Sword of the Deceiver

by Sarah Zettel

  His eyes narrowed. “Ah, Princess Natharie, you have decided to join us. Have you found the poem I sent you after?”

  She opened her mouth, but could not force out a single word to fall in with the charade.

  The drama master sighed heavily. “I thought not. I swear upon my eyes, they do not teach you to read in the south.” He marched forward and took her firmly by the elbow. “Continue, Valandi,” he said over his shoulder as he steered Natharie toward the library. “And the rest of you, I expect a detailed critique of the performance when I return.”

  With that, he led her out into the corridor. “What has happened?” he asked softly.

  Finally Natharie’s wits returned. “Be on guard, Ekkadi,” she said, although Master Gauda frowned. Her maid nodded and fell back a pace, watching the corridor before and behind for listening ears. They would be far less conspicuous walking and talking, master and student, than they would be huddled together once more in the library.

  “There is a woman of Sindhu in the Audience Court,” she told him. “I cannot gain her admittance here. I must go out to her. Will you help us with the ruse again?”

  Master Gauda was silent for five steps. “No.”

  Forgetting the need to be circumspect, Natharie stopped in her tracks. “Why not?”

  Master Gauda rested his fingertips against his brow. Down the corridor drifted the babble of voices from the viewing chambers. The constant noise wrapped around Natharie, reminding her she was watched, reminding her how close the walls were and that all the windows were barred. Suddenly, she found it hard to breathe.

  “Natharie, you are not thinking,” Gauda murmured gently. “Divakesh is waiting for you to make a mistake he can bind you with, and this would be it. Whoever this woman is, whatever she wants, you will not be excused for breaking seclusion. You do not have the queen’s protection this time.” He lowered his hand and let her look directly into his eyes. Then, softly, so softly she might have imagined he spoke at all, he said, “It is a comfort to my soul to know the Awakened lands exist beyond these walls. Please, do not give Divakesh an excuse to make yet more war against them. You know Sindhu cannot stand against the Pearl Throne.”

  Natharie stood there, her lungs heaving as she tried to take in enough air to live. It could happen, just as Master Gauda said. Divakesh was mad enough to use any transgression of hers as an excuse for war. Against this was only the simple, terrible longing of homesickness. Out there waited someone who spoke her language, who had news of her family and her home, who might even be a beloved and familiar face. Someone who could prove to her that she was still herself at the roots of her soul and not lost to this strange grandeur and its cruel-eyed goddesses.

  She took in a deep breath. “Then I will go to the queen.”

  “No, Natharie,” said Gauda at once. “The queen is making use of you. She will protect you only as long as you are no trouble to her. This could become trouble. The instant it does, she will cast you aside.”

  “You and I are thinking of different queens, Master.”

  She pivoted on her heel and strode away. Ekkadi hurried behind her. Natharie still could not breathe. Master Gauda’s words shook her resolve, but she told herself he did not understand, he could not. This place was a blessing and a haven to him. She would not wait in this cage until some bloodletting priest told her she might safely look on her own family.

  “Mistress …” Ekkadi was saying, and there was a note of exasperation in the word.

  Natharie ignored her. She just barely held herself to a walk as she headed for Queen Prishi’s chamber. Inside, wrinkled, dignified Damman was on duty as usual.

  “Damman, I must speak with your mistress. Will she see me?”

  The serving woman hesitated, searching for a reason to refuse. In the end, she simply made obeisance and retreated into the curtained interior. After a moment, she reappeared, bowing and beckoning.

  Somewhat to Natharie’s surprise, Queen Prishi was not in her bed. Instead she lay on a low divan on her private terrace. The space was largely taken up by a sunken pool lined with lilies and lotus. In the shadow of the mountainside, the effect was of a forest glade. There were even a few bright butterflies that had found their way through the lattice.

  The queen beckoned Natharie forward. “At last, my child. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Natharie did come forward, her mouth open in wonder. Queen Prishi just smiled. “You think I do not have Samudra closely watched while he is here?” she asked. “I am still a mother, for all that I have been so many other things.” With these last words, Natharie shivered, knowing the woman was seeing a distant past where she had no part. “You want to go to the Audience Court to find this Sindishi woman.”

  “Please help me, Majesty. I have no other friend here.”

  Queen Prishi shook her head heavily. “That is not true. However.” She made a minute gesture and Damman was beside her, helping her to sit up straighter and piling more pillows behind her. “I will help you. It cannot be this moment, as you would wish.” The last word came out as a gasp, and again, Damman was there immediately with a cup of nectar to moisten her mouth.

  Natharie watched the old woman, knowing this weakness was the queen’s own doing. For a moment, she felt small and selfish. She was risking so much for such a small thing, and here was a woman who fought for her life by bringing herself as close to death as she could come. Natharie bowed her head, and tried not to fidget like a child.

  “Tonight I will send for you,” said Queen Prishi. “You and your maid can exchange clothing, as you did before. You will be seen to sit with me, telling one of your stories, while your maid is seen to run an errand in the lower rings for us both.”

  Natharie bowed over her folded hands. “Thank you, Great Queen.”

  She could not read the emotion she saw in Queen Prishi’s eyes, she only knew that it was deep and that the woman before her bore a pain she could barely begin to understand. “Do not thank me until it is done, Natharie. Go now, and cover up the gossip your tantrum has caused as best you can. Come again when it is fully dark.” She closed her eyes, leaning back on the pillows, her exhaustion plain.

  Natharie bowed again and slipped away as quietly and gracefully as she could.

  Now there was nothing to do but wait, wait and pretend.

  She did not look back to see how Ekkadi’s eyes glittered in the lamplight as they returned to the deep interior of the small domain.

  Night came swiftly to Queen Prishi’s chambers. The poison she imbibed made her eyes sensitive to light, so she kept the curtains as close as she could without rendering the heat stifling. She had not seen the brightness of morning in … how long had it been? Years. Since Bandhura had married Chandra and she had seen the truth behind her daughter-in-law’s cultivated manners. Since then there had been only pain, and plotting, and the metallic tang of the ointment she must rub into her burning skin every day to keep herself weak.

  Damman helped her to her great bed, efficiently arranging her pillows and coverings while the girls and women Bandhura chose for her fluttered about uselessly, twittering and crooning platitudes. Sometimes she wondered if Damman did not suffer through these days even more than she did.

  Oh, Rajan, I am sorry it should come to this. She closed her eyes. Damman dabbed her head with plain water and tipped some wine into her mouth. She felt these things distantly. Her mind was all with her husband, so far gone from her.

  He had been a small man, fine-boned and delicate. His strength was well hidden behind his eyes so that only those who looked deeply could see it. She remembered that first, blushing, bashful, awkward night after their wedding, but more than that, she remembered the day afterward when he spoke to her so earnestly, already in love, seeking ways to bring love to her heart. And he did, for he had honored her and listened when she spoke. From that love she had worked from within, ordering the small domain and all who entered as best she could to aid the empire he ruled. She flattered, spied, and li
ed where necessary, and, yes, more than once, ensured that death came sooner than expected to a powerful man with ideas of his own about who the Mothers meant to hold the Pearl Throne.

  Is Bandhura truly doing any different? Prishi’s hands plucked at her covers. Rajan, can I blame her for doing her best for our son?

  In her private darkness, she could see Rajan clearly. He sat cross-legged beside her, his eyes the color of northern amber, his wide mouth smiling fondly. In her mind, he sighed and reached for her hand. Yes. Because she cares nothing for the empire. If she did, she would make Chandra strong, not indulge his weakness.

  I tried, Rajan. I tried to help them both.

  I know, beloved.

  I must do this one last thing, and then it is on Samudra’s shoulders.

  Yes, Prishi.

  Is he strong enough? What she wanted to ask was Will he forgive me? But even in this waking dream she did not have strength to ask that.

  The Rajan of her dream gave no answer, he only watched her with sad, fond eyes. The slip and slap of footsteps sounded on stone. Reluctantly, Prishi opened her eyes. Damman was holding back the curtains so that Natharie might enter. Behind her came little, bright-eyed Ekkadi who had made herself so essential to all plans that not even Gauda’s warnings could separate them.

  Natharie made her obeisance as respectfully as ever, but even in the light of the single lamp, Prishi could see how anxious she was.

  If I were the friend you believe me to be, I would never let you do this, Natharie. But I fear it is not only Bandhura who must play on weakness to achieve her ends.

  “I am in need of one of your stories, tonight, dear child,” murmured Prishi, falling so easily into the character of the ailing dotard. “I think the one you first told us. The one of the woman king.” She motioned for the girl to sit. Damman was already shooing out the other waiting women. Some of them would be off to report to Bandhura as soon as her back was turned, but that didn’t matter. Not tonight.

  “As you wish, Great Queen.” Natharie’s voice was steady despite the tension in her demeanor. In this much she had paid attention to Gauda, clever child.

  She began the story gently, speaking in lilting cadences clearly meant to send an old woman toward sleep. Prishi looked over her head to see Damman standing by the curtains. Damman nodded to let her know the women were out of earshot, and would hear only the murmur of voices, not the words.

  Prishi touched Natharie’s hand. It was cold as ice. As it should be, child. Natharie understood the gesture. Moving with care, so that her words would not become breathy or strained, Natharie removed her veil and passed it to her maid. She had a great deal of grace for one so very tall. Clearly, her mother had taught her well. Prishi found herself wishing she could meet that other queen, and somehow explain that her daughter’s sacrifice would not be in vain.

  Slowly, cautiously, with Damman on watch the whole time, the transformation was achieved. Natharie sat dressed in her maid’s plain clothes. Her height made it difficult to be inconspicuous, but if she hunched, and moved quickly and purposefully, she could be mistaken for one of the hundreds of servants who swarmed through the palace. And if Ekkadi kept her seat and bowed her head, any casual eye would see silver and silk in the flickering lamplight and assume that here was the princess, dutifully attending the dying queen.

  It had, after all, worked once already. Why should it not work again?

  Natharie knew enough by now to look to Damman for the sign that all was clear. Damman gave the barest of nods, and Natharie at last stopped the story.

  “Good luck to you, daughter,” said Prishi softly. “You may believe …” But a gentle lie would not come and she made a flicking motion with her scabbed and gnarled fingers to send the girl away. “Go carefully.”

  Natharie made a hasty obeisance and was away without delay or further word.

  With her mistress gone, Ekkadi had the grace to look awkward. Prishi, however, did not miss how the maid’s hand kept lovingly stroking the new silks that covered her.

  Prishi sighed. “Now, little maid. You may go to your master and tell him what has happened.”

  Ekkadi froze, her face showing nothing for the moment but utter surprise. Prishi felt herself smile, and a small laugh turned into a painful cough.

  “But …” stammered the maid. Her mind was so well tuned for deception, she did not know what to do with the truth.

  “But what?” snapped Prishi. She was tired. She wanted to sleep, to remember her husband instead of thinking on what she did now. “You do not have that much time. If the priest wants to catch Natharie in the fullness of her violation, he should be quick.”

  But still the maid hesitated. Her eyes narrowed to slits. For a moment she forgot rank, place, and courtesy and saw only another conspirator before her. “Why are you doing this?”

  “That, little maid, is my own business.”

  Ekkadi frowned, but she accepted the answer. Perhaps she even remembered who and where she was. She made obeisance and turned, but Prishi snatched her wrist with one crabbed hand, holding her tightly. “Understand this, however, little maid,” she said in a low and reasonable voice. “If you tell anyone of my part in this, now or ever, you had best be able to live on air and in the air, for you will never know when the poison, the needle, or the dagger will find you. Not even Divakesh will be able to save you from the ones who are still loyal to me. Do you understand?”

  Prishi saw the fear in Ekkadi’s eyes and knew that Ekkadi understood very well.

  Prishi let her hand fall. “Go then.”

  The maid snatched up her skirts and ran, and Prishi closed her eyes, profoundly weary. So, Rajan. The ending begins. May you and our sons one day forgive me for it.

  When Samudra saw the cruelty that Chandra and Bandhura would level against his love in partnership with Divakesh, his resistance would finally break and he would do what he must to take away the throne. It was thus Sindhu would be saved, and Hastinapura, and possibly even Natharie.

  But it was a vile thing to set one brother against another. Justice would be meted out for that too. Prishi had accepted that when she set out on this course.

  Queen Prishi turned to her woman. “It is time, Damman.”

  Damman’s round, old face wrinkled in on itself as she struggled so hard to hold back her tears. Prishi took her hands. Damman had kept her roundness, but all the work she had done had given her thick calluses. I would have given you ease if I could, my friend. “You may go. I will not ask you to do this.”

  “And where would I go?” Damman shot back. “What would I do? Besides, if we are discovered, it will look very strange to see you preparing your own cup.”

  Prishi wanted to argue, but found she did not have the strength. “Very well. We do this together.”

  So Prishi sat on her pillows and watched. Damman knelt among the boxes and bottles, and lifted this powder and that syrup, and held the cup over the lamp, warming it, swirling the liquid that smelled richly of cardamom and ginger, and something else, something elusive and not unpleasant.

  She had watched Damman do something very similar on her wedding night, while she was waiting for her imperial husband to come and make her his own. It would relax her, she had said, and warm her toward what was to come. Damman had prepared her cups to ward off the sickness that came with each of her children, the boys who survived and the girls who did not. Her cups had numbed Prishi when her husband, with his laughing eyes and warm hands, died, and she had considered the ways in which she might die too.

  Damman’s hands were shaking as she knelt and held out the gilded cup to Prishi.

  Prishi took it. Her own hands were steady, if a little cold. “This releases you, Damman. You are free. Leave as quickly as you can, and go to the house of Lord Basdev. I’ve left some jewels there for you. You will want for nothing.”

  Damman nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.

  Prishi looked into the depths of the last cup. Forgive me. Natharie, Samudra, Moth
ers all. Forgive me.

  She drank. It was sweet and it was bitter, and she felt fear and freedom.

  Before she had drained the dregs, her hand went numb. Prishi fell back, her eyes blind with the final darkness, so she did not see Damman raise the second cup to her own lips and drink it down to join her at the very last.

  Natharie ran down the narrow servants’ stair. The oil lamp she carried flickered violently with each step. In her other hand she clutched her hems up near her knees to keep them out of the way. Her mouth moved constantly, repeating Ekkadi’s directions to the Audience Court, counting stairs and turnings, praying she did not get lost, praying she was not seen.

  She emerged from the palace. The fresh night air was a balm after the closeness, heat, and dust. Her eyes, already used to the dark, took in the crowded yard spreading out before her, and she knew she had followed Ekkadi’s directions correctly.

  Thankfully, Ekkadi had warned her what to expect, or Natharie’s heart might have sunk at the sight of the enormous number of people. The yard was filled with little improvised camps complete with fires burning in clay stoves. The best off had pillows and blankets. Most people had lay down, and the sounds of snoring and heavy breathing rose on all sides. A few people were still upright, hunched near their lamps or their stoves, waiting for day, waiting to be noticed.

  Natharie pushed back her veil. Holding her lamp high, she circled the yard, stepping over the sleeping bodies, which earned her a few curses and more than one kick to her ankle. She had only one real plan for her search. If the woman had arrived recently, she was probably in some spot closer to the gates than the stairs.

  The gates were better guarded than the doors. These men were sharp-eyed and straight-backed, watching the yard. Watching her.