CHAPTER ONE
- VIRA -
THE DOOR WAS marked with a silver elephant.
Vira held up the magical lantern she’d rented from the merchant at the mouth of the cave. “I think this is it.”
In addition to the absurd amount he’d charged for a lamp that barely illuminated five feet of space around her, the merchant’s instructions had been vague at best—a series of hand waves she’d interpreted to mean that the entrance to the tavern was somewhere within the network of caves.
“You’ll know it when you see it,” he’d said as he closed his grimy fingers over the eight seyrs she’d handed him against her sister Riya’s objections. But after nearly half an hour of wandering in the dark without proof that there was anything here besides skittering beetles and fluttering bats, she was beginning to think the man had lied.
“This better be it,” Riya said, annoyed. “We’ve wasted enough time already.”
This entire excursion to the Adhura province had proved to be a test in patience. It took them a whole day of questioning vendors at several different markets in the sweltering heat to get a single lead on the scholar they were trying to find. It was a miracle they’d gotten this far—and that they’d survived the day without murdering one another.
As Vira reached for the handle, her heartbeat quickened. Despite her best efforts to keep a hold on her emotions, hope bloomed in her chest. Or maybe it was desperation. She wasn’t sure she could tell the difference anymore.
“This could be another dead end,” Riya warned, as though she could read Vira’s every thought.
Vira felt herself flush—first with embarrassment at her own transparency and then with irritation that her sister was treating her like a child who didn’t know any better. “I’m well aware, thank you,” she said curtly. She was the one poring over Papa’s journals night after sleepless night, piecing together arcane clues and historical fragments.
There had been rumors for centuries that there were other quarries of magic scattered throughout Ashoka, purposefully hidden by the secretive and dangerous Kamala Society. In order to find them, one had to track down the Ivory Key—a legendary object said to unlock that lost magic. And Vira had found it. She’d become the first person in five hundred years to hold that secret—only to discover that the Ivory Key didn’t lead to the answers she’d searched for her entire life. It led to more questions. More codes to break. More mysteries to unravel.
Papa had taught them the basics of cryptography, but the Ivory Key had turned out to be more complex than they’d expected. They needed an expert—someone who specialized in ciphers, someone they could trust to help them, because they were running out of leads and, worse, time.
That’s why she was here, why she’d shirked her duties as a ruler and lied to her Council
yet again, to track down a scholar she’d found mentioned in Papa’s old letters. Magic. If Vira could get more magic, she could fix everything. This was her last hope, or there wouldn’t even be an Ashoka left for her to worry about.
“I’m just trying to help,” Riya said, a small frown creasing her forehead.
Vira forced herself to take a deep breath, stuffing down her muddled feelings. “I’m sorry. You are helping. I’m just tired.”
It wasn’t a lie. Being the maharani of a dying country was exhausting. Every day her Council brought her some new problem—news of Lyrian troop movements, a part of the border wall running out of magic, protesters gathering outside the Dvar Fort.
Ashoka was a country built on magic, a resource mined from the single quarry beneath the Dvar Palace, carefully processed by mayaka—those who worked with magic—and put into objects. Magic was what powered carriages, transported messages, and lit the city. It was what protected Ashoka from invaders; it was woven into the weapons used by the military and the walls that made up the country’s borders.
Or at least it had been. As the maharani, Vira knew exactly how little was left in the quarry. Three weeks. That was all they had before the border would fully crumble, leaving Ashoka defenseless.
Finding the Ivory Key was supposed to solve Vira’s problems. Instead, it had led her to disappointment after disappointment, and she wasn’t sure she could handle another one, not when her heart was still too raw from what had happened during their trip to Ritsar.
What had happened after.
Her chest tightened painfully, but she pushed that aside too.
The door opened into a cramped cavern. Dim chandeliers cascaded from the high ceiling, illuminating stone walls that had been sanded down and carved with elaborate geometric designs. Low wooden tables dotted the room, each surrounded by a ring of embroidered cushions. Some were occupied by sole patrons sipping from a tankard of ale or wine. Others held groups clustered together, playing cards or talking in hushed voices. Lilting music emanated from one corner, where a sitar player seated on a rug-covered dais was strumming a lively
tune.
Riya cast a furtive glance around as they approached the bar. “This doesn’t look like the kind of place that many scholars would frequent.”
Vira didn’t respond, but she secretly agreed. She and Riya were dressed simply in cotton kurtas, without any jewelry or fine silk that would attract attention or indicate that they were worthwhile targets for robbery, but Vira could still feel gazes lingering on her. It hadn’t escaped her notice that the clientele was heavily armed, talwars, aruvals, and daggers resting on the ground beside their tables. She had a talwar too—a plain curved sword that she’d brought along at Riya’s insistence—but she’d never intended to actually need it.
“What’ll you have?” The barkeep’s kaajal-lined eyes flickered up impatiently to Vira and then back to where she was wiping the sticky counter with a dirty rag. It didn’t look to be making much of a difference.
“We’re actually looking for someone,” Riya said. “Sharadha.”
That earned them the barkeep’s full attention. She dropped the rag and stared at them, one hand on her hip as her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who’s asking?”
“Some old friends.” Vira put five shiny seyrs on the counter, ignoring Riya’s incredulous look.
“Sharadha doesn’t have friends,” the barkeep said. But a moment later she jerked her chin to the right, where a tunnel led deeper into the cavern. “Try through there.”
Vira heard the roar of a crowd. They emerged in a smaller cave, where people were clustered around a table. Riya elbowed her way in first, and Vira followed, standing on her toes to look over Riya’s shoulder.
It was a game of cards. On one end was a broad-shouldered young man, the heavy rings on his fingers twinkling as he rearranged his cards. On the other side was a woman who looked youthful despite streaks of gray in her long black braid. And in the middle—atop of what was surely hundreds of glinting seyrs and tolahs—was a carved wooden flute. It didn’t look to be worth much, but Vira could feel the faintest
hint of magic wafting from it.
Another cheer rose up as the young man set his cards on the table. Vira was too far away to make out what they were, but judging by the response, it was a good hand. A hush fell over the crowd as the woman leaned forward, waiting until the last second to flip her cards over.
The room erupted into chaos.
Vira barely dodged out of the way of someone’s elbow as they punched the air above in celebration. She cast her eyes around, unsure about the result until the young man slammed his fists on the table in rage, knocking his cards onto the ground as he stormed out.
The woman rose, picked up the flute, and bowed dramatically to thunderous applause. She scraped a handful of the coins into a small cloth bag at her waist and then winked. “Remember to play nice.”
That was apparently the only thing holding the crowd back, because suddenly dozens of hands dove for the money. Vira backed away in alarm, realizing too late that she’d lost Riya. She was contemplating shoving her way through the horde when Riya emerged, clutching a handful of silver tolahs.
“You went after the money?” Vira gaped at her. “Are you serious?”
“I wouldn’t have if you didn’t keep wasting ours,” Riya said, pocketing the coins.
Vira pursed her lips. It wasn’t a waste if it was actually helping them, but Riya wouldn’t understand that, so she said nothing.
Riya put her hand out to stop a passing stranger. “Where can we find Sharadha?”
He gave her a baffled look. “That was the woman who won.”
“Her?” Vira’s brows rose in surprise. Given the letters she and Papa had exchanged, Vira expected a bookish scholar who spent her time in dusty university libraries. The woman they’d seen didn’t fit that description in any way.
Vira turned back the way they’d come. And that’s when she saw him. Amrit. His tall stature would have looked lanky on someone else but was filled out by his hard-earned muscles. His striking features—his jawline, his cheekbones, his long lashes. His brown eyes always full of . . .
Vira blinked, and the world around her almost seemed to change shape. It wasn’t Amrit. It was a stranger. Someone who bore a passing resemblance to the former captain of her guard, former . . . something else. But it was too late. The floodgates in her mind had opened, and Vira couldn’t stop herself from plunging headlong into the memories that haunted her.
I wish you knew that I’ll always protect you.
Those words seemed to burn her from the inside out, and Vira had to stop walking just for a second, a hand pressed against her chest, as if that would somehow stop the pain. It was a lie, she reminded herself. Every word, every admission had been carefully constructed to pry her open—to get her to trust him. There were no hidden messages to be found in her memories, no secret promises or explanations. He’d used her and manipulated her and left her. He’d betrayed her in every sense of the word—taken the Ivory Key, abandoned her in the middle of the Koranos Mountains, and left with the same mercenaries who were responsible for her mother’s death.
And still. After all that, she felt his absence like a bruised rib—always there, always aching. And she hated herself for it.
“Vira?” Riya turned back in alarm. “What’s wrong?”
Concern laced her voice, and Vira felt irrationally angry. She wasn’t a fragile vase on the verge of shattering. “Nothing.” She forced herself to keep walking.
Riya’s eyes lingered on Vira a moment too long, but she didn’t say anything else. The tavern was more crowded now, but it was easy to spot Sharadha sitting alone in one corner, her feet up on a table, ankles crossed, a tumbler of ale in one hand. She was dressed in a simple off-white kurta and tight-fitting pants—both covered with smudges of dirt. Her sleeves were pushed up to her shoulders, revealing sinewy muscles rippling across the bronzed skin of her upper arms. A bandage was wrapped around her right elbow, the cloth stained brown with dried blood.
“I don’t have what you’re looking for,” Sharadha said, making no effort
to move as they approached.
Vira blinked in surprise at the abrupt dismissal. “We haven’t told you why we’re here.”
“I’m not in the treasure hunting business anymore.”
“It’s a good thing that we’re not looking for a treasure hunter then,” Riya said.
Sharadha took a swig of ale. “I’m still not interested.”
Vira felt panic clawing up her throat. In all the ways she’d pictured this meeting, she’d never considered that Sharadha would simply turn them away. “We have the Ivory Key,” Vira blurted, yanking a piece of paper out of her cloth bag and slamming it down next to Sharadha’s feet. Atop it she dropped a bag of coins that rattled as it landed heavily. “And we have money.”
“What are you doing?” Riya hissed.
Sharadha’s eyes went first to the bag of coins, then to the cipher, and then finally to the two of them, sizing them up like opponents in a sparring match. A crooked smile crept across her face and she dropped her feet to the ground. “Well now, you really should have led with that.”
“So you’ll help us?” Vira asked, ignoring Riya’s furious gaze. She didn’t want to hear whatever Riya had to say about not revealing their cards too early. They couldn’t afford to let Sharadha slip through their fingers.
“I’ll hear you out,” Sharadha corrected, disinterestedly pulling the paper toward her. The change in her posture was subtle but immediate. She set her drink on the table as she leaned closer to study the cipher. “Fascinating,” she murmured. “Where did you get this?”
Vira felt a surge of vindication. Sharadha—like everyone else—had underestimated her. “That’s unimportant,” she said, sitting opposite Sharadha. “Can you decipher it?”
Sharadha’s brows rose. “I would hardly call it unimportant. Do you know how many have sought the Ivory Key? Forgive me if I find it hard to believe that two children found pieces of a map no one has seen in centuries and unearthed the Kamala Society’s most guarded secret.”
Vira’s jaw tightened. She was liking this woman less and less, but she forced herself to bite her tongue before she said something she’d regret.
Riya, however, had no such qualms. “You have no idea how much it cost us children to get that,” she snapped, fury burning in her dark eyes, and Vira was struck by how much like Amma she looked just then. “Maybe we don’t need you after all,” Riya said, reaching to snatch the cipher up off the table.
But Sharadha was quicker. She slammed her palm down, holding it in place. “I didn’t say I couldn’t decipher it. You know, your father too had no sense of humor.” Their surprise must have shown, because Sharadha smirked. “You think I wouldn’t recognize Ravi’s children? Even if you do look just like her.”
Vira didn’t miss the way she emphasized her. It was the way that people sometimes spoke about Vira, as though they didn’t understand what was so special about her. She’d never heard that tone applied to her mother, the former maharani. “Papa regarded you highly,” Vira said. “He trusted you, and he said that we could trust you too.” It wasn’t exactly the truth. Papa had never so much as mentioned Sharadha’s name, but Vira needed her help.
Sharadha’s gaze softened. “I was sorry to hear about his passing. He’d be thrilled to know it was his daughters who found the key.”
Vira felt her heart squeeze just for a second. “So you’ll help?” she prompted again.
Any kindness in Sharadha’s eyes vanished. “For a price, of course.”
“More money?” Riya asked, an edge to her voice.
She folded the paper and stood up. “A favor.”
“Not interested,” Riya said at once.
“You should be,” Sharadha said. “Because I can’t help you otherwise.”
“Why’s that?” Vira asked, frowning.
“Several weeks ago, my office was raided and the thieves took all my books—books that include answers to this cipher. Now I know who took it, but I
can’t get into their hideout alone.”
“You want us to be accomplices in a robbery,” Vira said.
“Come now, Vira,” Sharadha said, amused. Vira bristled at the familiar address. “You’re not that naive. Unearthing ancient mysteries—as much as Ravi wished it so—isn’t a scholarly pursuit, nor is it a noble one. You want to find buried treasure, you’re going to have to get your hands a little dirty.”
As much as Vira didn’t want to admit it, maybe Sharadha had a point. “Where exactly are these thieves?” she asked.
“A monastery,” Sharadha said. “Up in the hills.”
“I didn’t realize there were many in this region,” Vira said skeptically.
“I see Ravi didn’t bother to teach you about the history of his own province,” Sharadha said. “Long ago,” she began, sounding every bit like the scholar Vira had believed her to be, “caravans of traders used to cross the mountains on foot, traveling for weeks with their wares from the ports on the western coast to the inland markets. To offer them safe passage and protection, the Adhura province authorized the creation of dozens of monasteries in the mountains, each situated a day’s walk from the next one. They had altars dedicated to the goddesses, but they were basically glorified inns, offering merchants a night’s rest for grain or cloth or metal—whatever they happened to be transporting. But as the roads improved and mayaka-fortified carriages became affordable, traders could pass through the mountains in a matter of days. They didn’t need these monasteries anymore, so they fell to the peripheries of history, forgotten relics of a bygone era.”
“The perfect location for criminals to take over,” Riya added.
It was more or less what the Ravens—the bandits Riya had joined when she’d run away from the palace—had done in the Swapna Forest, setting up their camp near buildings constructed by long-abandoned settlements.
“Precisely.” Sharadha looked at them expectantly. “What do you say?”
“No,” Riya said. “Find someone el—”
“We’ll do it,” Vira cut in.
“What?” Riya glowered
at her.
They’d come to Adhura because they’d exhausted all other options. Vira needed to know where the Ivory Key led, and Sharadha could tell them that.
Sharadha’s smile was bright. “All right then. We have a deal.”
CHAPTER TWO
- RIYA -
“THIS IS A bad idea,” Riya said for the fifth time since they’d left the tavern. They were nearing the edge of the city, and the paved roads built for carriages were fading into dirt and gravel that crunched uncomfortably beneath their feet. Ahead of them Sharadha was walking directly toward the dark outline of the Maghgiri Mountains.
Vira—like she’d been doing all day—ignored her. “Walk faster,” she said instead.
It was a hot and muggy night, and Riya could feel her clothes sticking uncomfortably to her skin. She was exhausted and sweaty and desperately wanted to be back in her own bed. But she didn’t trust Sharadha, and since no amount of reason had changed Vira’s mind, Riya had no choice but to go along and make sure her sister didn’t end up dead in a ditch. She doubted that she’d even get a thank-you for her efforts.
Riya stuffed down her irritation and did as ordered, quickening her pace so they could catch up to where Sharadha was turning onto an empty side street lined with dilapidated buildings and thatched roof tents. The only sign of life that remained were the two stray dogs rifling through the garbage that was left behind by the old store owners.
Long ago, Riya and her brother Kaleb had passed through this region while traveling with Papa. She remembered the towns being packed with visitors, vibrantly lit and noisy through all hours of the night. It was impossible to reconcile that memory with the quiet, abandoned street before her.
But then again, a lot had changed since her childhood. Lyria, their closest neighbor to the northwest, had invaded the city of Ritsar. Without magic to protect Ashoka’s borders, Vira’s Council had increased taxes to fund the troops needed for defense. And with fewer coins in their purses, shoppers couldn’t afford to pay for much beyond necessities. Trade had stalled and once-bustling markets were reduced to hollow shells of themselves.
It was why, two years earlier when she’d fled from the palace, Riya had joined the Ravens. Vira dismissed them as rebels, but Riya had only ever seen them as saviors. They were the ones protecting innocent citizens, stealing money back from the tax collectors for those who needed it most.
Except she wasn’t a Raven anymore.
You told me you were a Raven, not a rajkumaari. So which is it?
Varun’s voice rang in her head, and Riya felt her chest tighten. She’d made her choice. She just hadn’t expected that doing the right thing would hurt so much.
“I hope you still think this is worth it when we both die of snakebites,” Riya muttered to Vira, swatting away the moths and mosquitoes flitting around her shoulders as the two of them stumbled after Sharadha through the foothills.
“Don’t be dramatic, Riya. There aren’t any snakes here.”
“Oh, and you’re an expert
on Adhuran wildlife now?”
Vira gave her a scathing look, but she didn’t say anything else.
The Maghgiri Mountains paralleled Ashoka’s western coast, stretching from the country’s southernmost point all the way up to the capital city of Dvar. On the coastal side, the mountains were known for their beautiful port cities and picturesque villages, the cooler climate and abundant rainfall drawing Ashoka’s elite in the hot summer months. But unfortunately, she and Vira were on the eastern side of the range, where centuries of dry winds had kept the land rocky, dotted with thorny bushes and scraggly trees.
It wasn’t a steep climb, but the trail was faint, and even Sharadha had difficulty navigating. It felt like they’d been walking forever before she finally slowed in front of a stone archway carved into the side of the mountain. It wasn’t quite in ruins, but it was clear that it hadn’t been used in many years.
“In here,” Sharadha whispered.
Riya tried to quell the anxious feeling knotting her stomach as they walked into the dark cave. She didn’t like going into places she couldn’t case first. The cave narrowed into a tunnel that Sharadha had explained would take them into the heart of the monastery, where the thieves kept their stolen wares. It wasn’t a long walk, but the path curved and branched. Sharadha chose the left fork each time, something Riya committed to memory, until the passage sloped downward toward a balcony overlooking a cavern.
“Careful,” Vira whispered as they peered over the edge.
Three flickering torches illuminated the large rectangular room, shrouding half of it in shadow. It would have once been a prayer hall, but the altars to the goddesses had been converted into storage areas filled with wooden crates. Shelves full of books lined one of the walls, and in the center was a table covered with piles of weapons and jewelry that two men were sorting and carelessly tossing into one of several open crates.
Riya exhaled in relief. So far, Sharadha hadn’t lied to them about the layout or any details of what they could expect. She drew back. Sharadha’s eyebrows rose, as if to ask, Satisfied?
“Let’s get this over with,
,” Riya said.
Sharadha rifled through her pockets and withdrew the crude map she’d sketched out for them at the tavern. “Do you remember what to do?”
Riya took the scrap of paper from her. “Yes.” The plan wasn’t that sophisticated. All she and Vira had to do was follow the directions and sound an alarm that would get the thieves to leave their post, then lock them out so Sharadha could slip in and get her books.
“Good.” Sharadha looked between the two of them, as though she wanted to say something else, but she thought the better of it. “I’ll see you down there.” She didn’t wish them luck.
Riya pulled out a small glowing rock from her pocket to illuminate the map. They retraced their steps until they reached a fork, but instead of going back the way they’d come, they waded deeper into the mountain.
Riya couldn’t help speaking. “I think there’s something she’s not telling us.”
“Maybe,” Vira said. “But she’s our best shot at getting answers.”
“That’s something Amma would say,” Riya muttered under her breath. It didn’t matter what it cost or who it hurt, so long as Amma got what she wanted.
“Because she knew what it took to protect a country,” Vira snapped, a little too loud. It was the first real crack in the annoyingly calm demeanor she’d adopted since Ritsar, and Riya turned, surprised. But Vira’s mask of indifference was already sliding back into place. “Let’s talk about this later.”
They wouldn’t. She’d refused to engage with Riya in any meaningful way, repeatedly insisting that she was fine even though they both knew she wasn’t.
Within a few minutes they were approaching their destination: a large metal door that looked too modern to belong in this ancient cave. It was latched shut with a bar that required Vira to use two hands to push it aside.
Warm night air greeted Riya as she stepped outside onto the rocky terrain. The trip wire was easy to find and even easier to tug on. As soon as they triggered it, a large metal rod hidden by magic materialized above the door and swung down on an invisible hinge, crashing into the metal doorframe with a resounding clang. They both jumped as the sound echoed through the entire mountainside.
They hurried back, locked the door again, and hid in a side corridor, their backs pressed against the wall. A good thief didn’t trigger alarms, and purposefully setting one off had Riya on edge.
Moments later, they could hear footsteps echoing down the hall. Riya held her breath as the two men rushed past them. She waited until she heard the sound of the heavy bolt being pulled open before peering around the corner carefully. To her dismay, only one of them had ventured outside; the other was lingering at the doorway.
“Do you see anyone?” the one inside the tunnel called out. He had a hand wrapped around the hilt of a sword that hung at his hip, but he hadn’t drawn it yet. The other one called back a reply that Riya couldn’t make out.
She swore under her breath. They weren’t actually going to find any intruders. She had to do something, or this entire plan would have been a waste of time. She moved, but Vira’s hand grabbed her wrist.
What are you doing? Vira mouthed.
Riya tugged her hand free and silently snuck back down the hallway behind the thief. It was a risk, but she didn’t have a choice. She was nearly behind him when the man outside caught sight of her. His eyes widened as he drew his sword.
“Look—” he tried to warn his partner.
Riya shoved the thief. Surprised, he pitched forward into his friend, and Riya used the moment of distraction to slam the door shut. They pounded on the door, but she managed to throw the entirety of her weight behind it long enough for Vira to dart forward and slide the lock back into place.
They both stood there panting as the muffled cries outside faded into silence. According to Sharadha, they had less than thirty minutes before the thieves made their way around the exterior of the hill to the other entrance they’d come in through—just enough time for them to find Sharadha and get out. ...
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