“My lord Mahanidhi,” Rajak said in common tongue, coming back to the high table. “I thank you from my deepest heart for your hospitality. I regret we must leave before the sun sets.”
Mahanidhi stood up, and spread out his hands.
“Please, Maharaj—stay with us tonight. Sleep in peace under my roof and make the journey tomorrow.”
“I would be honored,” Rajak said. “But I cannot escape my duty, even for one night.”
Mahanidhi’s face took on a knowing expression.
“Of course, my prince.”
“I am sorry to quit your company so soon,” Rajak said. “And so I want you to bring all of your children to Nazre in a fortnight for a feast, and to help me prepare the caverns for the Water Gathering. Will you come?”
“Yes, Maharaj,” Mahanidhi bowed. “With gladness.”
“Thank you.”
“Shall I send an escort with you as you travel home?” Mahanidhi asked.
Rajak was already shaking his head.
“Thank you again, my friend. But I am not afraid, and my horses are swift. I bid you good night.” Rajak motioned to me.
I got to my feet, gripping the horse box in my hand, and moved to Rajak’s side. Together, we left the hall, just ahead of Mahanidhi and all of his children, minus Abhishri. When we reached the door, we crossed the threshold amidst great fanfare and loud farewells, and mounted the chariot that waited for us.
I gripped the front of it with my free hand, just as I had before, and glanced up at the sky. The light was fading into the west, and the heavens were lit up in orange and deep gold. Rajak stepped on behind me, took up the reins, and with a shout back at his friends, lashed the horses’ backs and we were off once more.
We left Casim in a cloud of dust behind us, but Rajak’s slowed the horses’ gait to a comfortable trot after we passed its borders.
I was silent. I watched the road as we left the hills behind and began to ascend into the canyon. I listened to the clomp of the hooves and the rattle of the wheels. Something sat in my gut that I did not like. It made me want to shift, as if a thorn was prodding me. I would have to think on it later, when I was alone in my bed, and Rajak was not right behind me.
The sky darkened. The sun hid itself behind the high, rocky hills before us. Rajak was gentle on the horses as they carried us upward, around the many bends. The canyon’s shadows grew deep, and as we neared the top, I could hardly see what was right in front of me. I could only hear the steady rhythm of our travel. And then—
We came out of the canyon. I let out a long, deep breath.
It was as if a pouch of diamonds had exploded across a sea of deep blue velvet. I had never seen such stars.
Rajak clicked to the horses, and they sped up, leaving the main road and taking us on a path up the side of a dune. Rajak pressed up behind me as the chariot rocked, steadying me with his body. And at last we reached the top, and drew to a halt.
I shook my head in wonder, unable to speak. Billions of stars—more stars than I could ever count if I tried, dazzled my eyes. The moon was like a platter, lighting up the sand to look like crests of silver. And the heavens appeared so deep, so black; vast as the farthest fathoms of the ocean.
A breath of wind touched me. It was cold. I shivered, but could not lower my eyes. Stillness came over me. There was no sound in this desert—nothing but the occasional wisp of wind against the sand. What I would have given to show this sight to Aeleth. I shivered again. Rajak’s shoulder moved.
It was then that I realized that his left arm was wrapped around my waist, keeping me snug against his chest. I turned my head and looked up at him. His face was right beside and above mine, but his was tilted up toward the heavens. The moon shimmered in his black eyes as his eyebrows drew together. The sorrow in his stoic, moonlit face took my breath.
“What do your people say about the stars?” he murmured. I endeavored to look away from him, but for a moment I could not. Then I swallowed and lifted my gaze to the sky again.
“They are fairies,” I said. “Fairies that are waiting for a baby to be born, so they can follow him and protect him, and make sure he is never alone.”
“Hm.” I felt his voice vibrate against me. “Your stories are about birth. And ours are about death.”
I looked at him again. I could not help it. He did not notice—his gaze was captive to the stars.
“What do your people say?” I asked. His expression flickered.
“That they are the souls of the people who have burned the brightest in life, and were snuffed by a wicked hand.”
My brow tightened as I watched him. I felt his fingers move against my side.
“My mother never saw the Wine Country,” he whispered. “She never met Mahanidhi, or saw the bazaar at Casim.”
I bit my lip. He kept staring at the sky. I leaned my head back, and rested it on his shoulder.
He blinked, and his head turned toward me. For a moment, his chin rested on my forehead. Then he straightened, took up the reins in both hands again, and muttered, “Hut, hut,” and we made our way back to Nazre.
LLL
As I sat in front of my vanity that night, brushing my hair, my gaze returned again and again to the black box. After I braided my hair, I opened the box, and put my rings and necklace into it. Then, after a long minute, I got up, retrieved my blue dress and pulled out the little knife.
I stared at it as I held it in both hands. The feeling in my stomach grew heavier. I set the knife in the box, closed it, and slid it under my pillow.
I crawled into bed and snuggled down, waiting to hear the door open. When it finally did, I watched Ayah shuffle in and extinguish the lamps. When she was just about to put out the last one, I sat up on my elbow.
“Ayah?”
“Yes, Princess?” she turned to me.
“What happened to the queen?”
Her wrinkled brow furrowed.
“The queen, madam?”
“Rajak’s mother,” I amended. “What happened?”
Ayah’s frame wilted. She clasped her hands in front of her.
“She died, madam.”
The quiet in her voice made me sit up more.
“Giving birth to him?” I supposed.
“Oh, no,” Ayah shook her head. “Too strong for that.”
I frowned, leaning toward her.
“How, then?”
“Do you like your garden, madam?” she asked.
I blinked at the change of subject.
“Yes, very much,” I said. Ayah almost smiled.
“And the statue?”
“Yes,” I said, wondering why she inquired. Her smile softened, and she put out the lamp. My room plunged into darkness.
“Queen Kali always said that something that beautiful belonged in a garden, not beneath the ground.” Ayah opened the door, and for a moment I saw her silhouette as she spoke. “She would know.” And she left, and shut the door. I sat for a moment, then laid back down.
I slept soundly that night, but for a reason I could not describe, my thoughts remained quiet, and my heart remained heavy.
Chapter Ten
My feet were bare, my hair was bound in a braid, I wore a long tunic and trousers, and I was headed down a corridor to my garden. My steps were soundless as I hurried along. I needed to think. I needed to be near the sound of water and the feel of sunlight to clear my head.
A sound reached me. A muffled clacking noise. I stopped. It came from behind a door just to my right. I stepped closer to it and pressed my ear against the wood.
There it came again. My heartbeat speeding up, I stuffed my hand in my pocket, pulled out my key, and stuck it in the lock. I twisted it easily, and the door swung open.
Darkness waited for me. I leaned inside, waiting for my eyes to adjust. But it was too dark. Biting my lip, I backed up and grasped one of the torches, pulled it loose, and peered into the blackness again. The flame rustled as I moved.
A staircase spiraled into th
e depths. I waited, straining to hear the noises again.
Instead, I heard a voice mutter. A familiar voice. I eased forward, and put my foot down on the first step.
The torchlight flickered. I kept going, careful to keep my steps silent.
Around and around the staircase twisted, taking me so far down that the steps began to feel damp beneath my toes.
At last, I reached the bottom. Holding my breath, I kept the torch behind me so that I could see past the corner without being seen. I peeked around a stone pillar, and jumped.
Rajak sat on the ground, elbows propped on his knees. He wore black again—I supposed it was one of the only colors he had—and his hair was mussed. Several torches on stands flickered around him and in front of him, lighting up a tall, smooth stone wall.
A wall bearing an inscription written in ancient common tongue.
All my muscles froze as the night my mother had pressed the knife into my hand flashed back to me.
First son of a third son
After three corners fall
From death shall rise the shining one
Behind the prison wall
Everything my mother had said to me—everything about King Niro murdering his brothers and Rajak finding a hidden chamber—shot through my mind like lightning. Mother’s fantastic claim that Rajak would raise a king from the dead had made me dismiss it—it had to be a myth! But now, as I stood there, watching Rajak gaze with tightened brow at the same prophecy that Mother had spoken, her command to kill him almost shouted in my ear.
“What are you doing down here?” Rajak said.
I twitched, almost dropping my torch. I fought back a fit of shivers and clamped a hand over my mouth. Rajak did not turn. His eyes narrowed at the writing.
“Bring the torch closer.”
I swallowed, lowered my hand, then edged forward, holding the flame out in front of me.
This place was eerie, the shadows deep, the orange light flickering. Rajak’s eyes captured the illumination of the flames, and the rings on his hands glittered.
“What is this?” I managed, my blood cold.
“Something very old,” he answered. “Something my fathers have been trying to understand for generations. I almost hate it for staring at it so often.” He threw a small stone at the inscription. It clicked against the wall.
“It isn’t written in Badi,” I noted, feeling pale.
“No,” he said. “Which puzzles me.” He shifted his foot, and canted his head, running his eyes over the words. “If it was meant only for a Badi prince, why should all of the people of all of the kingdoms be able to read it?”
I glanced at him, wrapping my free arm around myself.
“How do you know it was meant for a Badi prince?”
He shrugged.
“It was written on the wall inside of Nazre, in a corridor that leads to the treasury. Only the prince, the king and their head wives are permitted down here.” He met my eyes. “And I am the first son of a third son.”
“That is just the first line of it,” I said, trying to stop my mind from spinning and my heart from pounding. I swallowed, closed my eyes for a moment, then turned to the inscription. “What do the others mean?”
I held my breath as I waited for his answer. I remembered what my mother had said: that the three corners were the three kingdoms besides that of the Badi, and that Rajak would gain the ability to resurrect the greatest Badi king—something that she said could not be allowed to happen…
“My father is convinced that the three corners mean the other three kingdoms—the Highlands, the Northern Marshes, and the Plains of Seshem,” Rajak said. “The Highlands and Seshem have already fallen, and the Marshes will follow.”
“I’m sure you are happy to have such a large inheritance,” I gritted, my hands feeling icy. He glanced down.
“I have nothing to do with it. It has been my father’s ambition since he was young.” He raised his eyes to the riddle again. Reluctantly, I turned to it as well.
“What about the next part? The shining one behind the prison wall?” I prompted.
He shook his head.
“We knocked the entire prison down when I was sixteen, in an effort to find this ‘shining one’ behind one of the walls. All we succeeded in doing was disturbing the sleep of our kings.”
A deep chill ran through me.
“Your kings?”
He considered me for a long moment.
“I suppose your people tell ghost stories.”
I swallowed, then shrugged.
“I suppose.”
“The one that the Steps people tell about the king who made a bargain with Death?”
I froze, staring at him. He smiled grimly.
“Would you like to know where it came from?”
My mouth worked, but I could make no sound. His smile intensified. Then he got up, came to me and took the torch from my hand.
“Come with me.”
He began walking, but slowly enough for me to catch up. We left the pool of warm light behind, and plunged into the dark.
I could only see Rajak’s head and shoulders by the light of this single torch, and a bit of the corridor ahead and behind us. The floor was wet. I desperately hoped I would not slip and fall. Rajak regarded my feet.
“Do you not believe in shoes?”
I managed a smile.
“Not in the summer.”
“You should wear them down here,” Rajak said. “Where do you suppose the scorpions live?”
I gaped at him.
“You do not mean that.”
“I do,” he said. “Tell me if you hear any skittering sounds.”
I gulped, and walked closer to him, searching the darkness. I could see nothing.
We turned to another hallway even narrower than the one before—Rajak went first, and turned his shoulders slightly to fit. I drew to a halt.
“Um…” I almost whimpered. He looked back, and held out his hand.
“This is the quickest way.” He paused. “Unless you are afraid.”
I stared at him, baffled. Did he actually want me to take his hand? My gaze flicked from his hand to his eyes, and back again. But he just waited. And so I swallowed, reached out and took hold of his fingers. He secured his grasp—his hand was warm and strong—and he pulled me.
We shuffled forward through darkness black as pitch. I kept my eyes on Rajak’s flickering torch as the air grew colder and the stones wetter. A few drops dripped onto my head and shoulders. However, I was just deciding that this passage was not completely horrible—when something damp, hairy and scratchy scuttled over my feet.
I yelped and clamped down on Rajak’s hand.
“What?” He grabbed my elbow.
“Something…Something ran over my feet,” I gasped. “Something hairy and—”
“A rat,” he realized. I let out a shuddering breath.
“A rat,” I repeated.
“Do they frighten you?”
I sensed another one of Rajak’s condescensions, so I mustered a careless tone.
“No, I was just wondering if I ought to kill it so you could eat it for lunch.”
He laughed. The ringing sound shocked me even more than the rat had. He slid his hand down my arm again and interlaced his fingers with mine.
This time, it was as if a band of lightning had wrapped around my hand—I stiffened, my breath catching, my throat closing. But he did not seem to notice, for he kept walking, and I had to follow.
The corridor widened, the floor dried, and we came to a long, straight upward staircase. I could walk beside him now, but he did not let go of me. Vast space opened up to either side of us—I kept myself from looking down.
Our soft footsteps echoed in what had to be a huge chamber. We reached a landing and a great door bound with iron. Rajak let go of my hand and dusted the cobwebs off it, reached in a pocket and pulled out a key, then turned it in the lock.
The lock groaned and clicked. He put the key b
ack, then yanked on the handle. The door thudded, then groaned as it swung open. A cold, dry draft greeted me. I wrapped my arms around myself. It was just as dark beyond.
Rajak glanced back at me. I could not read the expression on his shadowed face. Then he stepped over the threshold. I followed.
We entered a hallway with a tall ceiling but closer walls. The stone was pale in here, and smooth. I slowed, and Rajak held up his torch so I could see the paintings on both sides.
To the right had been painted three black-haired men in a line, in profile, dressed in scarlet robes. The first was taller than the second, and the second was taller than the third. The third man had his hand resting upon the head of a small boy. The boy, as if walking, had been painted larger and larger as the corridor went along, as if he was growing to manhood. It showed him mastering a chariot, joining a woman who stood behind him with her arm around his waist, and then standing on top of three small, bowed men—one looked like a king of Seshem, the other a king of the Marshes, and the other like a king of the Highlands. A point of bluish-white paint appeared above his right eyebrow on that portrayal. I wondered what it was.
To the right, at the beginning of the hall, a fierce, tall man stood, brandishing sword and spear, and standing atop a chariot. Beneath his wheels and the hooves of his horse, people of all the other nations lay crushed and wounded. The next portrayal of him, he lay on a bed, eyes closed, mourners all around him, and a woman stretched out across him. The next, he was being wrapped in white cloth and placed in a box that was the shape of his body. The next showed him being sealed within a chamber.
“The king from Gar’s story…” I gasped, my blood going cold.
But the painting across from the one of the man standing on the kings made me stop. The wrapped up man in the box was sitting up, and pushing the lid off of himself. That had not happened—at least not when Gar told it. Death was supposed to have tricked him…
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