Chapter 42 #2
“Shocking.” He placed a dagger at my side, as he did every day.
“It’s just more for you to pick up later,” I teased.
“Too many weapons are better than too few.” His lips brushed against my ear, and goose bumps pricked my arms. Thevan ran a finger lightly from my hand to my shoulder as he stood before he bowed and left.
I watched him go, fighting my inexplicable urge to ask him to stay.
For better or for worse, he was long gone by the time I found my voice again.
With a shake of my head, I tucked the dagger under the folds of my turmeric-colored sari so it wouldn’t look like a threat to the adaiman.
I’d chosen this particular sari in the hope that the little birds might better understand my message. If only they’d come.
I strummed a few chords and played with the tuning, making the notes rise and fall until each string sang out in perfect pitch. Finally, the strings reverberated in harmony, filling the stepwell with a rich chord that carried up to the heavens.
The tones of my tambura lured me in, drawing me into the song until I lost myself in its melody. I closed my eyes and followed it. My voice twirled around the vibrations of the strings and the lapping of the stepwell’s waves, weaving them together and making the fabric of our song complete.
A crunch on the ground in front of me broke me out of my trance. I opened my eyes, hoping to see an adaiman, but instead I found myself looking at an ornate pair of shoes. Their tips curled up off the ground, and the shoes themselves shone in a way that was unworldly yet strangely familiar.
I hissed an exhale as I realized the shoes were covered in gems that were a poor imitation of Porcugi scales, and I looked up to see a man standing on the platform in front of me.
His robe was different today—deep blue with shining fish embroidered in silver—but the man was the same one who’d come to the throne room so long ago.
On that day, my uncle had shown the strength of Ullal, and my sister had stood by my side.
But today I was alone.
And Kamran Khalil stared down at me through his shrewd black eyes.
The last echo of my song was still ringing through the stepwell as he held his hands up at shoulder level.
I placed my fingers across my tambura’s strings so they would stop their singing.
Beyond Kamran, the door to the gardens was wide open and empty.
What had happened to Thevan? He would never leave his post.
“I mean you no harm,” Kamran reassured me, keeping his hands up. The wind blew from behind him, carrying his salty, sealike scent.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Ektha’s bangle was heavy on my wrist. I leaned onto my other hand, ensuring that it was close to my hidden dagger. “What did you do to the soldier who was guarding the door?”
“There was nobody at the door when I came,” Kamran said.
When I looked at him skeptically, he gestured to his slim build and continued, “I am unarmed. Do I really look like I could take on a trained guard? There was nobody at the door. I swear it.”
He made a fair point. On the surface, at least, there was no indication that Kamran would stand a chance against Thevan. I’d have to take his word for it and talk to Thevan later to find out what had happened. For now, I had other problems at hand.
The emissary stepped closer but stopped when he was two strides away from me. “I hope to have a conversation with you. So we can come to a better understanding.”
He needed to understand that he should leave. As I shifted my position, my back clenched, sending a searing pain up my spine and through my hips. I forced myself to breathe through the pain, and it dulled. There was no way I’d let this man know I was hurting.
“It’s hard to imagine coming to a better understanding when you know that this isn’t the place for such a discussion,” I snapped. It would have been far more appropriate to meet me in the throne room, as he had my uncle. “So tell me: Why are you here?”
Kamran smiled wryly. “Although I’m sure that you’re far too wise to fall into such a trap, I’ve met with leaders whose advisers are, shall we say, biased by their own prejudices. I have come to you here with the hope that it might be easier for us to speak plainly.”
“My advisers are my advisers because I trust their counsel.” I gripped the hilt he could not see. “I do not wish to speak with you without them present.”
Kamran tutted, as if my opinion was nothing but a childlike misguidance. “The rani does not give herself enough credit. I am sure you are more than capable of hearing my arguments yourself and coming to the best conclusion without any help from others.”
The smoothness of his words and the disdain in his backhanded compliments reminded me of Vishwajeet. I gripped the hilt of my hidden dagger even tighter, so its carvings imprinted on my palms.
“An excellent point.” I snarled the kind of smile that would have made Ektha blanch. “My best conclusion”—I mimicked his inflection—“is that Ullal will not pay tithes.”
Kamran laughed, but it wasn’t the condescending snort I’d become used to from Vishwajeet. No, this was a true laugh, as though I’d cracked some incredible joke, even though there was no humor in this situation.
“You cannot be serious,” he said. “I was told that there were some brains behind that beautiful face of yours and that you, unlike your uncle, could be reasoned with.”
Hearing him call me beautiful made me want to scratch my face off. And how dare he even reference Uncle Trimulya, let alone insult him.
“I am serious.”
I let the words hang between us, and the arrogant smile slid off his face. What was left was a far less charming sneer, but at least it was honest.
“Don’t be a fool,” Kamran said. “The Porcugi are far stronger and more numerous than you can imagine. The only reason your little kingdom hasn’t been decimated after your uncle’s antics is because of their mercy. They aren’t offering you a compromise; it’s a kindness.”
I stood up, rather clumsily given the size of my bump and my focus on keeping my dagger hidden. Kamran tried to offer me a helping hand, but I swatted it away, leaving fury etched on his face.
“It would seem you can’t hear me very well while I’m sitting,” I said. “So I will say this one more time, but I will not repeat myself again. Ullal will pay no tithes.”
Kamran’s temple twitched as he glared at me.
“Then I hope you’re ready for your nightmares to chase you in your days.
Once I tell them of your refusal, they will make you—and all your people—pay a price you could never imagine.
And when your people cry themselves hoarse in pain, it is your name they’ll be cursing. You will—”
My dagger was at his throat before he could finish his sentence.
He backed away, but I followed, ignoring the clenching pain that lit my back on fire as I followed his steps.
Eventually, Kamran ran out of space, and his heels banged against the wall behind him.
I stopped just in time to prevent the dagger from cutting his flesh.
“Think carefully about what you do next.” He stayed remarkably calm given that a dagger was at his throat.
“You’ve done more than enough harm to yourself and your nation already.
The Porcugi will be incensed if you refuse them the tithe they were promised by your husband.
Injuring their messenger will only infuriate them further. ”
My back spasmed, but I stayed standing and didn’t show it on my face as I held my breath. The pain released, and I finally exhaled as I lowered the dagger. Kamran assumed his words had shaken me.
“We can still fix this,” he said gently, trying to coax me. “If you agree to pay the tithe, I won’t tell them about the dagger. Save yourself, save Ullal, and pay the tithe.”
I stepped back and considered what he said. Kamran was right—I’d drawn a weapon on a peaceful messenger. It was unforgivable, and the Porcugi would certainly seek revenge the moment he told them, unless he covered up my mistake. Thanks to my temper, he now had leverage over me.
But I could never pay the tithes. Chills ran up my back as I realized the only solution: Kamran couldn’t go back.
“I’m running out of patience, Rani,” Kamran said. “Agree quickly and save your people. For Ullal’s sake, you must agree.”
For Ullal.
Before he could react, I closed the distance between us and drove my dagger into his chest.
He stared in surprise as he wrapped his hands around the hilt and opened his mouth like a fish stranded on land. His tunic became plastered to him as blood spurted and ran down his body, creating a line that pointed from his heart to the ground.
Time froze, and it was as if I could see his tether to the Spirits. His thread of life was stretched thin—each fiber strained to its limits and fighting its inevitable fraying—until it snapped, and he crumpled to the ground in front of me.
My turmeric sari was splattered in his blood, marking me as his killer from head to toe. Its warmth gave me chills, and the world went silent as I stared at the man who was once Kamran.