Chapter 48
Squawking gulls awoke me, and warm, humid air embraced my cheeks. For a moment, I thought I was back at home, but then my aching back reminded me of my predicament. Still, we shouldn’t have arrived at Nandavara so soon. And there were no gulls there.
The chariot slowed to a halt, and Vishwajeet approached. “Welcome to Mangaluru. The guards will escort you to your chambers. Do make yourself more presentable before the raja sees you.”
That was all the introduction I got to the partially constructed white palace in front of me.
With a jolt, I realized that I recognized this building—I’d seen it just before I’d met Thevan and Tara on the beach.
But the builders had made a lot of progress since then.
The center appeared finished now, and they’d begun working on the walls of the wings.
Waves crashed from beyond the building, and voices buzzed up from the beach: Some spoke smoothly in our tongue, and others had a strange accent that lingered too long on the s’s.
White walls extended high above us as the guards in Banghervari green escorted me inside, where the giant spaces ate the air.
Even though the palace was only partially complete, it was already filled with people—servants, guards, and builders roamed the halls.
They tried not to stare while they bowed, and I walked with my head held high, as if my neck were decorated with ornate jewels instead of the mud, sweat, and twigs that adorned me.
We stopped in front of a pair of double doors, and the guards swung them open but didn’t enter.
“Rani!” A maid hurried forward, and her hand flew to her chest. “How could they leave you like this? Have they no shame?”
The other maids stared at me with more sympathy than I ever recalled during my time in Banghervari. I must have truly looked like a disheveled mess.
Time to use it to my advantage.
“The journey certainly took me by surprise.” I let my voice tremble a little as I clutched the sack of paarijaata a little too hard. “I need to clean up before . . .”
My words faded out, and I leaned forward as if I were struggling to keep my balance.
The maid that had greeted me rushed to my side. “Perhaps the rani would be so kind as to sit down to . . . give us time to prepare some water.”
I smiled at her gratefully. “I must admit that I’m longing for a comfortable chair and some warm food.”
That set off a flurry of motion. Maids scattered in different directions: to my sitting area to prepare a seat, to the kitchens to get some food, and to the fire to heat the water.
One of the ladies came back with a steaming-hot cloth that she pressed on my face and neck—every touch left it caked in mud.
There was a rap on the door.
“Must be your food and tea.” The maid closest to me made space on a nearby table. She tried to take the bag of paarijaata blossoms, but I held on firmly. Those flowers were my connection to Ullal, and I would not let them go.
“The raja has come to speak to his rani,” a guard announced from the door.
A hush fell as my maids stared at me, unsure of what to do since I hadn’t cleaned up yet. My salwar kameez was streaked in mud, I didn’t even want to think of what my hair looked like, and in this place where even the walls glittered, the only piece of jewelry I wore was my pearl gajra.
I licked my dry lips and laid Thevan’s collection of paarijaata blossoms on the freshly cleared table. “The raja is always more than welcome.”
The Spirits should have had the decency to choose a less handsome man for me to escape.
Aru rushed into the room, brushing past the guard as soon as I welcomed him.
His impeccably clean, pale green kurta with silver embroidery starkly contrasted my filthy attire, but he hardly seemed to notice.
He drank me in with his stormy green eyes, but there was no light in his face, and his voice sounded strangely hollow. “You’ve come back.”
He stared at me from the doorway. His body leaned forward, but his feet stayed firmly in place. I tucked a curl behind my ear and tried not to fidget under his scrutiny. His eyes followed my fingers up to my hair, and he caught sight of something that made him pause.
“What’s in your hair?” he asked.
It was impossible to know what the forest had left tangled in my locks. I ran my hand through my hair, but to my surprise, I found nothing until I touched my gajra. I looked at him with raised eyebrows and he nodded.
“It’s the gajra you gave me,” I said slowly.
“You still have it?” His voice twisted upward as he spoke.
“Of course. Where else would it be?”
Aru raked his hand through his midnight curls and looked at the ground. “Vishwajeet said . . . well, never mind. I just didn’t expect you to be wearing it.”
I brushed my fingertips over the smooth pearls, pausing to collect my thoughts and come up with an excuse about why on earth I’d be wearing such an extravagant ornament in my current state.
“This was the last gift you gave to me in Ullal—just before our wedding.” I wanted to remind him of the time when he was giddy in love with me and was convinced that I was Spirits blessed.
“Just before skies flashed green as we circled the mandap and tied ourselves to each other. Ever since then, I’ve known that my place was by your side.
I’ve hated every moment we’ve spent apart, and .
. . I guess it was silly, but I’ve worn this gajra from the moment I left so I could feel close to you while I was gone. ”
Aru’s face flooded with relief. “Not silly at all.”
The barriers he’d put up evaporated. He closed the distance between us in three strides. His arms were wide open, but I held my hand out in front of him, and he stopped short.
I pushed down the memory of Thevan kissing those same fingers just yesterday. “I don’t want to get you dirty.”
Aru blinked at me as he seemed to see the dirt covering me for the first time. “What happened? Why are you in such a state?”
“Vishwajeet found me on the mountainside and insisted we come here directly.” I stayed demure as I began to chip away at his trust in his adviser.
“And then the chariot ride was . . . not so smooth, especially with only a thin cushion on my seat. I had asked Vishwajeet for some time to make myself more presentable, but perhaps he didn’t hear me. ”
Aru stared at the guards near the door with narrowed eyes. “Bring Vishwajeet to me at once.”
Two guards darted down the hall as Aru’s words bounced around the room and up to its high ceiling.
“I am truly sorry for my appearance, my raja,” I said.
“You are always a welcome sight.” Aru’s sweet smile was true.
I couldn’t help but blush. He was a coward, but he was a charming one.
“There’s the smile I’ve been longing to see.” Aru held my fingers tight with one hand and gestured around us with the other. “It’s why I had them build this. This is your palace. I’d hoped to show it to you when we last came to the beach, but then you were unwell . . .”
His voice trailed off as he ran his fingertips against my cheek.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “It was thoughtful of you. And far too generous.”
I hated that it was true. Not for the first time, I wished my husband’s courage matched his attentiveness, that he could see past his need for comfort to find a deeper love for his country and his people.
Aru flicked a bit of mud off one of my curls. “You must tell me what happened. Why were you on a mountain? Shouldn’t you be resting?”
I gestured to the nearby sofa, and we found a seat. Aru leaned into the soft yellow pillows, but I pushed mine to the side.
“Vishwajeet found me as I finished collecting the paarijaata blossoms on our holy mountain.” I pointed to the knotted cloth on the nearby table and silently thanked Thevan for picking the flowers while I was with Matanta.
Aru opened the knotted cloth and retrieved a wilted purple flower. Its color had faded, and the petals had become more translucent, but there was still enough purple to know this was no ordinary blossom. “Purple paarijaata. You truly are Spirits blessed—a gift I hope you pass to our children.”
He stared at me with so much adoration that I felt a pang of guilt for manipulating him. But it had to be done. For Ullal.
“Tell me, how is our daughter?” Aru asked. He scooted closer to me and placed a hand on my knee.
“She is strong.” Just the thought of her was enough to make me light up. “Her cheeks are like laddus, her eyes shine with hazel light, and she has your nose and our curls.”
Aru’s whole face was consumed by his smile, but then his joy faltered. “But you named her after your uncle.”
“And your grandmother. Trimuladevi.” I covered his hand with mine.
I’d planned for this. Even though I refused to name my daughter after her father, I’d added a name that—rather conveniently—ran in both our families.
“It was she who told you about the purple paarijaata blossoms. I wanted to honor the woman who saved us. We even call her Devi for short.”
“Devi.” He rolled the name off his tongue. “Named after my grandmother.”
He lifted my hand and kissed it. “I have missed you. So much. I am like a ship without the wind when you are not here; how am I to know where to go?”
I couldn’t bear to look at him, so I folded my hands in my lap and stared at them instead.
Seeing him like this reminded me of the hope that I’d had at the beginning of our marriage: that, together, we could defeat the Porcugi.
With his wealth and resources and my planning and determination, we should have been able to usher in a new era for our nations.
Our children should have inherited peaceful, prospering kingdoms. But I had left, dividing us and shattering any hope for that future. Had I given up too soon?
As I tortured myself with my thoughts, I caught sight of Aru’s hem. What I had thought was silver embroidery was actually a row of small pearls. He must have signed the agreement with the Porcugi.