“Like you, I am not known for kindness,” she said. “But I am known for vanity about my own importance, and your question appeals to that.” I bit back a smile as she braced her elbows on her knees and tapped her lips. “When I dance, I think of… stories. I can’t read any of the tales written in stars and inked across my skin. But I think about how we retell them a thousand times over. And when I dance, it’s like pouring ink over a thousand tomes and letting people start anew.”
“Retelling them,” I repeated slowly. “I understand that. Every day I decide a story.”
I told her about the Tapestry. I told her how a single death could change the outcome of a hundred lives. That duty—to move between the fixed and fated moments—weighed on me, but there was more than just sacred purpose in the responsibility. I didn’t have to walk along mortals to know the weight of their dreams, and even though they did not know what they entrusted to me, I was still honored with the task. When I finished talking, she eyed me like she knew a secret.
“I hadn’t realized we were both creators.”
I laughed. “I am no creator.”
“Are you so certain?” she asked, tilting her head. Violet bloomed around her neck, and for the first time I had no wish to see night. I wanted to stay in these stolen hours between sunset and true dusk. “You created this beautiful garden. You create a new tale with every ending. That sounds like the role of a creator to me.”
I had never thought of it that way. There was something freeing in the way she spoke, the possibility of it all. I envied her. If I stood by her side, how different would the world look? Between us, theshatranjboard lay forgotten. Faint stars bloomed across the dusky purple of her arm. She followed my gaze and frowned.
“I have to go now,” she said. Perhaps I was deluding myself, but she sounded reluctant.
“This has been… enlightening.”
“That’s quite the opposite of what I do,” she said, gesturing at the darkening length of her body. I tried to look away from her, but my sight kept snagging on the way her full lips danced on the edge of a grin. Or how I’d never seen hair as dark as hers, lush and starless as an eclipse.
I dragged my eyes up to meet hers and found her stare questioning. Curious.
“Pity our game went unfinished, but I’ll take my leave of you,” I muttered quickly.
Her hand brushed against my arm. Her touch was cold and burning. Just as quickly, she withdrew her hand. But she stayed close.
“Tomorrow, I think Nritti will be keeping me company from sunset to dusk.”
“Who?”
“You don’t know her?”
“Should I?”
She seemed stunned by this. Nritti, as it turned out, was anapsarawho had earned the nickname the Jewel of the Heavens. They were friends.
“I see. Then I suppose—”
“Come at night,” she said, the words spilling from her.
“I knew you’d want to see me again.”
She leaned closer, placing a cold hand against my chest. My heart raced. She brought her lips to my ear:
“Or perhaps I just want my other presents,” she said. “If you remember, I did ask for the moon for my throne and stars to wear in my hair.”
She drew away, but did nothing to increase the distance between us. Mischief flickered in her eyes. Cruel queen, indeed.
“I have not forgotten a single word that has passed your lips.”
“Is that so?” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m glad my words were memorable.”
I reached out, my thumb just barely grazing her lip. She stilled as I bent my head to her ear:
“It wasn’t the words.”
***
When I left, I left with the taste of her laughter and the sound of her thoughts. I left with the scent of her hair clinging to my skin. I left imagining the world seen through her eyes. A world of stories folded quietly between stars, where the ink of night poured star-touched dreams into the world and whispered to the earth of all the things it could be the next day.
