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Her sister flushed, but she said, far too quickly, “Of course not.”

Channari said nothing. Secretly, she was sure her sister had a lover. The other day, she’d found a note in Vanna’s pocket. You are the light that makes my lantern shine, it read, but she didn’t see the point in bringing it up.

“You’d think all the gold in the world could buy beauty and health, but it can’t.”

“No.” Channari’s jaw ticked. Nothing would smooth away the scales of her face into flesh. She’d tried. She’d tried to cut off the thick splotches along her cheeks, chewing on a chunk of wood to keep from screaming and ignoring the scorching flashes of pain as her steady hand nicked next at the rough grooves between ears and neck. But overnight, her skin grew back the same. Only the pain remained, seared deep within her.

Nothing would make her beautiful. Not all the gold in the world.

“No,” she said again. “I would know.”

“I’m sorry, Channi,” Vanna pleaded. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t.”

The words crawled out of Channari’s throat: “I know.”

Vanna wrapped her arms around Channari’s shoulders and pressed their cheeks together, the way she used to do when they were little. Her cheek was always too warm, and Channari’s always too cold. Together, she’d say, they were just right.

Her sister lifted her cheek and squeezed Channari’s hand. “When I become a princess or a queen, I’ll get you the best creams and paints money can buy.”

Vanna meant well, but the words stung all the same. This time Channari could not force a smile. “What about my snake eyes?”

Vanna giggled, not hearing the bitterness creeping in her voice. “You can use them to mesmerize our enemies.”

“If I had that power, I’d just make everyone forget I was there,” Channari replied softly.

Vanna didn’t hear. Someone was calling for her outside.

Channari exhaled, relieved when Vanna slipped out. Sometimes…sometimes she couldn’t tolerate her sister’s blithe optimism. Sometimes she wondered whether it would be easier if Vanna thought her a monster. It would hurt less—for both of them.

Channari crept off her broken stool, accidentally catching a glimpse of herself in the washpot. Taro pieces floated in the water, hiding her eyes and her nose. A breeze pushed them apart, and she shuddered.

To see the monster in her reflection instead of the girl she should have been—one with black braids, copper eyes, a soft nose, and full lips. She thought that pain would have eased over the years, but it hadn’t. It’d only dulled and become a part of her, stitched deep into her soul.

In her dark, secret heart, what she yearned for, even more than for her face to go away, was for someone to love her. For someone to look her in the eyes and make her feel beautiful, even if she was not. For someone to take away the loneliness etched in her heart so she could laugh without tasting the bitterness on her tongue once the sound faded.

She wanted to be the light that made someone’s lantern shine.

But that would never happen. Not for her.

She hit the water with her fists until her reflection was no more.

Come morning, the fires around the tree had gone out, the incense sticks were burned to charred nubs, and the snakes that had arrived to safeguard Takkan were gone.

The heavy rain that had come in the night had dwindled to a drizzle, and as I walked into the yard, Takkan barely stirred. Even in his sleep, he grimaced, clutching Bandur’s amulet in one hand as if he were trying to shatter it in his fist.

In the two days he’d carried the amulet, it had already extracted a toll. He was noticeably thinner, new hollows appearing in his cheeks when he wasn’t forcing a smile. His eyes too became duller and more sunken by the hour, especially past dark.

Takkan let out a faint wheeze as I pulled him toward the hut. Once we’d taken shelter, I brushed aside his hair and wiped his skin dry. That was when I saw the scorch marks along his sleeve.

“What happened?” I whispered.

A low hiss drew my attention to the window, where Ujal lounged against the warped shutters.

“The demon was stronger than I anticipated,” she said as Kiki translated. “But my kin were born to battle his kind.”

“Thank you.” I hesitated. Ujal sounded worn. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Your gratitude is not necessary, nor is your concern. We see it as an honor to fight for Channari’s daughter and guard her betrothed.”