“Well… okay. If you’re sure, Jaya.” Already Appa sounded less stressed. He saw what she did—that a royal engagement, the Hegdes with the Raos, would immediately turn the tide. People would be talking about the upcoming engagement and wedding, and nothing else, for the next couple of years. Isha’s scandal would get buried in the avalanche.

“I’m sure,” she said. “I’ll call you soon to talk about the details.”

Jaya ended the call and placed the phone on her dresser. To think that only a week ago she’d been concerned with bribing the journalist in Mysuru for more information, so she could continue to execute her revenge plan against whoever it was that had started all this. Jaya smirked. That was the least of her worries now. This was triage; she had to stem the blood, to revive her dynasty. Even if it meant binding herself to Kiran forever.

She studied her reflection in the mirror, her bloodshot eyes, the dark half-moons under her eyes, the unruly hair falling out of its ponytail. It shocked her to see that she almost didn’t recognize the haggard, sallow young woman in the mirror. What weapons did she have at her disposal to protect her family from a crushing fate? Nothing at all, except her engagement to Kiran. Jaya blinked. She looked, she realized, utterly resigned to an end she didn’t want, like someone with a grave and incurable illness… like Grey had looked standing over her dresser, when she’d found him in her room.

Jaya’s gaze drifted to the ruby pendant, nearly half emptied of its treasure now. Was this how the curse worked? Had she been pulled into its orbit because of how she felt about Grey? Was it real after all? She knew it was her broken heart, her bleak future that made her question this. But still, one truth she couldn’t deny: the rubies continued to fall. Only eight remained.

Grey

Somehow a week passed, even though each day felt like a cold, flat copy of the one before it. Grey had an image of colorless ice cubes in endless white trays and blinked it away.

They were in physics, and he was sitting diagonally behind Jaya. He kept his eyes focused steadily on the whiteboard on which Mr. Martinez was writing something illegible, but sometimes, without his permission, his gaze would drift over to her, lingering on her hair, her shoulders, the way she gripped her pen. Her posture gave nothing away. He had no idea how she was feeling, or even if she was feeling anything.