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It belongs to Queen Ishirya herself. A servant hastily unrolls a carpet so that she need not soil her feet with the filth of my cell. I take her in, from her violet satin slippers to the cocoon of silk draped over her shoulders. She looks so fragile as a human, with her middle-aged skin and the fine lines fanning around her eyes. One would hardly imagine a tiger underneath.

At the incline of her chin, the servants know to leave.

“My, my, Channari,” says Ishirya. “How beautiful you’ve become.”

The words are meant to disarm me, and I hate that they do. “I know who you are.”

“Do you, now? Then you know it is rude to refuse a gift from your queen.”

“You are not my queen,” I seethe. “You are Angma!”

Her lips curve into a gentle smile. “Careful, Channari. I have cut out tongues for lesser slights. Be grateful I am compassionate.”

I try to grab her neck, but Queen Ishirya’s eyes become two golden yolks. Her black hair billows out of her headdress, lifted by an invisible wind as it turns bone-white, and her perfect teeth grow into fangs. At last, the tiger I’ve been searching for.

The glimpse of her true self is so startling, so riveting, that I don’t remember to look away—until it’s too late. Her haze bores into me, glassy pupils fixated on my own. How they shimmer, like the ridges of a gold coin in the summer light.

I can no longer move.

Angma. I curse inwardly. My hands won’t curl into fists, and I cannot strangle the Demon Witch with anything else. “How?”

She tilts her head, the dangling pearls on her headdress pinging. “I take it you haven’t heard the tale. It is quite popular in Shenlani, if not as famous as the story of your sister’s birth.

“Princess Ishirya was once considered the future of her kingdom, so bright and charming and kind that her father rewrote the law and made her—a woman—his successor. Now, a terrible tiger had been ravaging Shenlani, killing children and young innocents. The king worried for his precious daughter’s safety and promised that any man who could capture this tiger—with eyes like gold—would marry the princess and one day become king.”

The hairs on the back of my neck bristle. This is a story she’s told countless times, a story that has been embraced by the court and transcribed into song and dance. I remember the dancer with the tiger’s pelt. Why did I not pay more attention during dinner?

Angma continues with the tale. “So it happened that one day a poor soldier came across this tiger in the jungle. This tiger with eyes like gold.” Her smile grows. “He captured it and brought it to the king, who made good on his word and had Princess Ishirya wed the soldier. Sadly, the king perished soon after, and Ishirya, now the queen—began to suffer dreams that it was the tiger who’d caused her father’s death. To make amends, she freed it from its cage. But the creature turned on her.”

Angma tilts her head. “Ishirya screamed for her soldier husband, who came and killed the tiger.” She licked her lips. “As she rushed into his arms, grateful to have been saved—she buried her face in his shoulder. He never saw how her eyes had changed…gold, like the tiger’s.”

“You!” I realize in horror. “You were the tiger. You killed the king, and then Ishirya. You stole her body—”

“And became a queen,” Angma finishes for me.

All these years, I’d thought Angma was hiding because she was weak. How wrong I was. She’d been biding her time, squirreling her strength and resources.

“How about your story, Channari?” Angma whispers into my ear. She inhales, taking in the scent of my blood. “You haven’t changed. Still as venomous as ever.”

“Why not kill me?” I ask. “If you’ve been here this whole time, why wait until now?”

“Oh, Channari, Channari,” says Angma, cupping my cheek. Her palm is warm and smooth. “I’d never planned to kill you. Just your sister. Your sweet, beautiful little sister.”

My blood thrums in my ears, but no matter how I struggle, I cannot move.

“You’ve never told Vanna about the bargain I offered you, have you?” she says. “You’re afraid of what she’d say. Afraid that she’d tell you, in her selfless way, to sacrifice her and break your curse.”

What is Angma getting at? “It’s my choice. Not hers.”

A laugh rasps out of Angma. “Ever the good older sister.”

“What do you want with her, anyway?” For seventeen years, I’ve wondered. “Why can’t you let her go?”

“You made a promise to your mother to protect your sister—but at what cost? You don’t deserve this punishment, Channi. Give your sister to me, and you will have the face you were meant to have. You will be human again.” She pauses with intent. “You will look like your mother again.”

You will look like your mother again.

How can she know just the words that will destroy me? I grind my teeth, trying to tamp down my surge of emotions. The memories.