Chapter 21
For almost two moons, I refused to let myself stop.
Each day echoed the day before it, blending from one to the next.
I made the same motions from sunrise until sunset, throwing myself into a routine and going from one place to the next until I could only hear the whisper of my grief when I stopped moving altogether.
Most mornings were consumed with discussions of strategy with Thevan and Nikith.
I couldn’t bring myself to use the throne room, so we continued to meet in the council room.
Fresh tea and snacks were always served, but they often went untouched as my two closest advisers butted heads.
Thevan was determined to avenge his brother and father, and he was convinced that war with the Porcugi was our only way forward.
Our soldiers agreed and had rallied behind him—just thinking about their roaring cheer when I appointed him general still gave me tingles.
Nikith, on the other hand, always fretted about the cost of our fight with the Porcugi and wanted to find a peaceful solution.
The Porcugi had attacked our ships three times since I’d become rani, and this morning a group of farmers had come to discuss their concerns about exporting crops. Thevan and Nikith had started arguing as soon as the farmers left.
“We can’t continue like this.” Nikith gripped his knees so tightly that his knuckles were pale. The steam from the piping-hot masala vada on the table curled up between us, but he ignored it. “Their losses are too great. You heard them—they don’t know what to do if another ship is lost.”
“Ships were lost at sea even before the Porcugi came.” Thevan crossed his arms and leaned back into the green cushions behind him. “The farmers will do exactly what they did before: prepare for their next shipment and hope to make it up.”
“But it’s different now.” Nikith leaned toward me.
I’d noticed that he always made sure he was sitting closer to me than Thevan, even though Thevan and I had kept our distance since that day in the council room.
“This isn’t the same as getting hit by an unexpected storm or some other unforeseen tragedy.
These are targeted attacks, and they’re going to keep happening unless—”
“Until,” Thevan interrupted, “we find a better way to defend against them.”
His jaw was set in that stubborn way of his.
It was the same face he used to make when we were training as children and our instructors tried to tell him he couldn’t fight with all his energy all the time.
They often encouraged Thevan to pace himself, but even then he’d been against the idea of fighting with anything less than everything he had.
On those days, he grumbled nonstop—long after training finished—until I sneaked into the kitchen and stole some laddus for us.
Thevan always tried to pretend he wasn’t hungry at first, but he would finally smile when I pushed up the corners of his lips, and then we’d run away giggling as we gobbled our sweets.
Thankfully, neither of them noticed the way my fingers flicked toward Thevan’s mouth.
“If we find a better way,” Nikith said. “But even if we do, what happens until then? How long can we ask the people of Ullal to sacrifice themselves and their livelihoods against such a fearsome enemy?”
“We’ll find a way to defeat them soon.” Thevan showed no hint of fear, but I knew that he was struggling to find an effective defense against the Porcugi.
Our weapons weren’t made to work against those hardened, almost steellike scales. It was a challenge, one that Thevan was more than willing to face—but what about the people who lived beyond the fort’s walls?
Nikith turned to me and spoke softly. “Please, Rani, consider paying the tithes. If we are to have any peace, any chance at recovering from these losses, it is worth the price.”
“Never!” Thevan roared and stood up.
“She must!” Nikith didn’t back down. “You may command our army, but you have no idea what it’s like to rule an entire nation.”
“And you do?” Thevan scoffed.
“More than you. You may have trained with your blade since birth, but a ruler needs to have a command of much more than the sword. The rani understands”—Nikith turned to me—“that a nation’s soldiers are not the only ones who pay the cost of war.”
Ektha’s bracelet was heavy on my wrist.
Thevan slammed his hands on the table. “We. Will. Not. Yield.”
I stood and faced my general. “This is not your choice to make.”
He glared at me mutinously but eventually sat down again.
“You have both given me much to consider.” I stared at the doors and wondered what the people outside this room—outside this fort—thought about our war.
To me, the need to fight the Porcugi was so obvious it needed no explanation, but I couldn’t deny that the towns I’d visited were filled with more whispers than ever before.
“We cannot capitulate to the Porcugi’s demands—we shouldn’t have to pay them to not attack us.
But we need to make sure that the people are behind us in our fight.
We’ll discuss this further tomorrow, but for now I need to go meet Parushi.
We’re visiting her hometown today. Perhaps while I’m there, I’ll be able to better see and understand the mindset of our people so we can have a more fruitful discussion tomorrow. ”
With that, I left, giving them both no choice but to bow in silence.
After such a heated discussion, the afternoon’s sunshine was a relief.
Parushi and I rode through her hometown, with three guards in front of us and three behind.
I’d made a habit of visiting nearby towns several times a week so the people of Ullal could see me as their rani and hopefully feel some reassurance after the sudden loss of both their raja and the rani they expected.
But even though people bowed deferentially, I could hear their murmurs at my back.
Few people smiled, and hardly any of them threw flowers.
Even the shop stalls themselves seemed to be stocked with fewer wares.
Something needed to be done. I signaled to Parushi and got off my horse.
She did the same and followed me in confusion as I carried Maraan’s reins in hand and approached a group of people.
They went somewhat slack jawed but were soon put at ease when I asked them a few questions about themselves and then offered to hear any of their concerns.
As we spoke, more and more people began to flock to the market, until it was abuzz with activity.
I spoke to them about whatever they wanted to talk about—the loved ones they’d lost, their concerns about the Porcugi, the growth of their crops, or even my favorite sweets—and reassured them when I could.
As we approached the last stalls in the market, a young woman in a white salwar kameez of mourning pushed her way to the front of the crowd and approached my horse.
Parushi stepped between us. “Give the rani some space.”
The other guards who accompanied me kept their distance when I raised my hand. They watched Parushi for any sign that she needed support.
The woman threw her hands up but didn’t step backward. She pointed to the carrot she held at Maraan. “I just wanted to offer the horse a treat.”
She didn’t seem at all concerned by Parushi or the guards; she kept her eyes on me. I nodded at her, allowing her to offer the carrot, which Maraan ate greedily. She didn’t step back until another guard cleared his throat and came forward, but even then she moved only a few paces away.
Parushi leaned toward me and whispered, “I know her. Don’t trust her.”
“You know her?” My voice was a little too loud.
“She hasn’t spoken of me?” The woman smiled, but her expression had no warmth. “I suppose that makes sense. She never looked back after she left. But we were practically family—our mothers raised us together. They shared everything with each other. Everything.”
“That’s enough, Shalini,” Parushi said. “Say what it is you need to say and be gone.”
“I have no quarrel with the rajkumari.” Shalini inclined her head at Parushi with a smirk.
The crowd of people within earshot gasped. Murmurs raced along either side of us as word spread of the woman’s insolence.
“The rani!” Parushi stepped toward Shalini with her hand hovering over her hilt. “Apologize! Now!”
“She’s grieving.” I placed a hand on Parushi’s shoulder.
The last thing I wanted to do was to alienate the people who were watching us.
They would be far more familiar with this woman and her pain, so they would more readily empathize with her than with me.
“We must make allowances for our minds when our hearts are heavy.”
I turned back to the young woman—she appeared to be about my age, but she had the self-assurance of an elder, and she met my gaze with a cold sense of purpose.
Shalini gave me a small half bow. “It’s true that the loss of my mother has left me bereft.”
“May the Spirits guide her.” I spoke the words reflexively and tried to hide my confusion.
I always received updates on the deaths after a Porcugi attack, and I was certain I would have remembered if someone the age of Shalini’s mother had died.
“I am sorry to hear of your suffering at the hands of the Porcugi.”
“She did not die because of the Porcugi.”
That was a relief, in a small way. It didn’t reduce her suffering, but it was a good reminder for those who were listening that nobody was safe from death, whether the Porcugi were here or not.
Shalini cocked her head. “That doesn’t stop me from having an opinion about them.”
“Speak your mind,” I said.
“You should take the deal with the Porcugi,” she said with a shrug. It wasn’t a shrug of ambivalence; it was the gesture you’d use when explaining something self-evident to a small child. “Just pay them so we can trade in peace.”
Her audacity was stunning, but Shalini’s overtly gratified expression spurred me to respond before more people took her side.
I raised my voice and spoke to the crowd as much as I did Shalini.
“The Porcugi have no respect for the people of Ullal. They seek to take the bounty of our labor without doing any of the work themselves. They do no good—they’re demanding a reward for not doing harm.
They’re trying to intimidate us into submission, but we are stronger than they know. We will not bow to a bully.”
People along the sides of the street crowded around us. Many of them looked thoughtful, and a few nodded as I spoke.
“We bow every day.” Shalini’s words snapped like a crackling fire. “What you mean is that you will not bow to a bully.”
Parushi jumped into action before I had a chance to think.
“You will give the rani her due respect,” she growled. She didn’t need to raise her voice since she now stood a hair’s breadth from Shalini’s face.
“I did not intend to hurt the rani’s feelings.” Shalini still spoke with fire, no matter how smooth her words were. She paused and then added, “Forgive me.”
Parushi stepped back, but she stayed between us, keeping focused on her childhood acquaintance.
“I am not here to bully you,” I said firmly. I let Parushi handle Shalini as I turned to the people around us and spoke directly to them. “I am here to serve Ullal so that we can use today to build a better tomorrow. If we give in to the Porcugi now, they will only ask for more and more.”
“You don’t know that.” Shalini raised her voice to match mine.
“You act like we don’t have a choice, but there are always choices.
About so many things. The Porcugi are offering us a deal.
They’ll protect us if we give them a tithe, and it’s a price that’s far less than the one we’re paying with our lives and the lives of those we love. ”
A few people in the crowd clapped after she spoke, and a few looked troubled, but most looked at me for my response.
I considered her words, giving them the weight they deserved before replying. “If we give in now, we will never be free again. The Porcugi will stand on our backs to hold themselves higher and will steal all they can until they’re robbing our corpses.”
The people in the crowd were riding the waves of my voice. I needed them to continue to listen—not to obey blindly but to want to follow. I led them along my line of thought and brought them to where I stood.
“I will not allow Ullal to be crushed,” I declared, raising my finger as I spoke louder with each word. “I, your rani, will fight against these oppressors every single day—I will fight until my last breath—and I ask that you do me the honor of riding by my side.”
“Long live Rani Abbakka!” one man called out as he raised his fist. “Protector of Ullal!”
“Long live Rani Abbakka!” The rest of the crowd took up the chant.
I smiled, relieved that they understood. At least most of them did. A few still crossed their arms skeptically, but most of the people cheered my speech.
“Fools!” Shalini screamed. “There is another—argh!”
I turned just in time to see her flying through the air.
Shalini crashed to the ground, her hair tumbling out of place and splaying in every direction as a dagger clattered out of her hand.
She screamed in pain, clutching her stomach.
Maraan tossed his head in satisfaction as he lowered his leg but stayed between her and me.
“Protect the rani!” Parushi called to the guards as she tackled Shalini, who was trying to sit up. The woman was easily overcome and fell back to the ground under Parushi’s weight as the guards formed a ring around us.
“Bring her to the fort. She will face her punishment there,” I commanded.
Parushi kneeled over Shalini, one hand on the fallen woman’s chest and the other on her blade. She glared at me mutinously. “There is only one punishment for attempted regicide.”
“Maybe so, but it doesn’t need to happen in the streets.
The less attention we can draw here, the better.
Take her to the fort.” I looked Parushi in the eye, giving her no room for misunderstandings.
My heartbeat echoed through my chest, but my voice stayed steady.
“I will continue as planned with the rest of the guards.”
“You should go back too,” Parushi said.
I wiped any signs of worry off my face. “I promised my people I would be here, and I’ll stand by my word. I’m asking them to go to war; they cannot see me as weak.”