The Chaos Curse (Kiranmala and the Kingdom Beyond #3) - Sayantani DasGupta
In most folk- and fairy tales, saving someone else’s life is a super-big deal. Afterward, there’s usually a royal wedding, a vault filled with gold, or some sort of kingdom-wide bouncy-castle party for the rescuer. So after I saved Prince Neelkamal from my evil biological father’s underwater demon detention center, it’s only natural I expected some sort of extra-special thanks, right?
It’s not like I actually thought somebody would present me with my body weight in precious jewels or the keys to the Kingdom Beyond Seven Oceans and Thirteen Rivers or something. (And I didn’t want a wedding. I’m only twelve, after all! I mean, gross!) But this wasn’t the first time I’d saved my friend Neel’s life, and this go-around, I’d traveled across the dimensions in a magic auto rikshaw, risked life and limb, solved impossible riddles, and fought monsters like a serious shero kick-butt daredevil. And what did I get for all my trouble? Bubkes. Seriously. Like, nada, zilch, zippo, nothing.
I’m not saying this to be greedy, but to explain why, when I saw the fancy royal party gathered on the shore of the Honey-Gold Ocean of Souls, I thought they were there for me. Particularly since Neel was Mr. Too-Cool-for-School-Princie-Pants and a bit slow with the thank-yous. I guess I figured he’d magically called ahead and set it all up for me. Which is a little embarrassing now that I actually think about it. Before we escaped my bio father Sesha’s crumbling hotel-slash-casino-slash-underwater-detention-center, we were kind of busy. I mean, we were breaking Neel out of jail, fighting evil snakes, and stopping Sesha from killing me with two magical jewels turned neutron stars because he wanted to fulfill some prophecy, cheat death, and live forever. It’s not like there was a ton of time for party planning. But I didn’t think of all that until later.
“Oh my gosh! You shouldn’t have!” I said in what I hoped was a surprised and yet humble voice as Neel, Naya, and I stumbled to our feet on the sandy beach. (The three of us having nonhuman parents was the only thing that made this swimming-up-from-the-bottom-of-the-ocean stuff remotely possible.)
“Oh dear!” squeaked Naya as she took in the scene. “We’re not properly dressed for a formal state engagement!”
That was a serious understatement. Neel, Naya, and I were all soaked to the skin. But they, being respectively a half rakkhosh and full-blooded rakkhoshi demon, hardly looked tired. On the other hand, despite being part serpent princess and part moon child, I was not only bent over and gasping for air, but had my hair all plastered to my face, seaweed hanging off my clothes, and what felt like a live school of fish in my left sock.
I pushed my hair from my face in what I hoped was an elegant gesture, and took in all the people who’d obviously been waiting for us. There were a bunch of girls in pink saris—all a part of the resistance group known as the Pink-Sari Skateboarders, or PSS, which was headed up by my adopted cousin-sister, Mati. Half of the PSS girls were human, and the other half-rakkhoshi demons—an idea I was only just getting used to. But there were others too—two or three old bearded men who looked like the Raja’s ministers, and a load of people who were a combination of nobles from the palace and royal servants. Everyone was dressed up and facing the water. Above their heads was a small gathering of bright blue butterflies, who seemed like they had been waiting for us too.
On one side of us, a singer with one hand on his ear and the other waving around in the air started warbling an up-and-down-the-scales classical tune while some musicians accompanied him—blowing on a shehnai, drumming on a tabla, and playing a stringed tanpura. Problem was, everybody seemed to be playing a slightly different song. To the side of the seated musicians were people carrying flower garlands and others with small lamps and incense holders.
“Aije, Princess Kiranmala!” yelled someone. It was one of the maids who had been assigned to take care of me when I was competing on the game show called Who Wants to Be a Demon Slayer? as the Kingdom Beyond’s champion. I’d been so popular, with my face on billboards and posters and everything, that people had even taken to dressing like me. In fact, the maid waving wore an exact replica of my silver sparkly combat boots. I grinned drippily back at her, trying to