The Star-Touched Queen by Roshani Chokshi

The Star-Touched Queen by Roshani Chokshi

Author:Roshani Chokshi [Chokshi, Roshani]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9781250085481
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2016-04-25T22:00:00+00:00


17

A FINE LEGACY

As dawn crept slowly along the floor, my eyes flew open. The memory of my nightmares clamored for attention—dreams of trees incinerating, of silent chasms deep in palaces, of threads being ripped savagely from their place.

Beside me, the weight of the bed shifted. I squeezed my eyes shut, only to feel the brush of Amar’s lips against my cheek, the rough stroke of his fingers at my forehead. A humming trilled in my body, but I clenched my fists, waiting for him to leave.

Ache and unrest flooded my bones as I pinched myself to alertness. The room was silent. Amar had left. Pinned to the cushion beside me was a note that said I should rest until the evening. I crumpled the letter. I was done doing what Amar wanted. Ignoring the peacock blue sari on the bed, I smoothed down my silk nightclothes, fixed my hair in a braid and crept outside.

A Bharata soldier had walked these halls. And he had disappeared into them too. Even now, I could picture the dead. I could see Amar ripping out the threads in a bloodless slaughter. The images scalded me. Every time I blinked, all I saw was the deceit that I had welcomed so openly, mistaking it for magic, for power … for something deeper.

I willed the shadows to swirl around my feet, mute the jangling of my anklets and conceal me in case the walls were watching. Though the dead had long since passed into the south wing, their echoes lit up the walls, as if the wisps of their lives had stamped burning footprints into the floor.

Slowly, I wound my way through the palace until I stood at the entrance to the glass garden. Behind me, the windows leaked blurry sunlight onto the ground. There was no sign of the smoke and glass door from yesterday. The stonework had swallowed it whole, but even so I could feel it, like a cold shadow. It was hidden somewhere in front of me, wedged between some slice of air. I pressed my hands against the wall, searching inside myself for that spiral of power, that weird sense of calm … of summoning … and the door of the south wing shimmered.

Vast and transient. That is death. I knew because I stood on the other side, peering through a tear in the frame, and all I saw was light. All I heard was my heartbeat’s echo fluttering softly, sleepily against my ribs. All I tasted was smoke on my tongue. A dry wind carried pale ashes across my feet and the particles were so fine, it might have been like stepping over pulverized sugarcane.

I could have turned around, but I didn’t. Guilt stilled me. Who had I left behind when I fled Bharata? What had I done to them?

Life and death surged from behind the smoky portal, calling me from beyond the door.

Breathing deeply, I pushed open the door. Heat seeped through my skin and I shivered. Cold sludge moved through my veins instead of blood.



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