The Vishakanya's Choice by Roshani Chokshi Read Free Book Online Page A

tummy, but the moment she did—it was dead.
    Her scream bounced off the Harem’s stone walls, summoning the sisters who covered her, sheathed her, licked the tears from her jaw and spat them into her hair.
    â€œDon’t waste the poison,” said Rupa, forcing her tears back down her throat.
    â€œIf you want to kiss something, kiss us,” said Tara, brushing her lips across her temples.
    â€œIf you want to hold something, hold us,” said Veena, bringing Sudha’s head to her bosom.
    â€œBut never touch a living thing,” said Ashini, slapping her face.
    â€œNot until your time has come,” said Urvashi, pushing a burning coal, plucked from thin air, into her palms.
    Sudha kicked against their ministrations, her eyes wide. “Are we not living things?”
    Urvashi shook her head as she sucked her burned finger. “We’re weapons. We can’t afford to live.”
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    That was the first and last day Sudha forgot the Rule. It was the last day of her life as a girl and the first day of her consummate life as a weapon. Like any other weapon, deployment depended on the kingdom. The Kalinga kingdom hoarded their weapons, letting them rust and rest. The Odra kingdom hid their weapons beneath the floors, letting them listen and lurk. But the Hastinapur kingdom cultivated their armaments with silk and song.
Every day the sisters fed her poison. The only thing that changed was the riddles. Even when she became accustomed to the taste, even when she did not need the distraction, she played with the riddles.
    To her, they were like mirrors tilted to refract the light and seek out hidden corners. A different way of seeing. Sometimes when Sudha looked in the mirror, she saw a girl on the cusp of a murderess. But perhaps if she tilted her head, flipping the image in her mind like the words of a riddle, she could transform too.
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    Kneeling by her feet, Urvashi dipped Sudha’s toes in henna and drew whorls of mango blossoms, trellises of jasmine and intricate paisleys along her calves. Sudha shivered from the mehndi’s cold touch, but she never spoke a word.
    â€œDance like an apsara. Mesmerize him with the rhythm of his own blood,” whispered Ashini.
    â€œSing as though you’re summoning the heavens: silver your voice and bare your throat,” commanded Veena.
    â€œSpeak sparingly,” warned Urvashi. “The longer you talk, the harder it will be.”
    â€œWhen you speak, be witty,” added Rupa. “And never arouse his emotion, only his—”
    â€œâ€”enough!” hissed Urvashi.
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    The sari guided Sudha’s footsteps, tugging her out of the Hastinapur Harem and into the damp jungle. From the corner of her eye, an inky panther slid into the embrace of a banyan tree. Pearlescent moths fluttered past her, drawn to the torches her sisters held high above their heads. Sudha’s chest tightened. She wanted to sink her elbows into the ground, feel its slick microcosms. She wanted the rough roots to blur the henna, rob her limbs of their ornaments, strip the incense from her skin. But she stood still and watched her sisters throw fiery torches into the river, summoning the makara.
    In the past, Sudha had never stepped outside to bid her sisters farewell, so all she ever saw of the makara was a silver silhouette in the water. She knew it was a monster of metal, impervious to the vishakanya’s touch, and the only transportation they could use without revealing their nature. Now, to see the creature up close, it felt alien and dangerous. Two luminous eyes broke the water’s surface and out trundled the makara, its silvery back shining like corrugated metal.
    â€œAnother assignment?” it said, eyeing them. “Your Emperor is bloodthirsty these days.”
    Without a word, Sudha boarded the makara’s back. The makara rolled its lantern eyes, and water frothed around its nostrils. As Sudha watched her sisters