Page 3 of The Legend of Meneka
He will rage, my mind whispers.You are not asking to be devoted. You are asking for freedom.
I surge away from the thought. “No,” I say aloud, forcefully. “No, I only want to be unsullied. Indra will listen. He is generous and life-giving. He understands true devotion.”
There is no reply from my conscience, merely a quiet worry that worms its way into my heart. Only Rambha has dared ask for freedom from future missions, and though Indra granted it to her, her request still shook the kingdom. Time and again, I have thought to ask her why he made such an exception, but it would be a foolish question. Rambha’s love for the lord is well known. Heaven’s immortal musicians, the gandharvas, sing of her piety at every festival, reminding us of her purity, her virtue, her total dedication.
Will she be shocked that I dare to follow in her footsteps so brazenly? All my life I have wanted to be like her, as unblemished as her, as free. I have performed every mission without complaint. I took no joy in them, but I did them regardless—and isn’t thatthe greatest devotion, to be selfless, believing, compliant? I walked away from Queen Tara without a word of regret. I am Indra’s soldier, and—despite the misgivings infesting my mind in the mortal realm—humbled to be one. If I only show this to him, he will relent. Amaravati is sustained through service and prayers to Indra, and Indra will agree that my performance within the city will serve him better than my missions in the mortal realm. And though Rambha might be shocked, she will be delighted. She will see that I do this for her as much as I do this for myself. They will both be proud. They have to be.
I repeat this litany to myself the entire way to the palace, corralling my courage. Before I know it, I am at the crescent-shaped gates.
The guards let me enter unchallenged. Everyone in Amaravati knows what an apsara looks like. We are some of the most beautiful creatures in paradise—wehaveto be. The guards simply nod at me, usher me into the alcove just off Indra’s main throne room, where I see Rambha pacing impatiently.
She is stunning. Her long, luscious hair is tied in an intricate braid in the manner of the most elite apsaras. Her skin is a richer brown than mine, nearly onyx in the dim light. Thick, shapely brows arch over large doelike eyes, and her ears resemble delicate shells. Over her gold-threaded green sari, she wears nearly a hundred necklaces studded with emeralds and diamonds. A tiny pin glints on her nose, and even her bindi glows with power. All of these jewels are from the lord’s own collection, a sign of her devotion and his favor, and my breath hitches as her power descends over me. Her aura is a luminous gold rising behind her head, so potent I can taste its texture, delicate dewdrops after a sizzling storm. I wet my lips to trap the sensation on my tongue.
A smile breaks across Rambha’s worried face as she sees me. She hurries forward to envelop me in her arms.
“Praise Indra,” she says, pulling back so her eyes can search mine. “You’re here.”
My chest rises in a deep breath, and the scent of her sweet star-anise flows into me, hot and seductive. I smile back despite my nervousness.
She is much older than me, but even I don’t know by how many years. Like any other immortal, time will never show on her features. Besides, neither of us is a child anymore. What does it matter how old we are? Even as I hug her, I can’t help but lightly twist the end of her braid around my fingers. Rambha is my home. Her wisdom is my security. Once she was my mentor, but now she is my handler, one of the best apsaras I know, my closest friend.
In the depths of my foolish heart, I have always wished for more.
The longing must surely show on my features, for she pulls back and brushes her cool hands over my face to examine me in concern. Her fingers hum like butterfly wings, and I can’t help but imagine her touch in other places. My cheeks warm. I swallow, trying to ignore the heat pooling in me. But her caress, this intimacy—it is simply another strand of evidence that what I intend to do is right.
I catch her fluttering, featherlight fingers in my own and take a deep breath. “Another successful mission, Rambha. Queen Tara is deterred from her path of impiety. She won’t be a threat to Indra anymore.”
“Good, that’s good,” Rambha replies. “The lord is sorely in need of some happy news. Do you know what jewel you will ask of him?” Her smile grows curious, and she touches the crown of my head. A skittering sensation floods through me and I shiver. “I have always loved ornaments in your hair. Perhaps the lord’s golden diadem? It changes shape based on the wearer. I would like to see what shape it takes for you.”
Her fingers move down the length of my hair to my shoulders. They flicker over my chest, brushing strands off as though to examinemy necklaces, but the motion is too slow, too deliberate. I am not imagining it. It is desire. Desire forme. Her thumbs skate lightly over the points of my nipples before skimming away.
“I have something else in mind,” I say quietly. “Something that will allow me to be closer to you. So we can … So you and I can finally …”
I stutter to a stop. Her hands still and she tilts her head. Rambha holds my gaze between gold-dusted lashes. Her lips part, perhaps to ask what I mean—and I want to lean in, how badly I want to speak the sweet words that would bring us closer. They burn in me, but my nervousness at Indra’s refusal of my boon holds me back. Rambha and I have orbited each other for years now, our touches suggestive, our glances flirtatious, but I have never dared to say anything, not when I feel so unworthy. How could I come to her—this beauty who is famed for her complete devotion to Indra—when every one of my own missions has drowned me in doubts? The boon I will ask of the lord is my only way out, both to wrench out any seeds of impiety I may have collected, and to be with her forevermore.
Rambha tips my chin with a hand. “You look so serious. What are you thinking?”
Now would be the time to speak, to tell her about the boon I want, but explanations form and die in my throat. What if she tells me I am mistaken in my path? It would not merely be a rejection of my dream. It would be a rejection of any future for us.I cannot risk it, not when I am so close. I shake my head wordlessly.
A frown mars her lovely face. “You won’t ask him for anything indelicate, will you?” She waits for me to answer, but when I still say nothing, she sighs. “It is your blessing to ask, whatever it is, but do not ask him to part with his favorite jewels. Indra is moody and restless these days. He is in conference, even now.”
My brows rise at this, curiosity replacing my worry. The lord of thedevas is not known to take midnight meetings. If anything, Indra famously spends his nights with his most sensual concubines, engaging in licentious behavior that warms even my apsara ears to think about.
“What has happened?” I say. “What is worrying the lord?”
“A mortal. A man called Kaushika.”
The name is familiar. In Queen Tara’s court, whispers came of a prince who deserted his kingdom to practice magic. Rumors said the prince became so powerful that kings and queens began paying homage to him, to ask him to train their scions. I did not pay attention then, but my interest piques now.
“Another mortal too big for himself?” I ask dryly. “That isn’t new.”
Rambha’s aura darkens, her star-anise scent growing saccharine. “He’s not just any mortal. He calls himself a sage. Already his influence against Indra has caused royals and nobles to forget the lord in their rituals. Amaravati is not the same as it used to be. Didn’t you notice? The buildings have lost much of their sheen. Our magic is depleting without enough prayers from the mortals to replenish it. It’s harder to grasp Amaravati’s magic even whenIdance with all my jewelry. My own tether lies limp within me when I compare it to the years past.”
I nod slowly. My dance took more effort than usual to create illusions when I was with Queen Tara, but I assumed it was because my heart wasn’t in the mission. Perhaps it was because the city was in danger. If all this is true, then wouldn’t the lordwantme here, to sustain Amaravati through my dance from within his court? I could not be better positioned to ask for my boon.
“The lord has sent one apsara after another to seduce this sage,” Rambha continues. “Nanda first, and then Sundari and Magadhi. But …” Her voice breaks slightly, the names opening an unhealed wound.
These three apsaras are so famed for their prowess that even devas,the deities of heaven, are hypnotized by their dance. Only Indra is immune to them. “What happened to them?” I ask, frowning.
