Chapter 28 #2
“I don’t expect them to take me seriously no matter what I wear,” Parushi said.
“These council meetings are nothing like the ones we held in Ullal. Nobody speaks their mind here; they just wait to see what Vishwajeet has to say. He has the ear of the raja above everyone else. I was surprised we managed to negotiate your engagement since Vishwajeet seemed so against your terms at first. Nikith must have worked some magic.”
“They can’t all follow Vishwajeet in everything,” I protested. “Surely Aru would want to hear different opinions and make his mind up for himself.”
“I only ever saw one man directly contradict Vishwajeet: the raja’s so-called nephew,” Parushi said. “I believe he’s actually the eldest son of the raja’s first cousin, and he does have a few allies, but the rest of the council falls behind Vishwajeet in whatever he says.”
“Well, Vishwajeet will have to get more accustomed to hearing contradicting opinions,” I said. “I doubt we’re going to agree on much.”
Parushi’s eyes darted to the door, and she lowered her voice even further. “You’ll have to be careful. Vishwajeet likes his games, and he’ll use every trick he has to make sure he keeps getting his way. Men who have become accustomed to power rarely let it go without a fight.”
I licked my lips. It wasn’t like Parushi to worry about politics—she was generally of the opinion that such silliness could be easily overcome by direct action.
Chaaya stepped away from me, having finished with the flowers. “You’re ready, Rani.”
I squeezed her hand in thanks, knowing that she was talking about more than my hair, and then Parushi and I left.
A guard waited outside the door, ready to take us to the council meeting.
I’d expected him to lead us to yet another large room with lavish furnishings, but he led us outside instead.
The breeze tickled my cheeks as we stepped out the doors and into the courtyard where Aru sat at the head of a long, rectangular table.
There were a dozen other men, all dressed in silk panche with stylish kurtas and gold-embroidered angavastram.
Together, they looked like a dazzling display of peacocks, flashing their shining feathers in the sun.
“My rani!” Aru rushed to embrace me.
His public affection startled me, but I tried not to show it. Most of the men looked away, abashed, and Vishwajeet appeared almost angry.
Aru didn’t seem to notice. He inhaled deeply as he leaned into the crook of my shoulder. “It isn’t fair. Your beauty lights up the day but only makes me long for the night.”
I flushed, and Parushi made a strange kind of noise from behind me.
Thankfully, Aru stepped away and led me to the rest of his advisers. “Rani Abbakka, I would like to introduce you to my trusted council.”
He introduced Vishwajeet first, followed by his nephew, Kamaraya.
A quick glance at Parushi confirmed that this was the man she’d spoken of—the only one that dared to contradict Vishwajeet.
The family resemblance was obvious, though Kamaraya had deep brown eyes, a wider nose, and a rounder face.
He was definitely younger than Aru—probably closer to my age—but he seemed confident in his position near the head of the table.
Aru rattled off the names of the rest of the men with little other information, but it didn’t seem to bother them. I noted who glanced toward Kamaraya and who looked to Vishwajeet—only two aligned with the nephew compared to eight for the adviser.
Vishwajeet bowed after the introductions were through. “So generous of the rani to make time to meet us today when I’m sure she has much to do as she settles in here.”
As I looked around the table, I realized there was no place for me or Parushi to sit. Aru had invited me here purely to introduce me, not so I could stay.
“I can think of no better way to settle into Banghervari than to hear about it from the people who know it best,” I said. “My husband, in his wisdom, must have known how eager I am to serve our people. He understands that our nations will be strongest when we work together.”
We hadn’t spoken of any such thing, but I was certain that crediting Aru with the idea would hold more weight with these men.
Aru smiled widely. “Yes, of course. You must stay.”
Vishwajeet looked positively mutinous, but he clapped twice and had servants bring two more chairs. He gestured for them to go at the foot of the table, which was empty.
Far from Aru.
Parushi nudged my side, but before I could say anything, Aru spoke up.
“Not all the way over there.” He scooted his chair to make space. “My rani must sit next to me.”
The servant glanced at Vishwajeet nervously, but the raja’s command was clear, and Vishwajeet signaled for him to bring the chair next to Aru’s.
The raja sat down and gestured for me to do the same. He squeezed my hand three times. “I love you,” he’d said when he’d done the same thing last night.
I squeezed it three times back, grateful for his support.
The men around the table stopped shifting around in their seats after Parushi sat down at the foot of the table.
Soon, they were reviewing matters of policy and economic growth, dissecting the crop yields in the various regions of their vast kingdom.
I remained silent, as did Aru. I assumed it was because he was listening closely, but when I looked over at him, he was just staring at me dreamily.
It was hard to know what to make of being so adored. I wanted to cover my face and tell him to pay attention but also to kiss his cheeks and smile with all the sunshine he made me feel.
“Rani Abbakka, forgive the blunt question, but why did Ullal refuse to pay its tithes?” Kamaraya drew my attention back to the conversation.
“No need for apologies. A ruler should always be prepared to answer frank questions,” I said as I gathered my thoughts. “Ullal refused to pay the tithes because we believe in our right to govern ourselves.”
“The Porcugi have made no attempt to rule,” Vishwajeet cut in. “They asked for payment for their protection in the water.”
His words echoed those of the Porcugi emissary, but nobody here balked the way that my uncle had so long ago in the throne room of Ullal.
“In Banghervari, we enjoy robust trade,” Vishwajeet continued. It was no different in Ullal, but I didn’t interrupt him. “Paying a small fee for the protection of our goods is a worthwhile investment.”
No wonder Aru could give me a pearl gajra.
Banghervari was paying tithes to the Porcugi, and the Porcugi probably saw the value in an ally as powerful as Banghervari.
Just as my uncle had. How could Aru have agreed to the terms of our engagement if he was already in agreement with the Porcugi?
Perhaps he saw this difference as a natural extension of him agreeing to rule Banghervari and me keeping my power in Ullal.
Regardless of how Aru managed to justify it to himself, Nikith had truly worked some kind of miracle.
“Perhaps it is different here in Banghervari.” I tilted my head toward Vishwajeet, as if making a concession, even though I knew it wasn’t true.
“In Ullal they asked that we pay them so they would stop attacking us, which is ridiculous. They are scavengers, like hyenas. But the hyena does not demand a share of the tiger’s kill, and if the hyena ever tries to forcibly take what it wants, the tiger responds with force.
The tiger does not flinch in the face of a fight.
It knows that greed has no bounds, and if the hyena is allowed to demand a fraction, it is only a matter of time before it takes the whole and the tiger only gets its leftovers. ”
Parushi sat tall and proud in her blue Ullal uniform, and most of the men around the table looked at me with newfound respect. Vishwajeet was the exception. He looked at Aru, and his expression tightened as he realized my husband was giving my words some thought.
“The rani is a captivating speaker.” All of Vishwajeet’s words felt slippery, even when he spoke them through a smile. “And her beauty makes her words seem even more so.”
Parushi frowned, and I forced my face to stay neutral. My looks had nothing to do with the value of my opinions.
“It is no wonder,” Vishwajeet continued, “that the raja has commissioned such exquisite gifts for her. Perhaps now might be a good time to . . . ?”
He turned to Aru, who nodded eagerly. “An excellent suggestion. Bring it now!”
Vishwajeet clapped twice—I was beginning to hate the sound—and two servants appeared carrying a long object covered in a lush purple cloth between them.
Aru stood and gave me his hand to help me do the same.
He gently guided me a few steps away from the table so the servants could have space to present the large object.
Vishwajeet joined us, unbidden, and stood ceremoniously between us and the servants, centering himself by the table.
“As a token of his affection, the raja of Banghervari would like to present his rani with this gift.” Vishwajeet raised his voice so it rang over the courtyard, and he waited for the sound to fade before he lifted the cloth and revealed the most beautiful tambura I had ever seen.
The striking instrument’s dark wood was covered with intricate dyed inlays: pink-and-white lotus blossoms swirled among bright green feathers—the color of the adaiman.
Gold had been burnished into the tips of the petals and feathers so the instrument caught the sun’s light and dazzled with its warmth.
“It’s . . . incredible.” I couldn’t even bring myself to touch it.
“It was no small challenge to make an instrument worthy of you,” Aru said. He lowered his voice and brought his chin down so I could see myself reflected in his eyes. “I knew, the moment I saw you in that stepwell, that I had to make you my bride.”
It was so easy to get lost in his gaze, but a movement at the end of the table caught my attention.
Parushi had gotten out of her chair and was on her way to intercept a pair of servants carrying a few large cushions, the type that musicians would often sit on while playing.
Vishwajeet frowned at Parushi’s interference.
“An instrument like that calls out to be played,” Vishwajeet said. He wasn’t looking at me to see what I thought; all his attention was on the raja. “Perhaps you could favor us with a song? I know how much the raja loves to hear you play.”
This was exactly the type of thing Parushi had tried to warn me about.
I’d contradicted Vishwajeet, so now he needed to find a way to undermine me.
If I played the tambura in front of these men, I’d forever be the pretty girl who loved music, and I’d lose any hope of them taking me seriously as a leader.
I waited for Aru to object—to remind Vishwajeet that I was a rani and not a performer that could be summoned for his entertainment—but Aru was just staring at me dreamily, apparently oblivious to Vishwajeet’s games.
It was up to me to find a way to avoid playing.
“Marrying the raja has brought me many joys.” I squeezed Aru’s hand three times, and he returned the gesture.
“One of which is reserving parts of myself for only my husband. With his permission, I will have this beautiful instrument taken to his quarters, and I will save my music for his ears alone.”
I had never seen so many iterations of a smile at once.
Aru’s was warm and true, while Parushi’s was wicked and proud, and Kamaraya’s was filled with mischief and delight.
None of them had my attention, though. I lowered my eyes and glanced up through my lashes so it wouldn’t look like I was staring at the man beside my husband.
Vishwajeet’s smile was laced with venom.