I tucked my feet underneath me and leaned forward, listening. He went on.
“You remember King Akhtar. Well, when he was small, he had to live in exile. The invaders killed all of his family, and he escaped alone. The conquering king knew he had escaped, but could not find him. The conqueror tried to go down into the waters in the chamber, but the stone did not choose him. And so, afraid that Akhtar would grow up and reclaim the throne, he sealed the chamber and built a wall in front of it, then killed everyone who knew about it. One of the people of the old kingdom—a man who had guarded the chamber—made the prophecy we looked at before he was killed. He also made another, but no one knows where it is, either. When Akhtar returned, he could not find the chamber. And so he put his own stone in his head, and all the kings have done the same.”
“Did your father ask you about the prophecy on the wall?” I wondered.
Rajak took a sip of wine, then nodded.
“What did you say?” I pressed.
He sighed.
“I told him Akhtar is still dead.” He took up a pear and cut it in half. He raised his eyebrows. “Needless to say, that did not improve his mood.”
I frowned, propping my elbow on the table and resting my chin in my hand.
“Do you know…” I mused. “That inscription says nothing at all about a king.”
Rajak stopped what he was doing.
“Yes, it does. It—”
“No, it doesn’t,” I shook my head. “It says ‘the shining one.’ That could be anyone.”
“Not in my father’s eyes,” he growled.
“Never mind him,” I waved it off, trying to think. “What if the prophecy isn’t as plainspoken as you think?”
His eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I have always thought of it as a riddle,” I said.
“What is a riddle?”
I took a breath, considering how to phrase this.
“It is a poem, or a question, that holds clues to its answer. Many times, they contain symbols, or double-meanings, to conceal the truth. We have riddle games all the time at home. What if this inscription is a riddle?” I supposed. “What if it’s referring to something else, besides what all your fathers have assumed?”
He was already shaking his head, but I cut in.
“Your fathers are obviously wrong,” I pointed out. “You broke through the prison wall and found Akhtar, and nothing happened. It has to mean something else.”
He looked at me, his gaze cutting into me, but it was with penetration, not condemnation.
“What would it mean, then?”
I thought for a moment, searching, but then I had to shake my head once.
“I don’t know. But I’m not familiar with your old stories. Is there something in any of them about a shining one? Or prisons? Or raising from the dead?”
Rajak went still, his eyes downcast. Then, his mouth quirked into a pained smile, and he glanced at me. Then he picked up another apple.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he murmured. “You just reminded me of someone for a moment.”
He did not elaborate, so I sat back off the cushion, and leaned against one of the pillars, folding my arms over my chest. I had always been good at riddles—in fact, I had invented several that my people still could not decipher—but I could not possibly fathom this one. It would be too difficult for me without the ancestral knowledge of the Badi. Besides which, they—
“Wait—” I sat up, my thoughts veering backward as I sat back up. “You said the king puts a stone in his head?”
Rajak nodded.
“Yes. It is drilled into his head during the coronation ceremony.” His eyebrow flicked. “The mark of a true king is to show no sign of pain.”
I scowled down at the platter before me, wanting to roll my eyes.
“I don’t see why a king shouldn’t feel pain.”
“I did not start our traditions,” he shot back.
“I did not say you did,” I retorted. “But that doesn’t stop me from believing that they are stupid.”
His eyes flashed.
“Stupid?”
“Yes!” I cried, sudden vehemence rising up in me. “Selling women and children like property, keeping harems full of wives, eating scorpions and rats and who knows what else—and drilling holes in your head and pretending it doesn’t hurt!”
Rajak’s fists clenched.
“Just because you don’t understand it—”
“What is there to understand?” I answered back. “It is wrong and it makes me angry.”
“Sometimes it makes me angry as well,” he said.
“Really?” I snapped. “Because I could not tell. You didn’t lift one finger to keep those babies from getting hit over the head or pulled away from their mothers.”
Rajak sat back, lifting his chin and looking away. His mouth hardened.
“You should watch your tongue, woman.”
Fury blinded me.
“Why?” I demanded.
“My mother had the same unguarded temper and willful ignorance.” He shook his head, his gaze blackening as he met mine. “You should not wish for her fate.”
I went cold. My chest constricted.
“What did you do to her?”
His eyes blazed. And then he stood up and whirled around. His knee caught the table and sent a goblet and a plate crashing to the floor. He went still.
“Get out.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Get out,” he snarled. “Now.”
“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t mean—”
“Get out!” he thundered, pointing at the door but turning his head from me. I leaped to my feet, spun and batted my way through the curtain, raced up the stairs and through the door, and fled back to my room.
LLL
That night, I sat in front of my mirror and brushed my hair with long, slow strokes, barely seeing my reflection. I felt numb.
Ayah opened the door quietly and came in, sighing as she shut it behind her.
“King Niro has gone,” she murmured. I expected this news to make me feel better. But the heaviness in my chest remained. I put down my brush with a sigh and stared down at my hands.
Long, steady fingers stroked through my hair from behind, and I glanced up to see Ayah’s reflection behind my own. She carefully parted my hair into three sections, then began braiding it.
“Ayah,” I whispered.
“Yes, Rani?”
“May I ask you a question?”
“Yes, Rani.”
I almost could not make my mouth form the question, but I had to know.
“What happened to Queen Kali?”
“I told you, Rani,” Ayah replied. “She died.”
“I know,” I murmured. “But how?”
I watched her reflection. Her old brow furrowed, and I felt her hands hesitate.
“We do not like to speak of it,” she said.
“I don’t, either,” I confessed. “But Rajak will not tell me. And I need to know.”
Ayah let out a long sigh. Her fingers resumed their steady work.
“King Niro married many wives,” she said. “All of them bore him daughters. Lovely daughters. But he did not want girls. And so he killed them. And then, when the wives could not give him a son, he killed them too.
“Word reached him of a beautiful daughter of a sheik who lived at the base of the Black Steps, near the Seven Knives. He took her from her family and forced her to marry him. She had far more spirit than any of his other wives, and defied King Niro many times. He did not kill her, though, because a wise man had told him that Queen Kali would bear him a son. And so she did. Prince Rajak was a beautiful baby—very healthy, and she was a tender mother. King Niro was not often at home, and so Queen Kali taught Prince Rajak everything about her people, their beliefs and stories, and the way that they only married if the man and woman were in love. Prince Rajak
’s heart and soul belonged to his mother, and she was only happy when she was near him.
“But when Prince Rajak gained ten years, he no longer needed a nurse. And King Niro was not so patient with Queen Kali. Her defiance grew strong, and he grew angry.”
Ayah stopped. I closed my hands around my brush.
“Ayah,” I whispered. “What happened?”
Ayah swallowed, and tied off my braid. Then, she rested her hand on top of my head, and said, in a shattered voice:
“King Niro beat her to death before the eyes of their son.”
I stopped breathing. Ayah kept her hand there for a moment, then turned and headed to the door.
“Goodnight, Rani,” she said, and left my room.
Chapter Thirteen
“Rani! Rani, wake up!”
I jerked awake, taking my horse box up in my hand to hurl it at the door. My vision cleared, and I stopped my arm just before I threw it at Ayah’s head.
“What? What?” I gasped, trying to calm my heartbeat.
“Guests are here!” Ayah said, bustling around the bed and pulling the covers off me. “You must up and dress.”
“Guests?” I mumbled, still not awake. “Is it even morning?”
“Yes, yes!” Ayah said in a rush. “And you must greet them with the prince!”
“Who are they?” I asked, putting my box down and rubbing my eyes.
“Lord Mahanidhi, his sons and his favorite daughter,” Ayah said with a smile, pulling me out of bed. I stopped.
“Abhishri?”
Ayah looked at me in surprise.
“You know of Abhishri?”
“I…I met her when Rajak took me to the bazaar…” I managed. My stomach twinged, and my heartbeat resumed its faster speed. Ayah’s smile broadened as she dug in my trunk for a suitable dress.
“This should make Rajak smile again,” she said. My brow furrowed.
“What, a dress?”
“No, Mahanidhi and his daughter,” Ayah corrected. I blinked.
“Why?”
“No time to talk!” Ayah insisted, pulling a pale green gown out and advancing on me. “Hurry, hurry!”
LLL
Ayah hustled me out the door, down the corridors and to the door of the throne room. All my muscles tensed—I hated this room. But she pushed me inside, and two guards promptly flanked me and led me through the growing crowd of muttering, excited courtiers. The hall was decked out in different colors now—mostly gold—and up on the dais, Rajak waited, wearing his long black robe, and khol around his eyes. He did not look at me. His eyes were fixed on the main doors.
I had just stepped one foot on the lower step of the dais when Rajak impatiently waved a hand, and four tall slaves heaved the great doors open.
In strode Mahanidhi, garbed in even finer clothes than before: white satin, with a tall turban, jewels on every finger and hanging in chains around his neck. He smiled at Rajak and held both arms out as if to embrace the whole room. Behind him marched two dozen scarlet-clad guards bearing helmets and swords. After them walked Mahanidhi’s sons, all as lavishly-dressed as their father, though their expressions were not so happy. And behind them, borne on a golden, canopied litter carried by six slaves, sat Abhishri.
My breath left me. She was clothed from head to foot in gold and diamonds. Her arms were bare from the elbows down, the neckline of her dress plunged, and henna adorned her hands, wrists and throat. Jewels dotted her cheeks, the space above her eyebrows, the bridge of her nose, and her bare belly-button. Her bright black eyes were traced with khol, and her lips were red. Her long veil only covered her ebony hair, and fell down on her shoulders and onto her chair. She was so lovely it was hard to believe she was real. But despite her captivating beauty, my eyes were drawn to Rajak.
He stood transfixed, as if under a spell. Mahanidhi bowed before him and offered a greeting. Rajak answered him, speaking in Badi, never taking his eyes from Abhishri. I gripped my plain green skirt in my cold fingers. I was a princess of two kingdoms, and yet I was invisible.
The slaves set down Abhishri’s litter, and Mahanidhi moved back to help her down. Her bracelets jingled as she took her father’s hand and stepped down to the floor with the grace of a cat. She took a few strides forward, then lowered to her knees before Rajak. He stood for an instant, then glided down the stairs of the dais, stopped before her, and held out both hands. She lifted her shining face to him and beamed. She stretched up and grasped his fingers, and stood. And Rajak smiled.
It was that same smile he had given me outside the crypt, only more real, more radiant. It lit up his face with boyish charm, and made his eyes so bright—they were like stars.
The court burst into clapping and cheers. I jerked, my hand flying to my throat. All of a sudden, I did not feel well—I was pale and cold. But I could not leave this room without being conspicuous about it.
My head spun the next moment as I realized that perhaps I would not be conspicuous after all. For as I cast my gaze over the room, I saw no one was looking at me. Not even Ayah. I swallowed. Suddenly, I was distant from everything—separated and solitary, as if everything was moving too slow.
My gut twisted hard, and I set my jaw. I was a princess. And I did not have to stand here and watch him look at her like that.
I turned and stepped down the dais, holding my head high. I shouldered past one of the guards that had escorted me in, and buried everyone in my path with a heavy glance. The courtiers stepped out of my way, watching me briefly before turning their attention back to Rajak and Mahanidhi and Abhishri. I waved to the slaves to have them open the door. They saw my movement and did as I bid, and I slipped out into the darkened, cooler hallway. I stopped and glared back at the doors as they closed.
“Awa an bile yer heid,” I spat, uttering another one of my mother’s forbidden insults. But I did not care. Nothing was too stinging to say in that moment. In fact, I wanted to say it to his face. But he was not paying attention to me.
I whirled and stormed back to my room, slammed the door behind me and locked it.
LLL
The days that followed certainly were not quiet. The arrival of such welcome guests—Mahanidhi and his family were all old friends, it appeared—made the court bustle as it had not when King Niro returned. When Niro was present, it had been all solemn hurry. Now it was laughter, and feast preparation, and music playing, and games and contests and dances. Every night, there was a party, followed by a dance. Every night, I stood in the shadows of a doorway, watching Rajak dance with Abhishri. Because every night, I waited in vain for an invitation.
I could not understand it. How dare he? He had talked so much about making me his only wife, only to completely ignore me to a degree that made me lower than a servant in his notice. I had not even been re-introduced upon the guests’ arrival. That sort of breach of decorum was intolerable, unforgivable. But the more I thought about it, the more it troubled me.
I knew Rajak had been angry with me when we had last parted. But this did not bear the earmarks of an intentional slight. It was worse.
It was as if he had forgotten me.
LLL
On the fourth day of revelry, I retired early from watching in the wings. It was only mid-afternoon, but courtiers had begun to gather in the hall, and musicians were tuning their instruments. I was bored, and angry, and I could not stand it anymore. I retreated to my sanctuary, my own little place—my garden.
I swept down the corridors, listening to the torches rustle as I passed, and held my breath to hear the first signs of the tumbling, happy water.
Instead, I heard voices.
I jerked to a halt.
They were speaking Badi in low tones. It was a woman’s voice. And a man’s.
Rajak.
I began walking again, gritting my teeth. I ducked beside the doorframe, less cautious than I had been with Niro present, leaned my head around and looked through the gate.
Rajak and Abhishri stood near the fountain. A smiling
Rajak watched her as she admired the ornate ceiling, and the flowers in the plots—the plots I had been weeding and pruning and watering ever since the garden was built. Abhishri was clad in scarlet, her dress adorned with glittering onyx stones. Most of her upper chest was bare, as was her midriff and lower arms. She spoke. Rajak answered, his voice quiet, every angle of his frame attentive to her. They discussed for a while, perhaps about nothing, but his eyes never left her face.
Then, she said something to him in an arch manner, he laughed, brushed a strand of hair out of her face with his fingertips and pressed a kiss to her forehead. I sat down hard. Abhishri echoed the laugh, and their joined voices rang through the chamber. He gestured toward the other door, she nodded, and together they left the garden. In their absence, the fountain now sounded very quiet.
I got up, pushed the gate open and stumbled inside. To blazes with them. This was my garden and I would enjoy myself here rather than in a feasting hall where no one wanted me. I passed my plot of white petunias, thought about kicking them, but then my eye caught a flash of light. I stopped.
There on the path lay a glimmering stone. It was one of Abhishri’s—it had fallen off her dress. I bent and picked it up. It was gorgeous, like a miniature version of her. I clenched it in my hand, trying to think of something horrible to do to it.
“You truly are a Highlander?”
I jumped, and spun around. Abhishri stood there in a beam of sunlight, watching me. My heartbeat calmed, and I lowered my head, keeping my eyes on her. Had she noticed her missing jewel?
“What did you expect?” I asked in reply, for she had already dismissed any form of introduction. She shook her head.
“I don’t know,” she confessed, bearing a slight accent. Her full lips curved upward, and she raised her eyebrows. “Someone half-naked, perhaps—ill-mannered, with missing teeth and tangled hair.”
“Interesting,” I said coldly. “Seeing as the only one here who is half-naked and ill-mannered is you.”
Linnet and the Prince Page 16
