Chapter 17
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Seventeen
Neil raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun that gleamed off the pale stone as he stepped out of the palace.
The forecourt was framed by high walls, save for a patch of vibrant green that marked the entrance to the garden where Constance had made—and then withdrawn—her request that Neil pretend to be her fiancé.
Not that the withdrawal had mattered. Neil had gone and put his foot in it over tea and curried doughnuts, panicking at the notion that Constance’s lovely and well-meaning family might try to marry her off to some wealthy, handsome Indian prince.
Well, now they were all convinced she was marrying herself off to an unemployed archaeologist.
Neil hadn’t enjoyed lying to Constance’s relatives, but he couldn’t entirely regret his rash words. What did his own reputation matter, anyway? He hadn’t any left worth speaking of.
The lingering nervousness he felt about his fake engagement centered on the bigger question of how he and Constance would manage to break it off and still remain friends.
Neil admittedly didn’t have much experience with such matters, but he couldn’t think of a single acquaintance who still chummed around with their ex-fiancée.
Constance’s friendship mattered to him. The idea of sacrificing it—even to save her from a charming Indian prince—left Neil feeling bereft.
Surely, they would find some solution to that problem… even if Neil hadn’t the foggiest notion what it might be.
He shook off the swirling mess of worries and crossed to where Adam stood beside a quartet of horses.
His strapping American friend wore a rifle across his back in a way that looked entirely natural while he offered the animals treats from his pockets and rubbed down their necks.
One of the mares, a gleaming chestnut, had taken a liking to him, huffing and nibbling at his hair.
His leggy dog bolted across the paving stones after a cat that slept placidly on a bench. The cat waited until the dog was a breath away before suddenly bristling with teeth and claws.
Kalb scrambled back, whining with terror. He hid behind Adam’s legs, quivering.
Adam eyed Neil warily. “Doing all right, Fairfax?”
Neil opened his mouth to give him a comfortably reassuring answer—and lost the words as Ellie descended the palace steps.
“What’s wrong with your legs?” he blurted out instead.
Ellie glanced down at the loose khaki trousers she wore with her blouse and light jacket. “What on earth do you mean?”
“I think he’s talking about your pants, Princess,” Adam replied, scratching the chestnut mare behind her ears.
“Oh, these!” Ellie’s face broke out into a happy smile.
“I picked them up at a secondhand shop in Cairo once I knew we were coming to India—and I’m quite glad I did.
It’s much easier to travel through the wilderness in trousers than a skirt.
Really—one would think that women’s dress had been explicitly designed to make it difficult to do anything other than lie around the house! ”
Adam made an appreciative assessment of the lower half of Ellie’s ensemble. “They look good.”
“But everyone can see them!” Neil waved a helpless hand at his sister’s legs.
“Like who?” Ellie retorted. “Do you think the Adrija Khond are going to care whether or not I’m wearing a skirt?”
“Maybe?” Neil pushed back hopefully.
Ellie’s eyes shifted to the weapon on Adam’s shoulder. “What’s that?”
Adam’s grin was unapologetic. “It’s a Winchester lever-action repeater.”
“Of course, it is,” Ellie returned with an exasperated sigh. “But where on earth did you find it?”
“The armory.”
Neil frowned, recalling the room they had seen on their whirlwind introduction to the palace. Had that really just been the previous afternoon? “But all the rifles in the armory were old.”
“Not that armory,” Adam corrected him. “The one we’re not supposed to know about.”
“How do you know about it?” Neil protested.
Adam answered him with a wink.
Constance’s voice rang out from the palace steps. “Good morning, everyone!”
Neil glanced over at her—and froze as he realized that she, too, was wearing trousers.
Constance’s attire was not secondhand. The garment was in a rich shade of plum that perfectly matched her fashionable jacket and had been expertly tailored to glide mercilessly over every curve of her legs.
The ensemble was topped by a matching hat with a dashingly turned-up brim.
Adam tipped back his own battered fedora. “Well, don’t you look ready for an adventure?”
“I do, don’t I?” Constance pivoted proudly to show off. “Oh, Ellie! You’re in trousers too! Isn’t this fun?”
Neil’s gaze locked helplessly on the taut line of Constance’s thighs. “But wouldn’t you be better off in something a little less…”
Mind-numbingly attractive, Neil’s brain finished for him.
Constance rolled her eyes. “Do get over it, Stuffy. Lady pirates have been wearing these for centuries.”
“You’re not a pirate,” Neil reasonably pointed out.
“Not yet,” Constance corrected him. “Oh! I have something for you.”
She pushed a thin leather bundle into his hands.
“It’s a scabbard,” she explained as Neil examined the object with surprise. “The style is a bit unusual, as it’s meant to be worn on one’s back instead of around the hips, but I thought you might be more comfortable with that. It’s not like you’re planning to go into battle with that old thing.”
The old thing in question was Dyrnwyn, wrapped up in the bedroll that hung from the side of the mule carrying his luggage.
He hadn’t wanted to bring the blasted sword with him, but he could hardly risk leaving it in his room.
What if one of Parvati and Balaram’s children had decided to go snooping?
They were as well-born as it got, so of course, the stupid arcanum would light up for them.
They might burn down the entire bloody palace.
The leather straps of the scabbard were worn but supple. More leather wrapped the wooden core of the sheath. To Neil’s admittedly inexpert eye, the size looked like a decent match for Dyrnwyn’s length.
There was only one way for him to be sure of that. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, Neil wrapped it around his palm and drew the sword from the bedroll with a grimace.
He tried the sheath. The blade slid home as though made for it.
Ellie perked up. “Is that a Mughal design?”
“I didn’t bother reading the label,” Constance replied dismissively.
Ellie frowned with disapproval. “Does that mean you stole this from one of the cases in the armory?”
“The old armory,” Adam helpfully elaborated with a hint of mischief.
“No one was using it,” Constance easily dismissed. “Now—the strap goes over your shoulder, like this.”
She swung the leather over Neil’s shooting jacket, the unexpected contact shocking him into compliance.
Constance yanked tight a buckle—and then reached around Neil’s waist.
He froze. His nose was in her hair. It smelled lovely.
They were standing far closer together than they ought to be.
Except that we’re technically engaged now, his brain unhelpfully reminded him.
“And this buckles around your waist,” Constance finished.
Neil was agonizingly aware of the tickling brush of her fingers against his waistcoat as she fiddled with the fastener.
“If I can just… get it to… There we are,” Constance declared with a final tug.
She stepped back to admire her handiwork.
Adam studied Neil thoughtfully. The dog appeared to do the same, sitting by Adam’s boots.
“It fits well enough,” Ellie commented.
“I think it suits him.” Constance set her hands on her more-visible-than-they-ought-to-be hips.
“You know, Uncle Vijay told me that in the Hindu stories, flaming swords represent the triumph of knowledge over ignorance. The final incarnation of Vishnu is supposed to wield one when he comes to end the Kaliyuga.”
A weapon of knowledge. Neil found the notion oddly comforting.
Not that he loved the idea of wearing the sword at all. He would certainly have tried to get out of it, if Constance had given him any warning. Still, the weight of it on his back and the worn leather hugging his waist felt oddly… right.
“Thank you,” he said, surprised to find that he meant it.
Constance beamed at him.
A trumpeting call echoed over the courtyard.
“What on earth was that?” Ellie wondered.
“Think it might’ve been an elephant,” Adam mused.
“An elephant?!” Ellie’s eyes went wide.
“The kid mentioned something about a herd yesterday when she was showing us around the palace,” Adam reminded her.
“Then why didn’t we hear them before?” Ellie protested.
“Because they are only just returned from the southern grazing lands,” a clear voice announced authoritatively from the steps.
Neil looked up to see Vanika, the skinny twelve-year-old from the previous afternoon, bound down to the courtyard with lanky enthusiasm.
She skidded to a stop beside them. “They range in the royal preserve as much as possible, but they’re brought back when anyone reports poachers in the area. Or they need a wash.”
“How many elephants does His Highness have?” Ellie pressed with obvious interest.
“Seven.” Vanika braced her hands on her hips. “They are brought out for festivals and state appearances.”
“Which does not in the least justify the cost of their upkeep,” Vijay added as he strolled out of the palace with Mr. Chowdhury.
The maharaja was simply and elegantly dressed in a white suit with a purple waistcoat. He hopped down the steps with an energy similar to that of the twelve-year-old girl, Mr. Chowdhury following behind him at a more sedate pace.
“You wouldn’t believe the tab for their fodder,” Vijay continued lightly. “But Nawaz insists we keep a royal herd.”
“Because if you do not, you undermine your legal arguments for preventing the Raj from capturing bulls on Nandapur’s land,” Mr. Chowdhury elaborated with the air of a well-worn debate.