by Astrid Amara
Jandu let the flowers tumble from his feeble grasp. It hit him all at once, a debilitating low that broke Jandu’s spirit. The starving. The begging. Suraya’s miscarriage, losing Keshan, losing his manhood, running and hiding from Hanu, being kicked out of archery practice for being a woman. All of it was unbearable. And now, breaking a young boy’s heart.
Jandu left the music room laden down with melancholy. The guard who escorted Jandu back to the women’s quarters looked at him oddly but didn’t comment.
When he returned to his rooms, he was surprised to see Suraya and Rani sitting together on the carpet, propped up by pillows, giggling over what appeared to be an absurdly large crock of wine. Jandu didn’t even have enough vigor to scowl at them.
Seeing his face, Rani pursed her lips, her hands forming fists at her hips. “You look terrible.”
“And I was feeling so great before you said that.” Jandu collapsed on his bed. His tight zahari top restricted his breathing. He adjusted it, frustrated and sick of this whole despicable charade.
“You need a drink,” Rani said.
Jandu moaned. “Rani, I’m in no mood for—”
“Drink!” Rani ordered. “Azari agrees with me, don’t you, Azari?”
Suraya nodded and handed Jandu a cup, then leaned over and lit a new stick of incense with one that was burning down. The fragrance of sandalwood and pine smoke fluttered across the room and out the open window like a streamer.
Jandu sat down cross-legged with the women and allowed them to pour him cup after cup of wine. He hadn’t eaten much that day so the wine worked quickly. He was lulled into complacency as Suraya and Rani gossiped about other women in the palace, and talked about the state of affairs outside Afadi’s gates.
It had been a while since Jandu had had so much to drink, and he over-estimated what his small body could handle. He noticed with detached interest that his toes felt incredibly far away, and tingled coldly despite the heat of the afternoon.
Rani leaned over Suraya’s relaxed body and retrieved one of her endless sewing projects. Suraya had brought sewing work with her as well, and within minutes the two of them were drunkenly giggling and embroidering, their voices lilting and mingling in a high-pitched, constant chatter about the various downfalls of men.
The conversation shifted to men and women, and Rani filled Suraya in on her ongoing, tumultuous romance with the groom.
“I just don’t understand his behavior sometimes,” Rani confessed, refilling all three of their cups. Jandu noted that her cheeks were very flushed. Even Suraya looked under the influence, her eyes drooping heavy and low, a gentle, soft smile on her face.
“One minute, he treats me like a goddess,” Rani explained. “And the next he acts like I am scum! Like the only reason he ever tolerated me in the first place was for sex.”
Jandu drained his wine cup. “That’s probably true.”
“Janali!” Suraya warned him with a glare. “Don’t say that.”
Rani looked appalled.
Jandu shrugged listlessly. “It’s the truth. Men mostly think about fucking, killing, and eating. Trust me.”
Suraya burst into laughter. “That’s so funny, coming from you.”
“Why?” Jandu smiled crookedly.
Suraya shook her head. “You know why.”
“Why?” Rani asked.
Suraya laughed. “Janali used to have a very high opinion about men. She used to think they could do no wrong.”
“That’s not true,” Jandu slurred, holding out his cup for a refill. “I’ve always thought there were shitty men out there. Just not me.”
Rani furrowed her eyebrows. “What?”
Suraya’s glared at Jandu. “Janali is very drunk. She makes no sense when she’s like this.”
Jandu was too gone to care about anything anymore. He watched an ant crawl across their floor in silent fascination. Its legs were so small.
“So, have you had a lover before, Janali?” Rani reclined against several of their pillows, her needle bright against the orange fabric.
“That’s none of your business,” Jandu said.
“Come on, tell me,” Rani goaded.
Jandu looked at Suraya. She wouldn’t make eye contact, but she wore a knowing grin.
Other than the constant, quiet puncture of fabric, both of the women fell silent. “I fell in love with someone once,” Jandu finally admitted.
Rani smiled. “Was he a servant?”
“No. A lord.”
“What was he like?”
“He’s tall,” Jandu said. “Strong, but he has a lithe body. Luscious lips. Gorgeous black hair. And he can make you believe anything.”
Jandu blushed furiously. He had no idea why he just said that. The wine made his body tingle sickly. He felt Suraya’s gaze, and had to concentrate to focus on her face. She no longer smiled. Her mouth formed a grim line.
Rani wanted more. “Well? What happened?”
“Nothing,” Jandu said. “He is a Triya warrior. I’m a servant. End of story.”
“But you had sex with him?”
Jandu’s eyes grew wide. “Rani! Dirty little mind. Not everyone is a slut like you.”
Rani laughed. ‘Well, did you?”
Suraya’s mouth twitched slightly. “Yeah, did you?”
Jandu felt like his face was on fire. “I’m not answering that.”
“She did! She did!” Rani cried, laughing and clapping her hands. “You wouldn’t avoid the question if you hadn’t. What did his dick look like?”
“Enough! You perverts are more depraved than a room of drunken soldiers.” Exhaustion and drunken nausea washed through Jandu, and this party wasn’t much fun anymore. It had barely kept off the darkness he felt that morning. Now all of his earlier depression came flaring back, along with a strong desire to puke. Jandu’s body handled alcohol differently than it used to. Jandu was never a heavy drinker, but he at least could hold his booze. Now the room spun around him.
Luckily, Rani seemed to have reached her evening quota at the same time as well. Without as much as a ‘good night,’ she leaned back against the pillows, closed her eyes, and promptly passed out.
Once they were both sure she was really out cold, Jandu and Suraya cleaned up the mess they made and draped a light blanket over Rani, gingerly pulling the embroidery from her hands.
“I guess she’ll miss her appointment with her lover tonight,” Jandu said.
Suraya looked down at her and nodded. “I should probably go as well. Yudar will wonder where I am.”
“I’ll walk you through the courtyard,” Jandu said, thinking a walk might do him good. However, he had second thoughts about moving as soon as he stood. He lurched and leaned against the wall for support.
“You okay?” Suraya watched him with a strange, calculating glint in her eyes.
“Yes.” He lowered his voice. “I’m just not used to that much wine in this small body.” As he closed his door behind them, his stomach somersaulted.
As they passed a small alcove in the wall with a statue of the Prophet Bandruban, Suraya pushed Jandu into the shadows.
Jandu frowned. “What?”
“I need to ask you something.” She spoke in a tense whisper. She stared down at Jandu, her arms crossed. She didn’t look angry, but she wasn’t pleased either.
“Maybe we should talk about this later.” Jandu thought the statue of Bandruban looked particularly sinister.
“No. I don’t know when we’ll have a chance to talk alone again.” She glanced down the hallway, and then looked back at Jandu. “I deserve the truth.” Suraya’s voice was a whisper, but it was strong with emotion.
Nausea swelled and receded through Jandu’s body like waves. “All right.”
Suraya took a deep breath. Her eyes never left his face. “You were never worried about being a ‘sister fucker,’ were you?”
“We are not having this conversation.” He tried to push past her, out of the alcove.
Suraya g
rabbed his arm and held him there. “Jandu, you owe me the truth. This masquerade as a woman fits your true self better than any of us originally supposed, doesn’t it?”
Jandu’s fists clenched. “No! I am a man, Suraya!”
“Who loves men,” she said.
“Who loves a man,” Jandu spat. He backed away from her, his stomach churning. Oh God, did he just say that? His back rested against the base of the statue.
Suraya took another deep breath, and then crossed her arms. “So. How long have you been Keshan’s lover?”
Jandu leaned over and threw up. He held out his hand against the wall to steady himself. His entire body began to shake in fear.
And then Suraya was beside him suddenly, holding back his braid and gently rubbing his back as he retched on the ground.
“Oh, Jandu!” Suraya’s face was stricken with remorse. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you!”
Jandu groaned and leaned back on his heels. He wiped his mouth with a shaky hand.
Suraya put her arm around his shoulders.
“I’m sorry! I just wanted the truth, that’s all. That’s all.”
Jandu closed his eyes, willing his stomach to calm down. “I’m okay,” he lied. This was turning out to be one of the worst days of his life.
She held him tightly. “You must know, Jandu. I will love you no matter what.”
“Are you going to tell my brothers?” Jandu asked, throat scratchy and raw.
Suraya’s eyes widened. “God, no! Yudar would never forgive you.”
Jandu swallowed. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too. I just wanted the truth.” She smiled weakly. “Can you walk? I’ll take you back to your room.”
“Of course I can walk! I’m a warrior,” Jandu said, but he did need her help walking. They turned back towards his room. His head reeled, his throat felt like it was on fire. He kept his mind focused on his door. He just had to get there. Twenty steps at most. His goal was not to be sick again until he was alone.
As they walked, she tentatively whispered to him.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Suraya smiled at him shyly. “How long have you two been in love?”
Jandu studied her face carefully, trying to determine if she really wanted him to answer that question or not. Finally, he just shrugged. “Since your archery competition.”
Suraya snorted. “How flattering. You fell in love with someone else on our wedding day.”
Jandu laughed weakly. “I wasn’t intending anything, really. It’s all Keshan’s fault. He’s a vixen.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I tried punching him once, but it didn’t make things better.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” Jandu leaned on her as they walked.
“Are you happy together?” Suraya asked.
Jandu saw the hope, the acceptance, the nervousness in her eyes. He felt the warmth of her love. She knew him so well. And now, with growing excitement, he realized there was at least one person in the world from which he no longer had to hide.
“Yes,” Jandu said. “We love each other.”
“That’s all I care about.” Suraya stopped at the door, and stroked Jandu’s braid. “I just want you to be happy, that’s all.”
“Thank you,” he whispered into her ear. And then he dashed into his room, slammed the door, and was violently sick in the empty chamber pot.
Chapter 34
IF ONLY HE COULD KILL HIMSELF.
No. Tarek shook his head. Suicide was the greatest form of cowardice.
Tarek prayed harder. Since the army’s triumphant return to Prasta, Tarek had been plagued by his bruised conscience. Now he bathed and begged forgiveness from God, knowing even as he did so that there could be no redemption from the evils he had committed.
Instead of tending his sick father, he had been swooning over his best friend. He did not even attend his own father’s funeral pyre. Out of jealousy, he let Aisa slip out of his hands and commit suicide. He didn’t bother to check on his lover who had risked his life to save him. And these evils, they were not something he could blame on Darvad’s temper, or his low caste, or any other person. They were his sins. Tarek’s soul was cracking, great, black rents, fissures of self-loathing.
Tarek dressed and then made his way through the courtyards and gardens of the palace towards the soldier’s quarters to check on Anant. After the battle, Tarek requested that Anant be brought back to the palace to recuperate under the care of Prasta’s finest physicians. He deserved it, having fought so bravely, and Mazar never questioned Tarek’s request.
Tarek and Anant rarely exchanged more than a few words, Tarek checking on Anant’s progress unemotionally, hoping somehow the soft cotton sheets and the leopard skin blankets would make up for the fact that Tarek had forgotten Anant’s sacrifice on the battlefield. But with Anant it was impossible to tell. The man usually expressed himself in facial gestures, but now his face was so swollen that Tarek could no longer read his commander’s emotions.
That morning, Anant remained sleeping. Tarek stood in the doorway, looking in. Anant’s attending physician rushed to Tarek’s side.
“He is much better,” the physician whispered. “The King’s Astrologer predicts he will recover completely in time.”
Tarek nodded. He heard a commotion starting in the garden outside, and so he excused himself and checked to see what was happening. He recognized some of Darvad’s personal attendants, carrying in the King’s belongings. So Darvad had finally returned from Pagdesh.
Tarek had no news from Darvad since he had left to find Druv. He and Mazar awaited Darvad’s return in the palace for a week, Mazar hungry to share news of their triumph, Tarek desperate to beg his friend’s forgiveness for losing Aisa.
Tarek followed the commotion out towards the palace gate, only to discover that Darvad had arrived earlier in the morning and had not bothered to send word to him. This was not a good sign. Tarek was usually the first person Darvad sought out when he returned home. With a sense of foreboding, Tarek made his way through the palace until he found Darvad in one of the gardens, practicing mace with Iyestar Adaru.
Tarek entered the garden just as Darvad and Iyestar began to spar in earnest. They swung at each other with finely carved maces. These sparring maces were more ceremonial than effective, but they still landed blows with tremendous force. The clanging metal echoed through the high-walled yard and rang through Tarek’s bones.
Tarek coughed to announce himself. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” he lied. It seemed like truth constantly slipped further away.
Darvad dropped his mace, panting. He grabbed a cotton cloth from the table and wiped his face of sweat. He then went up to Tarek and hugged him, as was his custom. But there was no warmth in his eyes.
“Well?” Darvad asked.
Tarek looked at him, startled. “Haven’t you heard? We won Jezza.”
“Congratulations.” Darvad didn’t smile.
“I heard your victory was impressively quick,” Iyestar said. He followed Darvad’s example and wiped his face on a towel. He then immediately poured himself a goblet of wine. Tarek wanted one as well.
“How was your search?” Tarek asked. “Did you find Druv?”
“Druv is dead.” Darvad went to the table and pulled an arrow from his bag. He handed it to Tarek. “This was in his throat. Recognize it?”
Tarek turned the arrow in his hands. At the base of the fletching, he saw the band of blue that marked the arrow as Jandu Paran’s.
“You found them?” he asked.
“They were gone by the time I arrived.” Darvad smiled coldly. “But it doesn’t matter now. This arrow proves that the Parans broke the rules of the dice game. They were discovered, but instead of submitting themselves they murdered Druv. They will have to go into exile for another three years.”
Tarek watched Iyestar out of the corner of his eye for reaction, wondering if Iyestar knew just how involved his brother Ke
shan was with Jandu.
Iyestar drank deeply from his glass. He bowed to Tarek, and then to Darvad. “I’m going to wash up,” he said. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Darvad nodded at Iyestar, but he then turned his cold stare back to Tarek. As soon as Iyestar was out of sight, Darvad sneered.
“How could you?”
“How could I what?” Tarek tried acting innocent.
“Aisa is dead!”
“She killed herself, Darvad. There was nothing I could do.”
“You should have prevented her,” Darvad said. He used the rag to wipe the sweat from his hair.
“If I had to watch her twenty four hours a day to make sure she didn’t kill herself, do you really think she would have been happy carried off to be your bride?” Tarek stepped closer. “There are other women, Darvad.”
Darvad angrily shook his head. “I don’t want other women. I wanted her. She was special.”
“I’m sorry.” Tarek lowered his head, feeling the weight of his words. Darvad would never know how deeply sorry he was.
Darvad sighed, and then threw his rag on the ground. His expression lightened briefly. “Well. How did the battle go?”
“It was fast and brutal,” Tarek said. “Mazar was amazing.”
Darvad flashed a smile. Tarek felt his blood warm with that gaze. He was accepted again.
“Mazar should be the most feared Triya in all of Marhavad,” Darvad said. “He knows shartas which would turn your hair white if you knew!”
“I’m not sure we would have won so soundly if it hadn’t been for his shartas.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I saw him early this morning when I arrived. He looked ten years younger. Old warriors need battle to remind them of their youth.” Darvad slung his arm around Tarek’s shoulder. He stank of sweat, but Tarek did not mind. The mere presence of Darvad always brought a flush of love and desire that stunned Tarek by its strength. Nothing he had ever felt could rival the strength of emotions he had for this man beside him.
“I’m sorry about Aisa,” Tarek said again.
Darvad sighed. “What a waste. She was so beautiful.”
Tarek tried to find comforting words, but he couldn’t. He had done enough lying for one day.
