Chapter 7
The fires in my room were blissfully blistering, and I ignored the chatter of the ladies who helped me undress and sponged me down with warm water.
They blamed everyone but me for my appearance: My uncle never should have sent me out to meet the farmers, the farmers should have known better than to take so much time, and the Spirits themselves were out of line for having the audacity to allow the rain to fall on me.
Chaaya, the oldest of the women, remained silent.
She’d served me since childhood and had cleaned up too many messes like this to absolve me of responsibility.
I shrugged at my trusted maidservant and let the other ladies’ prattle float over me. Truth be told, all I could hear was the memory of the words “future wife” over and over, in that ridiculous man’s honeyed voice.
A knock on the door interrupted the chattering ladies. Chaaya pulled a loose tendril into her bun, which was more white than black, and left to answer the door. When she returned, she said, “The raja has summoned you to the throne room.”
“Good,” I snapped. “I hope he’s ready for what I have to say.”
The women around me exchanged questioning glances but said nothing as they dressed me in a cobalt sari.
After they clasped on my necklaces and payal, I took a sash out from my trunk.
As I put it on, one of the ladies began to protest about the wrinkles in her precious pleats, but I ignored her and retrieved the long, curved talwar my uncle had given to me last year.
Its case was covered in spiraling gold and blue patterns, which I pointed out to the ladies staring at me with eyes as round as teacups.
“See, it matches the color of my sari perfectly!”
Their wrinkled noses had much more to say than their mouths, but I affixed the blade to the sash nonetheless and then headed to the throne room.
I wanted to run there, to slam open the doors and demand an explanation from my uncle, but now was not the time for an outburst. I needed to show him I understood strategy well enough to make marriage to such a peacock of a man unnecessary.
A pretty peacock, a small voice whispered.
I shoved it back into the corner of my mind where it belonged; nonsense like that would only distract me.
I needed to go to the throne room and listen to what my uncle had to say.
Then I had to show him just how much I understood—and just how little we needed this Raja Lakshmappa.
I would be silent, and then I would settle this issue once and for all.
I could do that. All my previous failures at keeping my mouth shut were just practice so I could master silence at this very moment.
I didn’t even notice Ektha approaching from another hall until she cleared her throat and said, “Abbakka, wait a moment.”
She hurried toward me with delicate, small steps. Her turquoise sari with silver accents was pristine. Embroidered peacock feathers fanned over her pleats, and her long hair had been pulled into a bun that was decorated with white jasmine blossoms.
“Will I do?” she asked. She tugged her cream shawl—the one that Nikith had given her the day of their engagement—tight over her shoulders. “This will be the first time I’ve seen my husband since our uncle requested he return to Banghervari.”
She stared at me and gave me time to process her hint. Of course, Nikith was back from Banghervari. Raja Lakshmappa would not have come here and left Nikith there, but Ektha didn’t know that I’d seen the raja already.
“He will be counting his blessings the moment you enter the room,” I said. Ektha rolled her eyes, but I insisted. “Truly. He will be thrilled to see you.”
She gave me a small smile as she adjusted her shawl. “Thank you. I will be glad to see him, but I am surprised he came so soon. I received word from him this morning and had hoped to speak to you before his return. It seems the Spirits had other plans.”
“Oh?” I wanted to search her eyes to see how much she knew, but Ektha kept her gaze forward. “I wonder sometimes about how much the Spirits care to interfere with the schemes of sovereigns.”
“‘Schemes’?” Ektha frowned. “I would hardly use that word. It seems so . . . malicious. Surely you trust that whatever Nikith was doing in Banghervari was in Ullal’s best interest.”
She knew.
I forced myself to smile. “Of course, sister. I didn’t mean it that way. I should have said ‘the strategies of sovereigns.’”
Ektha finally looked at me as she considered my substitution, and she gave a small gasp when she saw my blade. “Why are you wearing your talwar?”
“What else would one wear when going to war?” I’d had enough of our word games.
“We may be fighting the Porcugi, but I doubt we’ll find any in the throne room.”
Ektha was too busy laughing at her joke to realize I hadn’t even cracked a smile.
Perhaps that was for the best. We continued in silence after that, and I kept my eyes on the carved doors to the throne room.
The intricate design perfectly captured the sinuous lines of the waves crashing against the ships coming in and out of the port.
The leaves of the kingdom’s most valuable crops—cinnamon, turmeric, cardamom, ginger, pepper, cloves, and more—decorated the doors’ borders in a nod to the exports that afforded us our prosperity.
Two guards protected the entrance to the throne room. They bowed deeply as we approached. One of them started to request that I remove my blade, but he thought better of it when he saw my glare. Instead, he opened the door and announced us as we entered. “The Rajkumaris Ektha and Abbakka.”
His voice echoed through the room, which was unnaturally quiet.
And empty. My uncle was in his place on the throne at the far side of the room, but only one person sat across from him.
Nikith’s face lit up as he turned and caught sight of Ektha, but not even the joy of seeing his wife again could erase the bags of exhaustion hanging under his eyes.
The guards closed the doors behind us with a thump.
Our uncle beckoned to me and my sister, and we approached the throne. The tinkling of our payal and bangles seemed loud in the silence as we passed between pairs of pillars carved with lotuses, peacocks, snakes, and swirling vines.
Usually, this room was a hubbub of activity as advisers argued or citizens sought an audience with their raja. Our uncle had even insisted on bringing in a larger table for serving food since he often took his meals here. He insisted that if he was eating, everyone else should too.
As we walked by, I noticed the table was laden with food, as usual. It was untouched, though, which was decidedly unusual.
The raja’s grand throne stood on a platform seven steps higher than the rest of the room.
Elephants carved from fig wood supported the broad platform, and the throne was wide enough for my uncle to sit cross-legged comfortably.
Precious stones and ivory plaques were inlaid into the wood, and deep red and purple silks covered the seat’s plump cushions.
Our uncle waited until Ektha and I came, touched his feet, and sat down in the unadorned sal wood chairs clustered in front of him.
He didn’t seem to notice my glare—or my talwar.
“We don’t have long,” he said as soon as we took a seat.
“I’ve called you here because a man has arrived at our gates claiming to be an emissary from the Porcugi.
He says they’ve taken two more of our trade ships, and he is here to discuss the terms of an armistice.
I cleared the throne room because the last thing such a man needs is an audience. ”
I deflated in an instant. All the bravado that had filled me as I prepared to fight this preposterous engagement disappeared.
Two more ships—ships full of loyal sailors and valuable goods—taken by the monsters from the sea.
And now they had the audacity to send a man and demand to meet with us.
Who was this man anyway? Why would he agree to represent those monsters?
And why would we agree to any terms when they should just stop attacking our ships?
My uncle raised a finger, silencing me before I could ask him anything. “Our questions will have to wait until we meet their representative. All of you should come and stand in front of the platform—we will face this man as a family.”
The raja tilted his head and studied me. “Abbakka, you can’t let him see your face; your eyes are screaming for a fight, and he’s not even in the room yet. Stare at the ground if you must. And for Spirits’ sake, put away that talwar.”
I’d barely managed to hide my blade behind the back of the platform when the doors opened and the guards announced, “Kamran Khalil, emissary of the Porcugi.”
Just the sound of the title made me want to spit, but it didn’t seem to bother the man who strutted through the doors in a long green robe embroidered in white waves that rippled behind him as he walked.
It covered a beige tunic and puffy pants that gathered at the ankles above shiny blue shoes that came to a point at the toes.
The Porcugi emissary walked with all the confidence of a raja, even though he appeared quite young—there wasn’t a trace of gray in his black hair or any wrinkles on his face. I doubted he was much older than me.
Kamran bowed in front of us; his sneer was anything but deferential, even though his words were simpering. “Thank you for the audience, Raja. The shores echo with praises for Raja Trimulya, and the bounty of Ullal’s fields are the envy of all your neighbors.”
His nasal voice—as well as his smirk—set my teeth on edge. To my side, Ektha cleared her throat and pointedly looked at the ground. I followed her gaze to the floor, but I doubted it helped much. Hopefully, Kamran would keep his focus on my uncle and my uncle alone.