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I duck again, but not fast enough. I catch a flash of his merciless black eyes through the stripe of my open window—like a hunter intent on finding his prey.

My heart hammers as I drop to the ground. I dare not breathe, not until the noise from Meguh’s parade of servants fades. Only then do I peek up. The light hurts my eyes, but the king of Shenlani is indeed gone, his last servant rounding the bend from the courtyard into the village.

I shut the curtain and collapse into a corner, hugging my knees to my chest as dread mounts inside me, knotted tight and tense.

Gadda be kind, I pray that Meguh did not see me.

CHAPTER FIVE

When my heartbeat steadies, I leave the kitchen and find Adah tending to his white stallion, a gift from Meguh last year.

Time has weathered my father’s face, and wrinkles crease the area around his eyes. He stoops when he walks, and Lintang often threatens to tie a wooden rod to his spine so he’ll stand straight.

He needs no reminder today. Anyone can tell how eagerly he anticipates the rank and fortune his radiant daughter is about to bring him. He’s wearing his best tunic, and his beard’s been trimmed. Today, a brighter future awaits him.

Even though he’s in a good mood, sweat slicks my temples as I approach him, and it is not just from the humidity.

I try to temper the emotions I have for my father, but it’s hard. When we lived in our old house, he would make me go out into the fields to scare away the crows pecking at our banana tree. All I had to do was show my face, and the birds exploded into the sky in terror.

I’ve never forgotten how eerily their shrieks sounded like my own.

At least this new house has no banana trees. It faces east and does not have stilts, since there is little flooding on this side of our island. There is a courtyard, a rice barn, a freestanding hut that we use as the kitchen, and two separate buildings—one for sleeping, and one for entertaining. The move was very exciting for Vanna and Lintang, but I still miss our old place by the jungle, the hut we lived in before Adah cared more about money than his daughters.

Vanna is far from earshot, praying at the courtyard shrine with Lintang, but I keep my voice quiet anyway, almost a mumble: “Adah.”

Adah is stroking his stallion’s mane. I half expect him to pretend I’m not here, but he sets the brush aside and says, “I’ve told you never to go outside without your mask on.”

A flash of anger stabs my chest. I smother it and drag my mask out of my pocket. It is plain, unlike the skin I wear. The rough wood clings to the ridges on my scales, sticky with humidity, but what I hate most is how hard it is to breathe when I’m wearing it. There’s only a thin slit for my mouth, and nothing for my nose, which is flat against my skull anyway—like a snake’s.

Adah carved it for me soon after I was cursed. He spent days pounding the bark and sanding the wood down until it was smooth. Back then, it was too big, and I had to tie it around my head with a string. Still, though I despise it, it’s a reminder that he once cared.

It was so long ago it’s almost a dream, but I still remember the relief in his eyes when he first saw me the morning Mama died. “You’re alive,” he had breathed, rushing to embrace me. “Angma didn’t take you.”

I remember how that relief slowly curdled into horror, and how he washed my face again and again, growing rougher with each attempt. I remember how he struggled to look at me with tenderness, and how, eventually, he gave up. When the rest of the village came to shun me, it was easier for him to join them than it was to defend his own daughter. And now here we are.

My mask is on. I breathe in and try again. “Adah.”

“What is it?”

“I’d like to go to Vanna’s binding selection.”

Adah stiffens. It is perhaps the only trait my father and I share, how we both become agitated in the same way. His jaw locks, and his shoulders go straighter than the horizon.

When our eyes meet, the narrow slits of my pupils are reflected in his. I do not look away. Whatever power I can claim over Adah, I will take. And I will not be the first to look away.

He flinches and averts his gaze. “You are forbidden to enter the village.”

“But—”

“It’s for your own good.” He’s trying to contain his anger, unlike most days. “No one’s seen you in years. They’ve almost forgotten about you.”

“I’ll keep quiet,” I insist. “I’ll stand behind someone’s tent, out of sight.”

“No is no.”

“Vanna wants me there. No one will notice me.”

At that, Adah raises a square hand. Fury hardens his eyes, and I go still, waiting for him to strike. But Vanna is too close. She’d see.