Third Daughter (The Dharian Affairs, Book One)

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  The prince should not insist on speaking to her privately. Negotiations were always done with representatives of both courts present, given the arrangement was as much a joining of governments as a marriage. Was this a barbarian custom? It was odd and presumptuous.

  And… intriguing. “The garden should afford a measure of privacy.” Her silk skirts swished as she strode toward the side door to the garden. The prince was close at her heels, with his guard following at a distance. She glanced back to make sure Janak was following them. His impassive expression was holding back a scowl.

  The Queen’s garden was a maze of stepped reddish-pink sandstone, the same stone used to build most of the capital city. Sunlight draped heavy and bright on the plants and flowers in full bloom. The scent was pervasive, like a bath of flower petals had been crushed and thrown into a fine mist in the air. The garden held enough winding paths and tucked corners to hide a hundred feverish meetings of lovers. She had first kissed Devesh here, and it felt wrongly intimate to have Prince Malik by her side now. Janak continued to trail behind them, but he was holding close to the prince’s overly large servant.

  Aniri’s silk slippers whispered next to the hard tempo of the prince’s heeled boots. After a moment of pretending to inspect the garden as they walked, the prince spoke. “Your beauty truly outshines this astonishing garden, Princess. The rumors do not do you justice.”

  “Do you expect to flatter me into accepting your marriage proposal?” She kept her voice as cool as she could manage. “If you knew anything about Dharia,” or me, she thought, “you would have known better.”

  He looked amused, but not insulted. “Is it bad manners in Dharia to tell a woman she is beautiful? If so, I’m a barbarian through and through.”

  She fought back a smile and ran a glance over him. “You don’t look the barbarian part, Prince Malik.”

  “I try to keep up on Dharian fashion. It’s a hobby of mine.”

  “Is it truly?” She turned to stare at him.

  “No.”

  A laugh threatened to erupt out of her, but she managed to keep it in, amazed more at herself than the prince’s attempts to charm her. “That’s a good thing. I would hate to be the one to tell you how you’ve failed utterly to capture the latest nobleman’s fashion sense at court.” It wasn’t true, but he certainly needed more practice filling out the clothes.

  He fell quiet and studied the white granite pavers in front of their measured steps. “Princess Aniri...” He tilted his head towards her and lowered his voice. “You are a beautiful and powerful woman in the richest country in our world. I come from the poorest one, seeking your hand in an arranged marriage you surely do not desire. I understand this, and yet I’m here to personally entreat you to consider my proposal that we might have peace in our lands.”

  You say no. Her sister’s words pressed on her, and every fiber of Aniri’s being wanted to say just that. But her refusal might bring war. Which wouldn’t be only a few barbarians with clubs if this new flying weapon was more than a rumor. “Of course, Dharia wishes for peace with Jungali,” she said carefully.

  “And Jungali wishes for peace as well,” Prince Malik replied.

  Aniri wasn’t so sure. The prince stopped her with a light touch on her elbow. He was tall and not unhandsome, except for the coldness of those eyes peering earnestly at her.

  “I may not follow the fashions of your great country, but I have studied its customs. I know you are the Third Daughter and your birthday draws near. The Queen has informed me the decision rests in your hands. I would give my life to bring peace to Jungali, to end the fighting between our clans as well as the border skirmishes with Dharia. They take too many lives each year. My brother was lost in such a clash at a border station. It wasn’t long after that our mother, the Queen, succumbed to a chill the warmth of summer couldn’t banish. She was always most fond of him, being the youngest.”

  Aniri couldn’t help but feel the pain that radiated from him. “I’m sorry for your loss. And I don’t want to seem... unkind. But if you wish to stop the border skirmishes, you only have to stopping making incursions into Dharian territory. Dharia never would cross the border—”

  “It’s not that simple.” The prince gave her a sad smile. “I don’t know which province is behind the most recent incursion. I will make every effort to find out, but it was likely marauders acting alone, in which case… their clan will likely protect them. During my mother’s reign, she won the loyalty of all the provinces—she brokered trade agreements, and with peace between the provinces, the raids lessened. When she died, that bond was shattered. I have enforced peace, for the moment, but the clans are restless and the raids have started again… I fear we’re falling back into the ways of the past.”

  Aniri narrowed her eyes. “I don’t understand. How would an arranged marriage with the Third Daughter of Dharia help keep your people from…” She didn’t want to call him a barbarian to his face, especially when he seemed to be striving so nobly for peace.

  “From falling back into barbarism and anarchy?” His smile was grim as he gestured to the palace walls surrounding them. “It must be hard to see, here in your beautiful palace and lush gardens, but you are fortunate to have a united people under a strong ruler like your mother. Jungali needs a Queen. A brand new alliance with the powerful country of Dharia would cement the tentative hold I have on the crown. This arrangement would bring peace to my country, and I wish for that even more than I wish for peace with Dharia.”

  “Surely there is another way to ensure peace between our countries.” Aniri searched the pavers at her feet, as if she could find the proper words there. “A trade agreement or treaty, perhaps. This marriage would just be—”

  “Princess Aniri.” His lowered tone drew her gaze back up to him. “I am sure you have someone you would far prefer to marry. I had always hoped my Queen would be someone I loved as well. But I’m willing to forgo marrying for love in service to my country. I’m hoping you will be willing to make a similar sacrifice for yours. This arrangement will save lives and bring peace to both our countries.”

  Aniri looked away from his intense stare. “I fear that you may be more noble than I am, Prince Malik.”

  He took her hand, and she nearly jerked back, surprised he would touch her. But he had the desperate look of a man who believes he is about to lose everything.

  “There will be no children,” he whispered, his fingers warm and gentle. “Ours would not be that kind of marriage. I’m sure you already have a lover. You may keep him. I will even raise any children that come from your love union with all the rights of royalty in my land. All I ask is that you be discrete, that you help me maintain the fiction of our marriage, so it will bond our countries together and keep us from war.”

  Then he shocked her further by bending down on one knee, still holding her hand carefully in his. “I beg of you, Princess Aniri. Whatever demands you have, I will meet them. Please accept my proposal of marriage and help me to save lives in both our countries.”

  Heat rose in her face. “I…” She paused, desperately wanting to say no, but with the prince at her feet, clearly willing to do whatever it took to convince her, the shame of shirking her duty burned in her chest. “That is…” The words were choking her. “That’s… the most noble thing I have heard in some time, Prince Malik. Please... please stand.” She took his hand in her two and urged him up from the ground. “I will consider your proposal and give you my answer in the morning.”

  Prince Malik closed his eyes briefly, and Aniri could see the defeat on his face, as if she had already given her answer. But the truth was she had never been more uncertain. She hadn’t expected him to move her. She hadn’t expected him to be noble. It dragged on her even more than the embroidered silk that weighed her down like an iron casket meant to take her to the ocean floor.

  He quickly opened his eyes, dropped her hand, pressed his two together. “I will await word from you then. Arama, Princess Aniri.”
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br />   He bowed quickly, turned, and strode from the Queen’s tea garden, leaving her alone with her uncertain heart and Janak’s cool stare from the far side of the garden.

  Aniri appraised her weapons, taking time to make her choice.

  The table was spread with sabers, foils, and scimitars glittering in the cool yellow gaslamp light of the training room. Gleaming brass handguards and elaborate dark wood grips topped strong steel blades and curved bronzed tips. The Samirians were known for their metalwork, and these imported weapons were the finest examples of their handicraft.

  Aniri pulled her leather fencing gloves up to her elbows, fastening the brass clasps in place, then selected the longest, most deadly scimitar. Its curved blade was perfectly balanced but still heavy. And definitely not for training. She unwrapped the scarf around her neck and let it pool on the floor—it would be sliced to ribbons if caught in the scimitar’s sweeping path.

  Her hair was bound in a braid behind her, and the rest of her fighting wear was suitably formfitting with no stray clothing that might be entangled in her swordplay. Rugged canvas breeches tucked into her leg wrappings at the knee, and she had strapped a woven brass chest protector over her high-necked fencing jacket. There was hardly an inch of her skin showing, yet the entire ensemble moved and breathed with her. She warmed up by twirling the scimitar on one side then the other. She crept across the stone pavers of the training room. Her thin, leather fighting boots made no sound as she snuck up on the motionless steam-powered automaton that would serve as her opponent.

  She slowly moved the point of the sword closer to the large metallic figure. It had a can for a head and arms of metal tubing, but it could be surprisingly quick once activated. She gently touched the tip of her sword to the brass button that sat over its heart and danced back as it came to life with a steaming hiss. It already held a large steel blade, nearly as hefty as hers. She gripped the scimitar in both hands as the machine raised its blade into a ready position.

  With a scream she reserved for the training room, Aniri whirled and slashed, bringing the full force of her blow to bear on the automaton. It quickly blocked, the ring of their blades piercing the air. She pulled back, took a balanced stance on the balls of her feet, and raised the blade over her head, striking again. The machine shifted quickly and met her blade with a blow she felt through to her bones. Twice more she jabbed and the machine parried. Slowly, the tension of the morning’s garden meeting with Prince Malik eased from her shoulders. Every earnest word of that discussion kept replaying in her mind, despite her best attempts to disregard the barbarian’s entreaties. Each stroke against her mechanical opponent beat back the words echoing in her head.

  Fencing shoes shuffled softly on the stone floor behind her. The person—probably Devesh—was still safely out of reach of her blade. She swung it around for another hacking slash at the automaton. This time she connected with its metal shoulder, and her blade bounced off, making her stumble. She grimaced, not wanting her final blow to be so ungraceful.

  “I hope that’s Prince Malik’s face you’re imagining, and not mine,” Devesh said.

  Aniri’s shoulders slumped, and she allowed the curved blade to sink slowly until the tip chinked on the floor. She wasn’t imagining Prince Malik or even her mother. The automaton was the perfect metaphorical opponent for the villain she faced—nameless, faceless, implacable in forcing her into a life she didn’t want.

  Devesh moved quickly to stand close to her. He gently grasped her sword hand, holding the blade away, while he slipped his other hand around her waist. His warm fingers found the one unprotected spot at the small of her back. She drew in a breath at his boldness, but then his lips were on hers—a quick kiss which nevertheless pulsed through her body to the tips of her fingers. He pulled away again with lightning speed. A quick check of the servants at the far end of the room showed no reaction.

  “You presume too much,” Aniri said when she regained her voice.

  Devesh grinned wickedly. “Only as much as you allow.” With infinite gentleness, he tugged the scimitar from her grasp. “I would be foolish to presume any more when you are so heavily armed.”

  He lifted the blade and examined the jeweled hilt. “I hope there’s no hidden meaning in the fact that you chose to train today with a blade that was famously used against the Samirians in more than one ancient war. I do believe this particular weapon executed my great-great-grand-uncle, the Duke of Indira.”

  “That’s a complete lie,” Aniri said, her smile returning. “You were never related to royalty.”

  “Your majesty crushes me!” Devesh clutched his heart in mock pain, stepped back, and whirled the blade in a circle that traced behind one shoulder and then the other. “But if you wish to train today, I believe less dangerous weapons would better serve your purpose.”

  “My purpose?” Aniri’s shoulders bent again, the full weight of duty dragging them down. “I’m not sure I’m disposed to training today.” He had come fully dressed to be her instructor, wrapped in linen leggings, breeches, and a stiff, woven jacket under his ironwork chest protector. The many small touches involved in Devesh’s careful instruction always lit a fire in her body. A painful reminder of what she had to lose in this decision between heart and duty.

  Perhaps that was Devesh’s intention.

  “I judge the princess to be in need of a vigorous, yet more graceful sport at the moment.” He returned the scimitar to the weapons table and hefted a foil blade instead. It was a gift from her father when she first took up the sport. It was far too heavy at first, especially the brass handguard, but she took it as a challenge, and it made her strong. Devesh held the sword flat across his palms and made a small bow with his head. “My lady’s favorite weapon, as beautiful and deadly as she is.”

  Aniri bristled, the flattery needling her more than usual, given Prince Malik’s earlier remarks. She lifted the blade with one finger at the balance point, tossed it in the air, then grabbed the dark wood grip. The slashing arc of her blade just missed the floor and finished with the razor sharp tip screeching across the Samirian crest on Devesh’s chest protector.

  His eyes widened, but he didn’t move. “Of course, I was hoping her majesty would be using the safety tip today, if I was to spar with her.”

  Aniri stepped back, and Devesh lunged for the sword table, coming away with a foil that matched hers except the hilt was ironwork instead of brass. He kept his distance while he added a rubber tip to the end of his sword. He tossed one to her, which she quickly caught and attached.

  She smiled, saluted, and took an engarde position, feet positioned at ninety degrees to one another, knees bent. She was shorter than him, which meant his reach was longer, but skill and practice compensated for the difference. She jabbed forward, forcing him back, since he had barely assumed a fighting position. Then he lunged, striking at her heart. She parried, the sing of their blades bouncing off the smooth stone of the training room. She attacked again, compelling him two steps back.

  “I was right,” Devesh said with a grin.

  Aniri approached, and Devesh retreated. She feinted again, and he shuffled a step out of her reach. “About what?” She looked for an opening, the split second between when he decided to attack and actually lunged with his blade.

  “About my lady needing some vigorous sport to lighten her mood.” He thrust forward, she blocked, but he advanced again and again, forcing her back several steps before he stopped.

  “And I suppose a courtesan is well trained to provide the kind of sport I need?”

  Devesh grinned, slightly dropping his fencing arm, which was exactly the minute distraction she hoped for. She struck for his chest and pinned him, her foil bending a graceful arc that landed in a point right above his heart.

  “Touch.” Devesh held his hands wide, not exactly looking displeased that she had landed a point. He didn’t outmatch her, but she usually had to work much harder for the first point.

  “You let me score.” Suddenly,
the fight went out of her, like steam fleeing the automaton, collapsing her into a similarly lifeless hulk. She released him from the touch, saluted, and swept her blade tip to the floor.

  “Oh, Dev,” she said quietly. “What am I going to do?”

  He was instantly next to her, his hand gentle on her cheek. “Why are you so troubled? The Queen has left it to you to decide, hasn’t she? You must simply refuse him, Aniri.”

  Aniri peered up into his deep brown eyes. How did he know her mother had given her the choice? “Yes, the Queen is graciously allowing me a full length of rope with which to hang myself.”

  Devesh frowned. “Your mother loves you, Aniri.”

  Aniri snorted very ungraciously. “She is the Queen first and mother second, Dev.”

  Devesh gently tucked a strand of hair that had worked loose behind her ear. “Of her three daughters, Aniri, she loves you most of all. Everyone at court can see it. And she’s given you a choice in this matter. What greater proof do you need?”

  “She is testing me, Dev. To see if I will step up to my duty.”

  His hand froze by her cheek. “But you will refuse him, right?”

  Aniri placed her gloved hand against his chest to reassure him. “I want to, Dev.”

  But her face must have given away her worries. He dropped his hand and frowned. “It is a trap, Aniri. You have to know that.”

  She leaned away. “What do you mean?”

  He gave her one of his slightly patronizing looks. “Sweet, naïve, rebellious Aniri. Someday you’re going to need to pay attention to the intrigues of the palace.”

  “I thought that was your job.” His tone irritated her.

  “Indeed it is.” Devesh smiled. “And as your secret advisor on all things political, I must warn you the Prince of Jungali is not a person you can trust in any way. Once he has you in his mountain palace, you will be his prisoner. And a very valuable hostage. Dharia will have to meet whatever demands the barbarians may propose.”