Even as she uttered the question, she didn’t know why she cared. Why she even bothered to discover.
“Why did the girl who gave you that silk die?”
Years later, Aasha would remember this as the moment when she knew silence was not invisible. One could see it by looking at the shape it left behind, like an impression of shadows. She saw silence in the way the light pulled back from the space where she and Zahril sat, as if it were carving out a place of darkness.
In Bharata, Aasha had seen a thousand expressions of surprise. Eyes widening, lips parting, brows lifting. She’d seen men and women grow pale or turn red, goose bumps erupting on their armsor nails turning white from digging into skin. But Zahril’s expression did not change. If anything, it had gone flat. Affectless. It chilled Aasha.
“She died because she loved me, and I loved her,” said Zahril.
Her gaze did not lift to Aasha’s. Aasha knew that there was no reason for her to continue, but Zahril shifted, uncomfortable. As if she couldn’t just let that truth exist without context.
“This was early in the reign of the raja who united the cities that became Bharata. This was a time when the Otherworld had not yet closed its borders. The flow of goods and services between the two worlds was not a strange thing. The rival empress of Ujijain sent avishakanya.They’re the worst kind of creatures. Human children snatched from their mother’s breast, thrown into a dingy harem where they are force-fed poison and brainwashed into becoming some of the deadliest assassins the worlds have ever seen.”
Aasha forced herself to take even breaths. She could not afford any panic to reveal her true nature.
“They can kill with a touch, you know. And it was during the…” Zahril steadied her voice. Her throat bobbed. “… the dance. A courtesan that we did not recognize came to the table. All she had to do was kiss Sazma, as one would kiss a sister. Joyously. I was not looking closely, too reliant on the protective amulets. Too dazed from a recent victory. I didn’t even see that cursed blue star on her throat until Sazma dropped to the ground.”
Zahril closed and opened her hands, as if she were testing her strength. She started rubbing her palm violently.
“But I got that thing,” she said fiercely. “I opened her throat right there on the banquet. Her blood splattered.”
Aasha looked at her face. For the first time she saw that those scars were not ropy twists of skin. They were like lashes of rain against a window.
Not rain,she thought. She corrected herself.
Blood.
“But it was not without its benefits,” said Zahril.
Her voice was acidic. It could have melted glass. She raised her hand. There, on the outer curve of her palm, Aasha saw it:
A blue star.
“It wasn’t simply the touch of that monster’s blood, but the—” She cringed. “Taste.”
Aasha took sips of air. She felt light-headed. But if she gulped down the air, Zahril would see. And notice. Worst of all, she mightwonder.Wonder about the scarf Aasha wore around her throat despite the warm air. Wonder about the speed with which she completed any lesson that had to do with poison. Wonder what lay beneath that cloth.
Because now she knew why every time she tried to read Zahril’s thoughts, she was met with a foggy wall.
Zahril had not simply touched the venom of avishakanya.If that were so, she would have died on the spot. Aasha knew of only two ways to remove avishakanya’s poison from someone’s body. Either anothervishakanyacould sense the threads of poison and draw it out like a great net. Or the person touched must drink the blood of avishakanya.Both earned immunity from poison. Like Gauri. But only one rendered someone wholly immune to avishakanya’s abilities.
“It has never happened,” hervishakanyasisters would croon. “No one has ever guessed our secret.”
But they were wrong.
It was clear that even Zahril didn’t understand how it had worked. If she did, maybe she would have hung thevishakanyalike meat from a hook. Turned Aasha’s blood into a precious elixir, and sold it to every king and queen in danger of the poisonous courtesans.
Aasha heard the words.Creature. Vile. Monster.
They echoed inside her thoughts, sprouting thorns that were far more venomous than any poison in her veins. It was as final as death too. If Zahril knew what she was, she would have never let her into her palace. She would have never let her eyelids flutter shut when Aasha had placed that food upon her tongue last week. It was such a small thing… that flare of trust. And yet, nothing had ever been more precious to Aasha.
Before, the emotion she didn’t want to name had felt distant. Something beheld underwater. But she felt it now—the rush of it—just as the possibility of it ever coming true shattered in front of her.
Want.
She wanted Zahril. Wanted to trace her lips with her own, to listen to her grumble, to catch her fingers between hers.
To thank her.
