Prologue

The blue eyed girl tucks a coffee brown strand of hair behind her ear; she sits down on the smooth marble floor, crossing her legs as she stares up at the bemused guard. He is stationed at the right of a pair of intricately carved, gold inlaid wooden doors. He surveys her thoroughly, taking in the strangely shaped blue breeches and yellow cotton top, the lively, intelligent eyes, the pert nose with a dusting of freckles, and the sarcastic quirk of the eyebrows, all without seeming to give her more than a casual glance. After all, it is his job.

"Hello," she says quietly, resting her chin against her palm. He doesn't respond, merely fingers his sword absently, narrowing his eyes, before letting his hand fall from the hilt, as though deciding that this girl couldn't possibly be a threat.

"You're probably wondering why some scroungy girl is sitting on the floor outside of a Maharajah's throne room in the middle of the night."

The guard looks sidelong at her. His lips curve into an almost-smile. He tips his head briefly in a nod.

The girl grins. "Allow me to satisfy your curiosity." She pauses for a moment, and then continues in a slow, rhythmic tone, as though she is speaking by rote. "Most people think time is like a river that flows swift and sure in one direction, but I have seen the face of time, and I can tell you: they are wrong. Time is an ocean in a storm. Sit down—or stay standing . . . er, whatever—anyway, I will tell you a tale like none that you have ever heard."