Third Daughter (The Dharian Affairs, Book One)

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  Aniri frowned. “My mother wouldn’t send me into an arranged marriage like that.”

  “The Queen…” He gritted his teeth. “Does not always see things for what they are. Not unlike her favorite daughter.” His fingers gently traced her lips. “Aniri, my love, not all people have the best of intentions, and that goes double for the barbarians. They live a harsh life in the mountains. They are brutal to one another, and they are envious of their neighbors to the south. You would be a prized trophy for Prince Malik.”

  “I can’t believe my mother would agree to this, if the danger were such as you describe.”

  “You are seriously considering his offer, then?” Devesh’s mouth drew into a tight line.

  “War is a serious matter, Dev.” She held her hands wide, one still grasping her foil. “I have to consider it.”

  Devesh didn’t respond, just gently took Aniri’s foil and returned both their swords to the table. He paused there a moment. “Can I tell you something in confidence, my love?” He glanced at the servants at the far end of the hall.

  Aniri stepped closer. “Of course, Dev. You can tell me anything.”

  He smiled and drew her close, until she was flush against him. He kissed her lightly, but with a soft passion that spoke volumes. Then he pressed his cheek to hers, his lips near her ear. “I love you, Aniri,” he whispered.

  When he pulled back, she smiled. “I hate to tell you this, Dev, but I already knew that.”

  “If you go off with this Prince Malik, and anything happens to you, the Queen may dispense an army to come after you, but I will beat them there.”

  Aniri drew in a shaky breath. Prince Malik said he would allow her a lover, even though arranged marriages were expected to be true marriages, especially among royalty. But could she live that kind of life? A secret love on the side while performing the duties of Queen in a foreign land? The idea made her shudder. It pained her every day her love for Devesh was kept hidden. She couldn’t imagine a lifetime of it. Nor could she picture Devesh, with his love of the court and all things political, banished to the frozen wastelands of the north simply to be her consort.

  He must have seen the emotions warring across her face. “Tell him no, Aniri. Refuse him and come away with me. We could leave today.”

  “Dev—”

  He cut her off with a kiss. “We could return to Samir,” he whispered against her lips. “We won’t be rich, but we could travel anywhere you wished, all the places your father would have taken you. We would have all the time in the world. To be together. To learn the truth about your father’s killers. To make a family of our own.”

  It was precisely what they had planned. Now it all seemed like a hopeless fantasy. “Dev, I can’t simply abandon my country. If I refuse Malik, and there is war to pay, I cannot just run away… Is this the confidence you wanted to tell me?”

  Devesh looked torn, like there was something more he wanted to say but was holding it back. “I cannot offer you a Queendom, Aniri. My love is all I can promise. I hope it is enough to convince you to refuse Prince Malik’s offer.”

  He stepped back, and with clasped hands and a short bow, he turned and strode away. Her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest to follow him. If she accepted Prince Malik’s offer, she would lose the man she loved.

  Unlike the Jungali prince, she wasn’t sure that was a price she was willing to pay.

  The night pulsed with dreams of flying machines, screams, and death.

  She chased after a man who looked like Devesh only to find he was a specter, a black wisp of smoke that dissolved under her touch. The dreams left her in a cold sweat in the morning, and no more certain of what her choice should be, even as she stood in front of the Queen’s chamber, hand on the brass doorknob, about to render her decision.

  Her mother waited inside. The prince waited in the Queen’s antechambers on the floor below. They both wanted a decision from her. She hesitated so long, fighting to calm the churning in her stomach, that the cool metal of the doorknob warmed in her hand. Finally, she turned it and pushed open the door.

  The Queen sat at her desk, several papers spread before her, but she wasn’t tending to them. Instead she held the pencil sketch of her father, the one Aniri loved so much.

  The Queen set it back down and rose as she approached. “Aniri.”

  “Your majesty.” She pressed her hands together and made a small bow.

  Her mother’s bustled silks brushed the papers on her desk, setting them ajar as she came around. She looked into Aniri’s eyes for a long moment. “Have you come to a decision?”

  “No.”

  The Queen frowned, obviously not expecting that response. “The prince is awaiting a response. Should I send him away?”

  “I…” Aniri covered her face with her hands, then swept them away. “Mother, are you certain this marriage will bring us peace with the Jungali?”

  “No, I’m not certain of that at all.”

  Aniri gaped. “Then why are you proposing I accept his offer?”

  “I only asked you to consider it, Aniri. I didn’t tell you which choice I would prefer.”

  Aniri just stared at her mother. Slowly the realization dawned on her. This was another test. “You wanted to see if I would choose quickly or if I would struggle with the decision.”

  “No, Aniri.” She sighed. “I don’t torment you unnecessarily, as much as you might find that hard to believe.” She walked back to her desk and picked up one of the papers. Curling paper strips were fixed to the sheet in her mother’s hand. Aniri recognized them as notes from an aetheroceiver, the wireless device that transmitted secure communications over the aether from Dharia’s outposts in the northern reaches of the Queendom. “I’ve had several scouts working to infiltrate the Jungali provinces, going under cover as tradespeople.”

  “For what purpose?” Aniri hadn’t told her about the internal warring between the Jungali factions, but she wasn’t surprised the Queen already knew.

  Her mother looked up. “To determine if Prince Malik is telling the truth about this Jungali flying machine.”

  Aniri nodded. “And what does he say?”

  “The prince claims no such weapon exists. However, the young prince has a tentative hold on power, and even if he’s telling the truth, I’m not sure I can trust him.”

  “Have your scouts found the flying machine?”

  “No, but there are too many reports of workers moving to the far northern provinces for a short time, then returning south. Migrant work isn’t the norm in the mountains, but my scouts are having a hard time getting the locals to talk about it.” The Queen leveled a stare at her. “They are doing something up there, and I would like very much to know what it is.”

  “And if there is a flying weapon?” Aniri feared the answer: she would be all but obligated to marry the prince in order to broker peace.

  “Then we need to destroy it,” the Queen said. “It would be intolerable for the Jungali to have that kind of superior weaponry at their disposal.”

  “So you would go to war?” Aniri’s eyes widened. Dharia hadn’t been at war in a hundred years.

  “I doubt our traditional weapons and armory would be effective in their mountainous terrain,” the Queen said. “An open, armored assault on the mountains certainly wouldn’t hold much element of surprise. But if we can discover the location of the weapon by stealth and then sabotage it before it can be deployed, we can avoid a costly war, in both people and expense.”

  “Can your spies in the Jungali provinces do this?” Aniri was still reeling that her mother was sharing this information with her, as if she had suddenly taken Nahali’s place as First Daughter.

  The Queen grimaced. “The Jungali clans are fiercely loyal and very tightknit, based on a kinship system not unlike our own. Their secrecy and security is impressive. And it is proving nearly impossible to determine if the weapon exists at all, much less where it might be hidden.”

  Her mother set the sheet of
paper down and came around the desk again, taking Aniri’s hands in hers. “You, on the other hand, would have access to the heart of their government.”

  Aniri’s eyebrows hiked up. “You want me to spy on them?”

  The Queen gave her a tight smile. “The marriage would be a pretext for you to get inside the prince’s compound where our spies cannot currently reach. If you can find the weapon, you can send us information on how to destroy it. If you discover there is no weapon, that it’s mere saber-rattling, then there is no threat at all. Either way, once you accomplish your mission, you could cancel the wedding and return home.”

  Aniri’s heart pounded. There was normally a month-long courtship period before the actual ceremony. It would give her time. “What if I can’t find it?”

  “Then your intelligence will tell us whether a peace-brokering marriage is our only true way to secure the threat they pose.”

  It was risky. Aniri would be spying on an unstable enemy nation she knew nothing about. But if she could find this secret weapon, or prove it didn’t exist, she wouldn’t have to go through with the marriage. She would be truly free. And she would have served her country in the process.

  She found herself nodding vigorously, not wanting to put all those thoughts into words, lest her chance, her way out, evaporate like Devesh in her dream.

  “It’s dangerous, Aniri.” The Queen gently touched Aniri’s cheek, like she did when she was a child, stilling her frantic agreement. “I wouldn’t even propose this if the potential threat weren’t so grave to Dharia. A flying ship... it could tip the balance of power. I don’t want to see it in any hand but Dharia’s, much less the barbarians’.”

  “Because they’re unstable—”

  “They’re fractious and war-loving. They kill their own as easily as you and I take a trip to market. If they could strike from the air...”

  Aniri couldn’t ever recall seeing her mother afraid. A chill ran over her, like a gust of northern air had just swept through the room.

  “Even so,” her mother said, “the idea of sending you into a den of barbarians keeps sleep from finding me at night.”

  “No, Mother, you’re right.” Aniri’s heart skipped as she saw the plan become real. “If the threat is real, we must face it. If it’s as much of a danger to Dharia as you say, it is worth the risk.” Somehow the prospect of being caught as a spy in Jungali frightened her less than the prospect of marriage to a man she didn’t love. At least then the pain would be over quickly.

  The Queen smiled and brushed her hand along Aniri’s hair. “My third daughter… I had a feeling you would say that.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me from the outset?” Clouds crowded the pumping thrill of having found a way out of the marriage. “Your majesty can confide in me.” Even as she said it, Aniri wondered how much the Queen had ever really confided in her. Even now.

  “It is a lot to ask of you, Aniri.” She dropped her hand. “The marriage may yet be required to stabilize the situation politically. I wanted you to seriously consider that option. If it wasn’t something you would entertain, then—”

  “You didn’t think I would do my duty,” Aniri said, her back straightening.

  “I wanted you to give serious thought to whether you would sacrifice your future for Dharia,” the Queen said stiffly, “before I asked you to possibly sacrifice your life.”

  She had expected Aniri to say no. Expected her to embarrass the Queen and shirk her duty. Never mind that Aniri would prefer almost anything to the arranged marriage, even if it meant risking her life. It was a test her mother had expected her to fail. She would no doubt find Prince Malik more noble than her own daughter, with his apparent willingness to sacrifice everything for his country.

  Aniri wanted to say something, but words tangled in the hot burning on her cheeks. Her mother had returned to her desk, studying her communiques. Without looking up, the Queen added by way of dismissal, “The prince awaits your decision in my anteroom.”

  Finding nothing she could say without regret, Aniri turned to the door of the Queen’s office.

  “Aniri,” her mother called, stopping her with her hand on the knob. “You understand the ruse must be complete. No one may suspect your true purpose, and you must communicate directly with me or Janak. He will accompany you for your personal security. I will provide you with an aetheroceiver before you depart. You must not tell anyone else. You... you must not tell Devesh anything of your true mission.”

  Aniri’s eyes narrowed. Her mother knew about that, too. For how long? Janak must have told her. A flash of anger heated Aniri’s face further, and her heart pounded with the realization that of course she would have to lie to Devesh. If there was any hope of her mission succeeding, it would require the utmost secrecy.

  She would have to lie. To the man she loved. And tell him she was marrying another.

  “I’m at your Majesty’s service.” Aniri yanked open the Queen’s door and left it wide as she practically raced down the hall. She choked back tears as the full force of what she was about to do hit her. Her anger was tamed only slightly by the knowledge that after the deception was done, she would be free—once and for all.

  She only hoped Devesh would still want her.

  She stalked down the stairs to the Queen’s antechamber and flung open the door. When it banged against the stone wall, Prince Malik whirled to face her. He stood by the fireplace, looking off-balance by her sudden appearance. The deception had already begun, and from the outset, she was doing a poor job of it, storming in to accept his proposal.

  “Prince Malik.” She forced her voice to calm, and her steps to slow, as she approached.

  “Arama, Princess Aniri.” He pressed his hands together and bowed, but his eyes never left her, scanning up and down as if to discern some clue to her answer. As he straightened, his brows drew together. He seemed to steel himself for her refusal.

  “I have given a great deal of thought to your proposal.” A good lie is always laced with the truth. Where did she hear that? Probably from one of her sisters, in a childhood caper where the consequences were no more important than stolen sweets from the kitchen.

  Prince Malik nodded his head, defeat already on his face. He quickly approached her, covering the lush woven rugs with his long strides until he was at her side.

  He dropped his voice. “Is there any possibility that I may yet convince you to accept this arrangement?”

  “Yes.”

  The shock lifted his eyebrows, and he keenly examined her face once more. “I meant what I said about meeting any condition you demand. Name it, your highness, and if it’s within my power, I will make it so.”

  Conditions? What made sense, if she were truly accepting his proposal? She floundered, this lie already drowning her. “I... I will need to bring my handmaiden with me.” She scrambled to think of more convincing demands.

  Prince Malik’s cool amber eyes lit with hope. “But of course. I had assumed the princess would need an entourage.”

  An entourage? That might be too much to suit her needs for stealth. “That won’t be necessary, but I would like to bring my guard, Janak.”

  “There cannot be too much security for my tastes when it comes to the future Queen of Jungali, so I am glad to hear it.”

  Aniri frowned. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who thought this would be a dangerous undertaking. “I... I reserve the right to make further demands, as the occasion warrants.”

  “Granted,” he said, his breaths starting to come quicker.

  “And the conditions you stated previously would hold,” she said in a rush, feeling like she had not demanded enough. “There will be no children. I will maintain the ruse, but I may have occasion to... to take a lover, from time to time.”

  “Understood.” He seemed to be holding his breath, and there was no more putting it off.

  “Then, Prince Malik,” she said, pausing to swallow, “I accept your proposal of a peace-brokering marriage between D
haria and Jungali.”

  He let out a small huff of air. An uncertain smile crept on his face, but he seemed to fight it, trying to keep a proper respectful appearance. He surprised her by dropping to one knee and pressing the backs of her hands to his forehead. The fevered heat of his skin warmed them. “Thank you, your majesty.”

  Then he rose and regarded her as if she had transformed into mother-goddess Devkasera right before him. “Princess Aniri.” He seemed to struggle for words. “I think perhaps you are more noble than you believe.” He stepped back, formality thankfully returning to form an invisible wall between them. “I will make arrangements at once. At your leave, we can depart in the morning.”

  She nodded, but her heart sank under his words. Her mind insisted it was all subterfuge, that it would free her in the end, but her heart felt as though the trap were already sealed, and she was plummeting to the bottom of the frozen Jungali Sea.

  Great billows of steam rolled along the back of the train, huffing impatience into the sky as it awaited departure. A dozen passenger cars gleamed in the morning sun, the burnished red wood almost as bright as the brass. The train station bustled with passengers and their cargo. The two aft-most cars had been sectioned off, cleared for Prince Malik’s return to Jungali. And Aniri’s first trip beyond the borders of Dharia.

  The daylong train ride would take them through Dharia’s rolling farms and fertile fields, the ones that fed the world with their abundance. Aniri felt that excess more keenly as she surveyed the dozens of trunks being loaded into the baggage car by the Queen’s servants. It was an embarrassment of riches compared to the prince and his tiny entourage, which consisted solely of the prince and his bulky attendant. They stood near his train car, consulting about something in earnest. Unlike earlier, his guard was now heavily armed with a wide-barreled flintlock pistol strapped to his leg and twin daggers sheathed at the small of his back.

  The prince similarly carried both a sword and a bronze-handled dagger strapped to his waist. The Dharian finery he had worn at court had been replaced by rugged traveling attire more in keeping with her expectations of the Jungali—a linen shirt casually open at the neck but secured with leather bindings at the wrists and trim, woolen pants tucked into his black boots. His knee-length open coat, with its leather chest straps hanging loose, made him look like a Samirian pirate, the kind who raided Dharian vessels long ago, before peace had been brokered with arranged marriages and trade. Yet he still managed to look regal. Perhaps it was the way he stood: more confident in his barbarian clothing than when she’d first seen him in the Queen’s Grand Chamber.