Chapter 5
Tomorrows became yesterdays in the gray of my todays.
I knelt dutifully by Ektha’s side as she prayed at the temple, I went to the practice yard every day to spar and sprint, I accompanied my uncle to all his meetings about our fortifications and military strategy, and I scoured our records for more information about the Porcugi.
There was no time to stop.
So I kept going. I could not give my heart the time it needed to heal, but it could scar. And that would be enough.
One afternoon, my brother-in-law’s messenger burst into the throne room and rushed to the base of my uncle’s throne.
Nikith had been back in Banghervari for the last twelve days, but this was the first time he’d sent word.
He’d gone there after a search of our records revealed that the last time the Porcugi had attacked, a coalition of the coastal kingdoms had come together to drive them out.
Details were sparse, since most of the attacks had happened outside of Ullal.
But it was clear we’d sent our ships and soldiers to assist in the effort, and they had returned victorious.
Uncle Trimulya was determined to build a united army again and was convinced that we’d need the help of our enormous, powerful neighbor if we wanted to have any hope of success, so he’d sent Nikith back to Banghervari.
Ektha had offered to go, but our uncle had wanted to keep his heir close, and Nikith was more than qualified.
As a rajkumar by birthright, Nikith had trained in diplomacy alongside his older brothers.
He’d also developed a rapport with the raja of Banghervari’s advisers during his last visit, so our uncle had been optimistic when Nikith left.
After a few days without word, though, worry lines had cropped up around Uncle Trimulya’s eyes, and they’d deepened as the silence had continued.
Until now.
The harried messenger bowed deeply, removed his indigo turban, and produced a folded, sealed cotton cloth.
The seal wasn’t Nikith’s, but my uncle ripped the message open before I could see whose it was.
Uncle Trimulya’s eyes darted across the page, and he fought to keep his face expressionless as he read.
I sat patiently—impatiently, more accurately—and waited for the raja to speak.
To my surprise, he made no announcement to the court after refolding the message and putting it aside.
Instead, he dismissed everyone except me and immediately set to writing his reply.
Murmurs of confusion followed everyone out of the throne room, and I sat uncertainly in front of my uncle with only the scratches from his quill for company. Eventually, I spoke up. “What is it? Did the Porcugi attack again?”
My uncle jumped, dragging the ink across the page and ruining his letter. Rather than respond to me, he roared for more cotton, and an anxious servant ran to accommodate his demand.
The raja tapped the mysterious message as he replied to me. “No, it’s nothing like that.”
Before I could ask what the letter said, he continued, “This is for me to handle. You should see to your training and then visit the farms as planned. Our people need our reassurances—tensions are high now that everyone knows of the Porcugi’s return.
They’re afraid, and rightfully so. They should have heard it from us first, not the local gossip. ”
He looked at me pointedly, and I blushed.
“I had to give Chetan something,” I mumbled.
Uncle Trimulya sighed. “I understand why you did it, but now we must face the consequences. Which means we need to show them our strength. I had hoped we could go together, but this”—he tapped the letter again—“will take some time, so I trust you can take care of it.”
His dismissal was clear. I would have to find another way to find out what was so important that he would miss visiting the farmers. Later. For now, I wasted no time in hurrying out to the training yard.
Rolling hills stood beyond the grounds, and Matanta’s mountain rose above them.
It was impossible to see his cave from here, but I still felt drawn to it.
It had been so long since my last visit—we’d been at our capital in Puttige for years, until the news of our missing ships had brought us back to this fort.
I would have to find a way to go see my old friend.
Parushi separated from a group that was running through training exercises and approached me.
She fell in stride as we walked at the edge of the training grounds.
We didn’t need to say anything. The two of us had trained together ever since my uncle had paired us up more than ten years ago.
Since then, Parushi and I had spent countless hours together as we trained.
We were well suited for each other—neither one of us willing to lose and both of us pushing the other to be better so we could meet my uncle’s exacting standards.
Everyone else, except for Thevan and Samanth, had hesitated when it came to sparring with a rajkumari, but Parushi didn’t seem to care.
She was always respectful of my position, but she never held back, and she didn’t worry about putting on airs or adding unnecessary formality. I preferred it that way.
Today, her sleeveless orange tunic showed off the still-pink scar on her left arm that snaked from her shoulder to her wrist. She gestured to the open field for target practice, which was set at the far corner of the training grounds.
I nodded and took one of the bows she carried.
It would be a relief to be farther away from everyone—not that anyone was staring, but everyone was trying so hard not to that their avoidance became uncomfortable.
I didn’t say anything when Parushi walked far closer to the targets than usual before stopping so we could take our shots.
Parushi was an accomplished archer, but perhaps she hadn’t healed completely and still needed to take it easy.
She waited expectantly, but I stepped back so she could shoot first.
With a shrug of her shoulders, she nocked an arrow, drew the bow in a fluid motion, and released her shot. It flew through the air and sank deep into the center of the target.
Parushi stepped away to give me room, watching me through narrowed eyes. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, daring me to match her shot.
I did.
She nodded in satisfaction. “Glad to see you’ve still got your head about you.”
“You were worried about me?” I asked. “You’re the one that got sliced up by those water demons. Does this mean I can move the targets to a proper distance now?”
“I can do it,” Parushi said.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I waved her off and moved the targets several paces back. “You just stay there. I won’t have you saying you’re too tired to continue just because you think I’ll win.”
“I’m not going to stop until I’m certain I can take my revenge on the Porcugi.” Parushi’s face was hard, and she spoke through clenched teeth.
“Same,” I promised her. I shot the arrow at the repositioned target and smirked with satisfaction when I buried another bullseye.
I lost track of how many arrows we shot together as we steadily increased the distance to the targets in an attempt to outdo each other.
Each of us applauded but also winced as the other let loose another well-aimed arrow.
The clouds darkened overhead. They threw ominous shadows across the practice range, but we ignored them—save for the hope that they might distract our opponent.
“It’s hardly fair,” I said as I went to retrieve our arrows and move the targets back some more. “You can always outsprint me. You should let me win at this.”
Parushi snorted. “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have my head if I let you win.”
“Fair enough.” I smiled.
“That is the first time I have seen even a hint of a smile on your face since . . .” Parushi’s voice trailed off.
“If we spend all our time living in our memories, we deprive ourselves of the chance to make new ones.” I pretended to study the fletching on my arrow as my stomach clenched tight.
Ektha’s voice made me jump. “That is a very neat way of saying you’re stuffing away your feelings instead of confronting them.”
“Rajkumari.” Parushi bowed her head.
“You never do that for me!” I protested.
Parushi rolled her eyes but had the courtesy to stay quiet.
“Are we all supposed to pretend you didn’t force her to stop?
” Ektha’s white bangles jangled as she crossed her arms. Her sari was the color of freshly bloomed peacock flowers, and her cheeks had begun to take on some of the bright pink of her clothes.
“I know you have no fondness for games, so I’ll be blunt.
We need to talk. And you need to answer my questions. ”
Parushi cleared her throat. “Perhaps I should—”
“You’re fine,” I snapped.
Ektha didn’t even spare Parushi a glance as she continued to stare at me. I kept my mouth shut. If she wanted answers, she’d need to ask her questions first.
“Abbakka.” She stepped closer and put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m not here to fight with you. Spirits know that I’d shake sense into you if I could, but I just . . . need to know you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.” I could hear the hollowness of my lie—the space where my heart should be—but I said nothing more.
“Look at me.” Ektha spoke like an undercurrent, quiet and inescapable.
I glanced up and saw the worry in her eyes and the furrow of her brow.
“We have work to do.” I looked out to the ocean but quickly turned toward the fields. Now was not the time to wonder where Samanth’s ashes had floated. Or if my bracelet had found them.
I cleared my throat. “We have work to do. And I am strong enough to do it.”
“You need to stop.” Ektha held both my shoulders and tipped her head to look up at me. “You need to give yourself time to—”
“I’ll stop when the work is done.”
“There will always be more work!”
“Exactly.” I broke free of her grip and looked toward the fort. “We need to protect our people. Protect Ullal. And I will not forsake my duty.”
“Your duty,” she whispered. “I wonder how far you will go for your precious duty. I know you don’t want to, but we need to speak. Abbakka, it’s important.”
I smiled widely, each tooth adding to the high wall that defended my lies. “I’m fine. Really. I need to go inspect the fields. Ah, look, they’ve brought Maraan just in time.”
Behind Ektha and Parushi, a hostler approached with my favorite black horse. Maraan nuzzled Parushi as he passed, and she managed to procure a small cucumber from her pockets. He happily munched it and was still chewing as he came to me.
The hostler handed me Maraan’s reins. “The raja commanded that I bring you your horse so you can visit the nearby farmers.”
I thanked him and, before Ektha could object, mounted Maraan and left.
I knew she wouldn’t call out to me. A rajkumari through and through, Ektha would never raise her voice.
My self-satisfied smirk faltered for a moment when I remembered that I’d abandoned Parushi, but I brushed it off.
Parushi was a trained soldier. She could handle whatever Ektha had to say.
I didn’t have to turn around to know my sister stood behind me with her arms crossed, her tongue silenced by all the words that remained unsaid. She’d have to find somewhere else to direct all the energy she’d built up.
Perhaps I owed Parushi a new set of arrows.