her lie-detecting abilities.
“I am the most handsome prince in the world,” he said.
Biju constricted.
“Mind your manners, Biju. I’m the true heir of Ujijain now. Or something like that. Certainly not a puppet anymore.”
Biju did not constrict. His heart leapt.
“I am the most handsome prince in Alaka?” he tried.
Constrict.
“I am the most handsome prince in the courtyard?”
She did not constrict. Vikram took a look around the garden, which confirmed that he was not only the lone prince, but also the only person in Alaka’s courtyard. He frowned.
“Your sense of humor reminds me of someone else,” he said. “She’s also called a Jewel, but I don’t think she can detect a lie.”
Biju made no response except to slither around his neck and catch her tail in her mouth. He could have sworn he heard a resigned snake sigh. He turned to the entrance, his nerves dancing. Why wasn’t she here yet? Had Kubera lied? Before, his belief would have been ironclad. But in a short month he’d learned something that would never leave him:
Doubt.
“Gauri is alive and unharmed,” he whispered to the snake, praying that it wouldn’t move.
He heard a soft laugh.
“Are you gossiping about me to a snake?”
Vikram froze. Gauri stood in the entrance. Tall and imperious, backlit by the sun as if she’d snatched a handful of its rays and decided it looked better on her than the sky. Gauri had a way of shoving out the elements, scaring away the air so that Vikram felt there wasn’t enough for him to draw into his lungs.
“I would have gossiped to you about yourself, but you weren’t around,” he said, showing off Biju. Gauri looked at the truth-telling snake with a touch of envy. “Where were you? Walking the fine line between life and death?”
“As one does,” she said, crossing her arms. “And you? Last time I saw you, you had a knife in your back.”
“And last time I saw you, you had your arms around me.”
Gauri looked exasperated. “Is that the only detail you remember? You were dying!”
“I was falling on the ground.”
“… To your death.”
“To a questionable limbo of existence that was, admittedly, painful.”
She laughed. And Vikram, who had never wanted for his life to slow down but only to move faster and faster to the next thing, found himself craving to live in this second. They stood there, watching one another. He felt as if he could sense her replaying everything that happened the night before the feast of fears. The smile froze on her face, now propped up out of habit rather than joy. As she reached to brush a strand of hair from her face, a handful of crystal caught the light and refracted it, nearly blinding him. He squinted against the sudden brightness before realizing that it wasn’t a handful of crystal at all, but Gauri’s hand.
“That’s… new?” he said, pointing at her fingers.
Gauri’s mouth formed a tight line. “It will be hard to forget the sacrifice I made.” Pain sparked behind her eyes. “No glass limbs for you?”
He shook his head even as his heart thundered in his chest. Who was he to say that Alaka hadn’t replaced some part of him with glass? Maybe it was his heart. Looking at Gauri, it felt far clearer than it ever had been. Like a shard of glass. Just as translucent. Just as easy to shatter.
“Before the Parade of Fables, you asked me what I wanted.”
