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“She was cursed,” I said.

“She was a sorceress,” said Oshli. “Rumor had it that she could make you change your thoughts with a flicker of her eyes and could call the snakes to do her bidding.”

They weren’t rumors. My brothers and I had witnessed the hypnotic thrall of Raikama’s magic many a time.

“We used to say Channari ensorcelled Vanna to love her. Vanna was the only one who was kind to her, the only one who mourned her when she died. Though now I suppose it was the other way around.”

“How did she die?” I asked. “How did you think she died?”

“There was an attack,” answered Oshli. “A demon came for her in the middle of the selection ceremony. Only Vanna witnessed it. She said Channari tried to protect her and, in doing so, was killed.”

My chest constricted at the lie. Raikama had told me the truth just before she died, that the demon had killed Vanna, not Channari. And while Channari mourned, the pearl in her sister’s heart rooted itself to her—fulfilling her wish to be beautiful in the most awful way: it gave her Vanna’s face.

“When she emerged from mourning, she had changed.” Oshli looked away, his shoulders pinching. “She was colder, her light muted like the moon’s. Some worried that she’d gone mad. She cut herself, you see. Straight across the face.”

Revelation dawned, and a tingle shuddered down my spine. The mysterious scar across my stepmother’s face—why she had borne it so visibly had been a source of gossip in the palace for many years. Even I had wondered where it had come from. Now I knew.

“I hated seeing my sister’s face in the mirror,” Raikama had told me before she died.

She had intentionally given the scar to herself. As a reminder of her life as Channari.

“Her adah was furious about it,” Oshli went on, “but it did little to deter the suitors. They vied for her hand, going on impossible trials for her, obtaining things like mosquito hearts and gold from the bottom of the sea. That weeded most of them out. In the end, she chose the most unlikely of the men.”

“My father,” I said.

“He wasn’t even a suitor. But she left with him one evening, so quietly and swiftly that no one noticed until they were long gone. We thought all the kings and princes would wage war against Kiata, but it was as though a haze had fallen upon the suitors. They all forgot about her. Everyone forgot about her.”

“Except you,” I said.

“My memory is not untouched. But yes, as I said before, I remember more than most.”

After all these years, Raikama’s magic held strong.

Still, there was a piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit. “The demon that attacked Vanna—do you remember anything about him?”

Oshli shook his head. “Only that Channari fought him with a spear.” He began to rise. “It broke during their battle, but I’ve kept it. Do you wish to see?”

Of course I did. I followed him outside to the tree in the courtyard. Leaning against the trunk was a long spear, its wood dark with age.

Oshli picked up the weapon and held it upright. It was as tall as I was, but its end had been split off.

“She slew a tiger with it once,” Oshli said. “It came into the village and slaughtered the four men who tried to fight it, and the rest of us ran away. Channari stayed. Not for us, but for Vanna—I doubt she would have cared if the tiger had devoured us.”

With both hands, Oshli carefully passed me the weapon. “That was the first time I glimpsed the true Channari, whom even tigers feared, and not the girl who sat on a broken stool peeling taro root all day in her mask. She was exceptionally strong, and bold, and loyal. That was the woman who became your stepmother.”

I was quiet before I spoke. “Thank you.”

Oshli gave a slow nod. For a moment I thought he might speak again—for his lips were parted. But before I could query what had been on his mind, he turned for the road and took his leave.

I wasn’t alone for long. Soon enough, Kiki returned, and I spied Takkan’s silhouette not far down the road. The paper bird landed on my shoulder, and I let her poke into my thoughts, catching up with what she’d missed while away.

I said nothing and rolled the spear in my hands, tracing its grooves and edges. Even broken, it was heavy—I could hardly heave it past my shoulders without straining. That Raikama had wielded it against a tiger was a testament to her strength—and a reminder of how twice she had lifted me off my feet, as if I weighed little more than a doll.

I had thought that coming to Raikama’s birthplace would give me answers about her past. Instead, I had more questions than ever.

Blood stained the broken end of the spear. It was dried, blackened by time. I could not tell whether the blood was my stepmother’s or someone else’s.

I dipped into my satchel for the mirror of truth. “Show me whose blood is on this spear.”