Linnet and the Prince

by Alydia Rackham

  She went still. My heart beat steadily. There was nothing about her that frightened me. While her limbs were comely, they were not muscular. If she came within five feet of me I could throw her to the ground like a sack of barley. In fact, it was a tempting thought. Her eyes did not move from me.

  “You ought to be more civil to me, kelb,” she said. “You know nothing of Badi customs, Badi nobility. That is why Rajak has been showing me the improvements he has made to Nazre, and asking my advice concerning future plans. It is clear that he plans to make this my home. And when I live here, I shall have his favor. Therefore,” she canted her head. “You would be wise to try and win mine.”

  I did not move for a moment. And then, I took three slow, deliberate steps until I stood before her. I was taller than she by a few inches, and I looked straight down into her black eyes.

  “Get out of my garden.”

  Her gaze flickered.

  “Prince Rajak said I could come here whenever I wished.”

  “And I am Rajak’s only wife, and a princess of both Hilrigard and Nazre,” I shot back, my tone low and deadly. “You are just the daughter of a lord. So I am ordering you to get out.”

  She did not move.

  “Now,” I said through my teeth. “Or I will call the guards.”

  Abhishri did not believe me. I saw how her eyes glinted, and the corner of her mouth lifted again, almost in a lovely sneer. I wracked my brain. I had heard this Badi word a dozen times at least, during ceremonies and feasts, and especially while Niro was here…

  I did not move my eyes from hers. But I silently prayed that this was right. I took a deep breath.

  “Rakshaa!” I bellowed. My voice rang through the chamber. Abhishri blinked, and took a step back. Nothing happened for a moment.

  Then, two sets of footsteps pounded down the other hallway, and a pair of guards bearing spears and wearing helmets darted through the door. They drew to a halt glancing back and forth between us, and then their expectant eyes turned to me. Trying not to let an ounce of my surprise show, I let out a slow breath and drew myself up.

  “Please escort this woman back to her quarters,” I said. “She has lost her way.”

  I felt Abhishri’s glare ripple toward me, but when I leveled my gaze at her, she turned and strode past the guards and out the door. They followed her, and shut the door behind them.

  I sucked in a jagged breath, a choking gall rising up in my chest to clench at my throat. I rammed Abhishri’s gem into my pocket, turned and pounded out of the garden, knocking the gate aside and hearing it bash the wall behind me. I broke into a full-out run, torches flashing past me as I tore through the corridors toward the stables.

  I burst through the doors and ran down the aisle of stalls. Horses whinnied and kicked as I startled them with my passage. I rounded a corner and spotted the door guards sitting by the lever. I slowed to a strident walk and pointed at them.

  “Open this door.”

  They gaped at me, and then at each other, then fumbled to their feet.

  “Open it now,” I thundered. They fell over each other trying to work the heavy gears fast enough. The door groaned and whined, and lifted open, letting warm evening air and bright sunlight into the cool of the stables. I did not look at the slaves, nor up at the rising door. I marched outside onto the dirt road, my vision blurred, my teeth bared.

  I stormed off the road, my shoes crunching on the sand, and gained the top of a dune. The red sunset glared in my eyes. I stopped, hot wind blowing through my hair, and yanked the wedding ring off my hand. With a howling scream, I reared back and threw it as hard as I could. I watched the flashing metal fly, and fall. I let out another roar that echoed over the sand, and kicked the dirt, sending a sparkling cloud of it exploding down the smooth hill to my left. I gasped in a breath, then another, scalding tears filling my eyes. I let loose another litany of forbidden curses, wishing I had something heavy to throw, something to smash, something to shoot. But I stood alone in the desert, with nothing but the wind to answer my cries.

  Another gust caught up my hair, blowing it out behind me. As my tears fell, a wild thought struck me:

  I could leave. I could run away this moment and head west, straight into the setting sun. I had made the journey once—I could surely make it again. I could go home to Hilrigard, to my mother and sister, and my friends—people who wanted me.

  Rajak would never know I was gone.

  My heart thudded. It pumped a low and powerful ache through my veins. I stared at the horizon, more tears falling. I gritted my teeth, anger swirling through my gut along with the pain. Because, for the first time since I had arrived, my tears did not come from homesickness or grief.

  My emotions raged within me even as I tried to decipher them. However, one thing remained constant: I hated Rajak. Hated him with every fiber of my being. The reason I hated him had simply transformed. Before, I had hated him because my father had been killed, I had been kidnapped, and forced to live in this desolate wasteland. Now, I hated him because of the way his smile looked in the torchlight, the feel of his hand in mine, how his voice sounded when he was amused—the sight of him gazing at Mahanidhi’s daughter and laying a kiss on her forehead; the way he haunted every corridor and chamber with his absence.

  I hated him because I missed him. Because Abhishri had taken him from me.

  Slowly, I turned, and gazed back at the door of the stable. The desert wind blustered through my hair and dress, making them billow out behind me. Again, my heart pulsed, tugged. And I took a deep, low breath, realizing what I needed—wanted—to do.

  I turned back around and faced the sun. I started down the dune, my feet sinking up to my ankles in sand. My eyes scanned the sand as I trudged, but saw nothing. I kept going.

  I climbed up another dune, having to lean forward and use my hands twice. Still, nothing. I kept going.

  I had walked far enough that I feared losing sight of the stables entrance, and still did not find it. My fists clenched, and I kicked the top of a dune with all my force. Sand sprayed through the air. But I lost my balance.

  My footing gave way beneath me and I slid down the side of a dune on my rear end. I thudded to the shadowed bottom, dirty and hot and furious and broken, and just sat there as rivers of following sand hissed around me.

  I drew my knees up to my chest and swiped at my face with a grimy hand. And when I had cleared my eyes of tears, I saw it.

  Right next to me, as if it had followed me on my tumble, sat Rajak’s wedding ring, the ruby glittering in the fading light. All that searching, and it had come to me.

  Letting out a watery chuckle, I picked it up and slid it on the forefinger of my left hand. Then, I got up, and started back to the stables, a new purpose in my steps.

  I was not ignorant, nor was I powerless. I was princess of two kingdoms, I could command the servants and soldiers of the Badi, and I was Rajak’s only wife. I had a will that was stronger than Mahanidhi’s, his brooding sons and Abhishri put together. And it was time for me to come out of the shadows.

  LLL

  “So where do I start?” I asked Ayah while sitting cross-legged on my bed. I had explained to her what I wanted to try, and now she stood by my vanity, one finger pressed against her pursed lips.

  “Well,” she mused. “When I was a girl, I lived in the wine country, and things are much changed since then,” she wagged her finger at me. “The rules were simpler, and not so flashy as now.”

  “That is what I want,” I insisted. “Tell me.”

  “Well,” Ayah said again, clearing her throat and sitting down on the stool before my mirror, still facing me. “You are his only wife, and a princess, and yet you have not been invited to the feast or the dance. You do not think this is intentional, but it is still rude. Before anything else is done, you must remind him of your position without being forward.”

  “All right,” I scooted up, paying careful attention.

  “Hmm,” she tapped her lips again. �
�You must send him a message. A token of some kind.”

  “A note?” I supposed. She shook her head.

  “No, that is too much. Better a symbol…”

  “A flower?”

  Ayah’s head came up and she stared at me.

  “A flower?”

  I nodded.

  “Yes—in Hilrigard, people send flowers for all kinds of messages. All kinds! Have you heard of that?”

  “Yes, I have,” Ayah said, amazed. “And we used to do the same when I was a girl.” Her brow creased. “But there are so few flowers in Nazre, I have not seen that sort of message used.”

  “But if we did do that,” I pressed. “Would he not try to find out what it meant?”

  Ayah’s eyes sparked.

  “And who do you think he would ask?”

  “You!” I cried, laughing. She grinned.

  “Then let us go back to your garden and see what flowers you have.”

  LLL

  Not half an hour later, our message was complete. We had our flower, and a piece of parchment that Ayah had folded into an envelope, and sealed with wax. Only one object sat inside that envelope, and it was not a note. We then tied the flower with a ribbon, and attached the ribbon to the envelope with more wax. Then, with Ayah’s help, I wrote a single word on the envelope in black ink. Chuckling to each other, but also exchanging hopes that this would work, we opened the door of my room, Ayah urged me to step out into the hall, and made me shout the Badi word for messenger:

  “Doot,” I called. “Doot, doot!”

  Within a matter of moments, a short, bare-chested boy came racing down the corridor. He stopped in front of me, bowed low, and held out both hands.

  “Use great care,” I warned. “And take this to Prince Rajak.” I set the envelope in his waiting palms, he dipped his head even lower, then turned and sped off. I watched him go, thinking about the content of that message.

  The word I had written was Bharta, the Badi word for “husband.”

  The single object inside the envelope was Abhishri’s little gem.

  And the yellow hyacinth I had sent with it bore a single meaning:

  Jealousy.

  LLL

  I did not venture out to the feast that night. Instead, I took up the “wedding present” knife again, and practiced with it in the wide space of my room. Then, I set it down and practiced my hand-to-hand techniques, then, to stave off my nerves, I changed into my tunic and trousers, went to my garden and raced through the paths, working myself into a sweat. After that I felt a little calmer, so I returned to my room, bathed in the shower, braided my hair, ate my dinner and sat on my bed, waiting.

  Later in the night, Ayah came in to extinguish my lamps—and I caught sight of a little smile on her lips.

  “Well?” I prompted, sitting up.

  “He asked me about your message.”

  “And?” I leaned forward. Ayah put out the last lamp, and paused in the doorway.

  “You should expect an answer tomorrow morning.”

  And with that, she left me. I threw myself back on my pillow and gritted my teeth. As if I would be able to sleep at all in the meantime…

  LLL

  I was sitting on the edge of my bed, trying to force down my breakfast when a knock came at the door. I jumped off my bed and raced to yank on the handle.

  The doot stood outside, bowed low, his hands stretched out before him two flowers resting on his palms.

  “Thank you,” I said, carefully taking both blooms from him. He dipped his head and departed. Slowly, I shut the door gazing at each blossom.

  They were beautiful flowers, both purple—he must have gotten them from somewhere outside, because I did not recognize them from my garden. However, I knew what they meant.

  The first was a hyacinth, beautiful and fragrant.

  The second was a viscaria, dainty and delicate. A slow smile spread over my face.

  The hyacinth meant “Please pardon me.”

  And the viscaria meant “Will you dance with me?”

  “Ayah!” I cried, setting the flowers down on the vanity and dashing to the door. “Ayah!” I screamed out into the hallway. “Ayah, quick!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  As soon as Ayah could gather what she needed, the second step of my plan began. Ayah bustled in carrying a large wooden box that filled up her arms, and she set it on the bed. Then, she bundled me off to the shower and bathed me again in the most sweet-smelling oils I had used yet. Then, she combed out my hair until it shone, and rubbed my arms and face with a lotion that made my skin as soft as a baby’s. Then, she pulled me back into my room and showed me my dress.

  The fabric was as blue as a summer sky, with several flowing layers. It was form-fitting around the bodice, and the fitted sleeves came down to my elbows. Sparkling silver dots formed swirling patterns all over the skirt. When I slipped it on, it felt as if it was made for me, like I was wearing a summer breeze. She then sat me down in front of my vanity and set to work.

  First, she braided my hair and twisted it into a wide bun at the base of my head. Then, she took a sweet-smelling paste, put it on a little paintbrush and dotted it in ornate patterns across my forehead, on my cheeks beneath my eyes, and on the bridge of my nose. Then she pressed little sparkling silver dots, just like those on my dress, to those spots on my face. After that, she pulled out the black khol, dipped a paintbrush in it and lined my eyes, also drawing a line from the outside corner of each eye across each temple. She also applied something to my lashes to make them look longer and more graceful. It made my eyes look large, radiant, captivating. She rouged my lips a striking shade of red, then started in on my wrists and hands with her famed henna.

  I marveled at her skill as she traced fantastic floral designs all over the skin of my hands, both my palms and the backs. She also carried the designs up my arms. Though she used a very dainty tool to apply it, it looked like she was merely drawing on me with thin lines of black mud. When she was finished, she warned me not to touch it for at least half an hour. I gritted my teeth impatiently, but obeyed as Ayah searched through the box for the appropriate jewelry. She pulled out about a dozen silver bracelets, and an incredible silver necklace glittering with sapphires, and laid them out on the bed.

  I was about to go mad when Ayah finally said I could go scrape off the henna. I did not really understand this concept, but I knew that it itched, so I raced to the bathing room, opened the door to the rushing water, and scraped the henna mud off with long sweeps of my palm across my arms. And there, as I watched with delight, I uncovered light brown designs that had been stained onto my skin, and looked much lovelier than lines of mud.

  When I was finished, and my arms were smooth and soft again, I returned to let Ayah finish. She slipped the bracelets onto my wrists, put my wedding ring on my left hand, and fastened the necklace around my throat. She slid silver slippers onto my feet—they were so light it was almost as if I was barefoot. Then Ayah pulled out two veils. One of them was sheer, and she pinned that to my bun, and it trailed down to the backs of my knees. The other veil was opaque, and the bottom hem jingled with tiny silver baubles. This she draped over my mouth and nose, then brought the ends around and pinned them to my bun as well.

  And then I was ready.

  She opened the door for me, stepped out, and beckoned.

  “Rakshaa,” she called. “Rakshaa!”

  Six burly guards dressed in flowing scarlet and gold and bearing flashing spears, came up to stand before me. I inclined my head to them. They bowed at the waist to me—but I caught some of them staring. I smiled under my veil. I began to walk, and they flanked me. I gave Ayah’s hand one last squeeze, and I was on my way.

  As I walked between the guards, my steps even and measured, I reminded myself once more of Ayah’s wise words, running them through my head like a chant.

  “Lady Abhishri is too proud of her beauty. She loves to flaunt it—but she is not so alone. None of these young girls know how to e
xcite mystery—only attention. But the mystery is what will hold a man’s attention.

  “Thus, you must do exactly as I say. First, instruct the building of a canopied room at one end of the dancing hall. It must have curtains that are almost sheer, and that move with the wind, and there must be comfortable pillows and chairs inside. You must have two guards outside each wall.

  “Before you enter, send two guards in to clear the way for a great lady—tell them to say nothing else. Then wait five minutes. Let the courtiers and guests talk about you. Let the news of your coming entrance spread. Let them grow impatient to see what you look like. Then enter quietly, quickly, between two guards. Meet the eyes of a few people—three men is best—then pass behind the curtains. Command the guards to answer: ‘her master is a jealous man,’ when asked why you are behind a curtain. They must say that your master is fearful, because any man who looks at you falls madly in love with you, ‘because of her beautiful eyes.’ Rumor will spread through the room, men will grow desperate to sneak a glance. And Prince Rajak’s curiosity will be stolen from Abhishri and given to you. Because you must know the truth, Rani:

  You are far more beautiful than she is. You are possessed of something no Badi has ever had: blue eyes. And sometimes, the best way to show your beauty is to hide it.”

  I stopped before the side entrance to the hall. No one else was near. I motioned, and the first two guards slipped in to make ready for my entrance. Then, I closed my eyes, and in the silence, I began counting down the minutes.

  I heard the building noise inside—I heard people talk, and mutter. I could only hope I was the subject. Then, when the five minutes had passed, I lifted my head and motioned again.

  Two guards came to stand very close to me—our shoulders almost touched, and the other two opened the door. We swept inside.

  Sound, light and smell almost overwhelmed me—a dozen perfumes and incenses filled the air, as did the light of hundreds of torches, and the glitter of all of the women’s finery.