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Oshli’s face became a mask. “My father was the shaman then, and he asked me to keep her from unwanted attention until she was married. That was how we became close. She trusted me.” A breath. “But after Channari died, she changed. She stopped speaking to her friends—even me.” His hands fell to his sides, and I wondered at the stories he was leaving untold.

“What changed?” I asked.

“The light within her shone differently, her spirit became…stronger. No one else noticed, but I knew Vanna. For all her radiance, she’d never been as strong as her sister. People thought me mad, but I’ve always wondered whether it was truly Vanna that her father buried in the jungle.” Oshli’s expression turned hard once more. “Today, when the Serpent Queen brought you here, I at last had my answer.”

I whispered, “My stepmother’s true name is a secret I promised to keep.”

“I will keep it as well,” said Oshli solemnly. “There are few that remember Vanna as well as I do. Or Channari.”

He’d said himself that he’d been Vanna’s friend, but not Channari’s. Why did he remember them both, when others did not?

“Months ago, the Nameless Queen’s ashes arrived at my shrine,” said Oshli, bringing up Raikama’s name as if he’d read my thoughts. “You sent them, didn’t you?”

I nodded.

“I thought so. I considered taking them to the King of Tambu, to be buried in his palace, but now that I know it is Channari’s spirit within…I will bury her by the sacred tree in the jungle. It is not far from where Ujal and the other serpents dwell.”

“She would have liked to be with the snakes,” I agreed. “I should like to join you if there’s time.”

“Tomorrow, then,” said Oshli. “It is no coincidence that you landed in Sundau. The strongest spirits live even after death, and I suspect Channari’s brought you here.”

“Why?”

“Who knows. To find answers? To protect you? Only time will tell.” He stood by the threshold. “Fate watches you closely, Shiori’anma, as it did her. It never favored her. Do not assume that it favors you.”

His words were grave. I meant to ponder them with the weight they deserved, but the moment the gate swung open and Oshli left the compound, my stomach let out a loud, fat growl.

I glanced outside, spying Takkan asleep under the tree and Kiki buzzing about the huts. My hand came to rest over my stomach. How long had it been since I’d eaten? Hunger rolled inside me in a torrential wave, and it was a good thing Oshli had mentioned food in the pantry.

Fruit flies and gnats buzzed over a bowl of rotting coconut flesh, but inside the cupboard, I found a stalk of sugarcane, a jar of peanuts, and two raw cassavas. A tincture of pandan juice and ground sesame too. Spices that would have cost a fortune in Kiata but were commonplace here.

I spent a few more minutes raiding the pantry, then I set everything I’d found on the table next to the stove. I knew just what to make.

“Channari was a girl who lived by the sea,” I sang, “who kept the fire with a spoon and pot. Stir, stir, a soup for lovely skin. Simmer, simmer, a stew for thick black hair. But what did she make for a happy smile? Cakes, cakes, with sweet beans and sugarcane.”

When I finally looked up, holding my bowl of batter, Takkan was outside the window, arms folded over the sill, with Kiki on his shoulder. Listening intently.

I nearly dropped my batter, but Takkan reached through the window to grab the rim of the bowl, steadying me at the same time. Then he inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the coconut and peanuts pervading the kitchen.

“How long have you been standing here?” I demanded.

“Standing? I was guarding that bowl with my life. A good thing too.”

It warmed me to hear humor in his voice, even if it was only a shadow of his usual mirth. I slumped my shoulders. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was, until I heard you singing. I didn’t mean to stop you.”

You should keep at it, Kiki quipped. That song of yours scared away all the birds. And all the demons too, I’d bet.

I glared at my bird, glad for once that Takkan couldn’t hear her. “It’s just a silly song. Something Raikama used to hum. I probably have all the notes wrong.”

“There are no wrong notes when you’re happy,” Takkan replied earnestly. “You sound happier than you have in days.”

“I…I like it here,” I admitted. “It’s almost like she’s still here with me.”

A rush of grief sprang to my chest, and I focused intensely on stirring my batter.

Takkan touched my hand. “Will you teach it to me when we go home?”