Aru wasn’t sure what to say, so she stayed quiet as Menaka seemed to work up the courage to speak.
“I cannot predict what will happen, whether the world might be remade, and what place I might have in the future. I do not know, after this war is done, whether anyone will remember who I was,” said Menaka quietly. She held out a fist. When she opened it, Aru saw a single golden earring gleaming in the center of her palm. “So will you take this as a memento? It is the jewelry I was born with when I emerged into the world.”
Aru nodded, taking the earring and carefully stashing it in her backpack. When she did so, her tambourine made an obnoxious jangling sound.
“And will you watch over my grandson?” asked Menaka, grabbing Aru’s hands.
“What?” said Aru. “Why me? I mean, he—”
“I do not know whether I will ever find the strength to see my daughter again, for each time I have loved, it has almost destroyed me,” said Menaka.
“Uh—”
Aru heard Aiden’s voice calling her. “Shah! Where are you? It’s showtime!”
“I gotta go,” said Aru, pulling away and jogging toward the portal. “I’m sorry.”
When Aru reached the opening, she looked over her shoulder. Tumburu stood in the shadows, his hands in his pockets, his horse head swiveled toward the television screens. Menaka stood alone and apart, an ethereal glow rising off her body.
Aru remembered the visions she’d seen across the floor—Menaka clutching a child to her chest, torn between the earth and the sky. In the human lands, the sage she loved forsook her because she’d been sent to weaken him. In the heavenly realms, she was not permitted to raise a half-mortal child. She’d been trapped, over and over again. But no one ever talked about that part of her story. They only spoke of her dazzling beauty, as if that’s all she ever was—someone to be looked at but not listened to.
“I’ll do it,” blurted out Aru.
Menaka’s face brightened. “I thank you, daughter of the gods.”
Aru had thought the portal guiding her back was bright and flashy, but it wasnothingcompared to what awaited her when she hopped down the last step into the Final Stage performers’ tent and looked around.
“Half an hour to go,” said Aiden.
But Aru could barely hear him. Just outside the tent, camera flashes spangled the white canvas. Aru saw someone’s shoulder bump into the fabric only for the tent to spring them backward. Reporters tried to speak to them through the open flap, each one yelling louder than the last.
“Hi! I’m here from NBC, the Night Bazaar Channel. We heard that one of you is adirectdescendant of the apsara Malini? Can you comment on this—I SAID, BACK OFF, ARNOLD, OR YOU’LL GET THE HORNS—”
“My interview! I was here first!” shouted someone else.
“But who are theotherperformers? Are they also apsara descendants? How many of you are there? WHY WON’T YOU TELL US ANYTHING? THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING—Oh no, not you, Spence. You’re doing great camera work, believe me!”
POP!
The Potatoes looked up. A square brown paper package sailed through the tent flap.
“Urgent delivery for a Mr. Aiden Acharya!” the package announced before it dropped itself with a loudthumponto the ground. The Potatoes moved closer. A note was taped to the top, written in the large, loopy, and slightly uneven letters that Aru instantly recognized as Nikita’s handwriting:
S. saw that you might need this.
The helmets should block Aiden’s hypnotic apsara stuff
so no one does anything embarrassing…again >:)
–N & S
P.S.: The tambourine? hahaha
“Amazing,” said Aru, crossing her arms. “Little sisters can troll you at any distance.”
Brynne reached for the package. As she tore off the paper, the materials within cast a bright glow around the room. Aru blinked a couple of times, peered through the packaging, and grinned.
“Helloooo, shiny,” said Aru.
