The Library of Fates(7)

“Typically, things that come at a price are by definition not a gift,” my father intoned, his finger resting on the sharp, golden edge of his thali, the platter filled with mounds of sumptuous food.

I glanced at the immense spread of food before us: spicy prawn curry dotted with cashews and pomegranate, black lentils in cream with wild greens, roasted brinjal with ginger and tomato, raita frothy with fresh green flecks of coriander and cucumber, tomato-raisin chutney, tiny orbs of lemon pickled in sugar syrup, glass after glass of ruby-colored wine.

But Papa had barely eaten a thing. So had I. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Sikander had said about my mother, and I didn’t doubt that it had thrown my father off too. He wasn’t his usual self. He was distant, irritable in a way I had never seen him before.

I could barely concentrate on the conversation transpiring before me. Why hadn’t my father mentioned anything about my mother in all these years? Why had he always cut me off or changed the subject when I attempted to inquire about her? What was he keeping from me? And to what end?

I looked across the table at Arjun, who smiled at me before he glanced at my ring. Just looking at him flooded my heart with affection. I caught myself staring as the lanterns lit up the golden planes of his face, the angle of his cheekbones, and forced myself to look away.

“I’m going to get right to the point, Chandradev,” Sikander said. “It’s taken me fifteen years to establish trade between the east and the west.”

“And it’s been very good . . . for Macedon.”

“Not just Macedon, Chandradev. The Silk Road has been good for everyone.”

The Silk Road: When I first heard of it as a child, I imagined a path made of reams and reams of gold silk. I imagined traders, monks, entire clans of Bedouins traveling along it, barefoot so as not to mar the pristine fabric under their feet. It took me years to understand that the Silk Road of my imaginings was nothing like the real thing, even if I had never seen the real thing with my own eyes.

“And I know just the thing that you can bring to the table, so to speak.”

“Enlighten me, Sikander,” my father said, narrowing his eyes.

“Chamak.”

Across the dining hall, there was silence. Bandaka put down his spoon. Shree raised her eyes. Arjun and I glanced at each other. For a moment, all that could be heard was the startled chirp of insects.

My father leaned back in his chair, his face drawn, his jaw tensed. “That’s a complicated request, Sikander.”

“It’s not a request, Chandradev,” Sikander responded crisply. Again, silence. This time Sikander shattered it with a sharp laugh that startled me. “That’s why I’m here. To say hello to an old friend, to discuss our trade relationship. And, of course, to meet your beautiful daughter,” he said, turning to smile at me with his golden teeth.

I shrank in my chair, forcing a small smile in his direction, but his gaze was so intense that I had to break it. I imagined what it would be like to be married to him. The image of him kissing me with that mouth filled with gold teeth startled me and made me want to retch.

“You don’t know this about my kingdom, Sikander, but I don’t have any control over chamak. It’s not a regulated substance. It’s a drug—”

“A drug that isn’t available anywhere else in the world!”

“A drug that’s mined and guarded by an ancient tribe that lives in an undisclosed location and communicates with the rest of society only on their own terms, through their own intermediaries—”

“But they communicate with you, Chandradev,” Sikander said quietly.

“Through messengers whom they select and deploy, but never directly.”

“Then bring the Sybillines here. Make introductions. I’ll talk to them.”

Bandaka shook his head, interjecting, “They would never agree. They don’t leave the caves. And, with all due respect, Your Majesty, one can’t just think about a boost to our own economy and irresponsibly send caravans full of chamak to other lands. We have to consider the consequences.”

“What consequences? You already trade small amounts of it with neighboring kingdoms,” Sikander said.

Shree stepped in, authority in her voice. “With neighboring kingdoms, yes. And small amounts—that’s the key. But we have to limit its trade. Chamak can be good or bad, but ultimately, the Sybillines are the custodians of it—they’ve studied its uses for thousands of years, and we have to acknowledge its power. If it were to get in the wrong hands—” She hesitated and looked away.

“One could easily go to the mountains, mine the stuff with or without the Sybillines,” Sikander said with exasperation in his voice.

“It’s not that simple,” Bandaka responded. “Chamak responds to the Sybillines—it’s a living substance. It loses its power if it’s mined by someone else.”

Sikander placed his palm on the table before him. “Then we force the Sybillines to mine it for us.”

My father interjected. “They would likely rather give their lives than live as slaves. They live within a compound of caves that’s impossible to find. People have tried to find them and died trying. And they are a fiercely ethical people. Sikander, you don’t understand—the Sybillines communicate only with those they want to communicate with—”