He was eating a flower.
A smirk grew while he chewed. She felt the heat of every pair of eyes in the room as he raised his flower to her lips. She struggled to keep her face neutral, afraid the blossom would be horrid, but she opened her mouth and let him feed it to her. It was delicate and sweet, slightly waxy but reminding her of spicy tea and honey. She managed to chew with some small amount of dignity, and when she swallowed, the prince, whose eyes had never left hers, gave her a wide smile that made her blush.
Meanwhile, the rhythm of the music picked up, beating faster and faster and drawing her back. The colors and arms and bejeweled feet whirled quicker, the singers’ words taking on new urgency, whatever their meaning. Just when she thought she might be compelled to sweep out of her seat to join them, the music shifted to a more base, almost guttural, pounding of drums and deeper stamping of feet. The female dancers parted and a tumble of male dancers stomped their way to the center. Their flowing pants legs and tight bronze-buttoned vests, with bared arms and naked feet, virtually screamed masculinity, as if the music and muscular beat didn’t pulse it loud enough.
Aniri’s mouth hung open as they leaped and clapped and generally made her forget to breathe. Their shoulders slinked up and down, undulating with the music. They touched their chests, then threw out their hands as if casting their hearts to the head table, then jumped one after another, hands in the air, their moves showing every muscle straining with their acrobatics. Aniri closed her gaping mouth and stole a look at Prince Malik. He was watching her with no small amount of mirth on his face, but she found it impossible to be embarrassed, so she grinned right back, and he laughed, a sound that was lost in the music still climbing to the highest corners of the ceiling.
She was captivated by the dancers right up to the moment they finished with a flurry and a held pose that seemed to defy gravity.
A thunderous snapping of fingers filled the air, the guests showing their appreciation, and Aniri joined right in, following the prince’s move. As the dancers bowed and slowly backed out, taking their leave, the snapping of fingers faded into a tinkling sound of a thousand glasses clinking. Confused, Aniri looked to the guests to find them all facing the head table, tapping small sticks against their cups. Aniri looked to Prince Malik—his eyes had gone wide, and he wasn’t smiling anymore. For a moment, she was afraid something had gone wrong. The prince turned to her, looked at her for a brief moment, then leaned over to speak into her ear.
“I forgot about this part. They expect the engaged couple to kiss after the nuptial dance. We don’t have to, if you don’t—”
Aniri cut off his words by pulling back, then brought her hand to the prince’s smooth-shaven cheek. Before he could say anything more, she leaned forward and kissed him.
Maybe it was the thrum of the music still echoing through her body, or the demands of their audience, or simply that she wanted to maintain the ruse which allowed her to stay in Jungali a while longer, but she didn’t find it anywhere near as difficult to kiss the prince this time. Her lips pressed urgently to his, and a half heartbeat later he responded just as strongly, his hand finding the back of her head to pull her closer. He tasted of honey flower. His thumb trailed across her cheek. A warmth surged through her that could have been wine… if she had been drinking any. It rushed through her body and settled to her toes, making them buzz.
The clinking of glasses turned to a snapping of fingers, and the prince pulled away, hesitating for a brief second to look her in the eyes. Then he ducked his head away, releasing her completely to face the expectant guests. A smile was back on his face, and he waved to them. She tried to catch his eye, but he refused to look at her, so she turned to smile at the crowd as well, with a small uncertain wave.
Her hand still tingled from its brief encounter with the prince’s cheek. That kiss didn’t make her lose her breath entirely, the way the first had in a thin-air induced panic on the balcony, but it left her... more affected than it should. She blinked and tried to catch the prince’s eye again, but he was busy having a whispered conversation with Nisha over the still fading noise of snapping fingers and calls of good-natured appreciation.
Aniri swallowed and scanned the faces around the expanse of the curved table, wondering once again what she had gotten herself into. Then she froze. A familiar form leaned against a pillar behind the farthest table, cool dark eyes staring at her and capturing her gaze even from across the room.
Devesh.
Aniri nearly bolted up from her seat, but shock kept her muscles from responding to her body’s alarm. What was Devesh doing in Jungali? At the prince’s engagement party, no less. The room was suddenly too hot, and the bustle of dresses and conversation faded from her mind, leaving only Devesh’s silent gaze locked with hers. His arms were crossed, his face frozen, but it was clear: he had seen everything. He held her with a heart-stabbing look, then unfolded his arms and slipped around the column he had been leaning against, disappearing from view.
Aniri had an urgent need to run: chase after him, explain that it was all a ruse, that it meant nothing. She stopped half way out of her chair. She needed some kind of excuse. She couldn’t simply flee the party.
Prince Malik turned to her. A frown appeared on his face once he saw the panic in hers. Had she already given it away?
“Is there something you need, Princess?” His voice was flat, and she couldn’t imagine what he was thinking.
She floundered for a reason to leave. “I just need a visit to the privy.”
His face relaxed, still unsmiling, but calmed. He signaled a guard from the small battalion stationed around the perimeter of the room. When he arrived, imposingly tall in his royal uniform, Prince Malik said to him, “Please escort the princess.” The prince turned away as Aniri finished rising out of her seat, but Priya popped up from hers, and Janak’s eyes were narrowed, already taking in the scene.
She tipped her head to Janak. “Just tending to a lady’s business.” She hoped that excuse, plus Prince Malik’s guard, would keep him from insisting on coming. His eyebrows rose in suspicion, but he didn’t object.
“My lady?” Priya asked. “Do you need me to accompany you?”
Aniri motioned her to stay. “I can manage on my own.” Which was, of course, ridiculous—navigating her dress would take two at least—but Aniri shook her head slightly in warning. Priya frowned, and before she could object further, Aniri quickly lifted her skirts free of the chair and worked her way toward the door to the chamber. How would she find Devesh, much less meet with him privately, with Prince Malik’s guard in tow?
Out in the hallway, the bulky guard kept to her side, marching so close he narrowly missed stepping on her skirts. For such a large man, he had a skittish look about him, like he thought she might disappear into smoke if he took his eyes off her. When they arrived at the privy, he reached for the door, as if he would come inside with her. Aniri gave him a withering glare, and he snapped to attention, hands tucked behind his back. She pushed through the heavy door alone.
Once inside, she leaned against the cool, tiled wall next to the door. The privy was spacious, an entire room with a washbin, sitting area, and a toilet. Aniri ignored all of it and tapped her head gently against the wall. How was she going to meet with Devesh? And how on earth did he get here? Clearly, he had escaped Dharia without capture. But why was he here?
Voices sounded outside the door, one deep and serious, the other friendly and light-hearted. She tensed as she recognized Devesh’s smooth voice, the one he used to court her, only now he had added a manly undertone in his banter with the guard. What was he thinking? That he would talk his way into the privy? No, he was waiting for her to come out. But they could hardly talk in front of the guard. Maybe she could insist he give them some privacy, as long as she was still within eyesight.
She took a breath and pulled open the door.
The guard turned toward her, and in that moment of distraction, Devesh hit him hard on the chin, snappin
g the guard’s head to the side. The large man slumped into the wall, and Devesh hit him again, landing a blow behind his ear with a flat hand chop. The guard never made a sound, and his eyes glazed as he slowly slid down the wall.
Aniri’s mouth hung open. “Dev!”
Devesh ignored her outcry. He hooked his arms underneath the guard’s, then dragged him backward over the threshold of the privy. Aniri had to jump out of the way, grasping the doorframe to keep from falling as her feet tangled in her skirts. She righted herself and followed Devesh, closing the door as he leaned the guard up against the wall.
“It will take longer for them to notice he’s missing in here.” Devesh’s voice was flat and cold.
Aniri just stared as he dusted off his hands in an entirely unnecessary flourish. Then he planted them on his hips and returned her stare.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was weak.
“Rescuing you, of course.” His voice was still flat, but now she could hear the anger underneath it.
“Dev!” She threw up her hands and looked fretfully at the unconscious guard. How would she ever explain this? “I’m not in need of rescuing.”
Devesh folded his arms and leaned against the nearby washbasin. “Yes, I see you and the prince are getting along quite well.”
“It’s not like that.”
“No?” he asked, a small rueful smile on his face. “You two were pretty convincing.” He took the flower the prince had placed in her hair and tossed it into the washbin.
She balled up her fists. “It’s a ruse, Dev. Just a story, a rumor to help build peace with Jungali. I’m doing my duty.”
“And a fine job of it, too.”
“Dev.” She refused to cry, but the tears were close, so she got angry instead. “If I needed your help, I would have messaged you on the aetheroceiver. But then I couldn’t be sure if it wasn’t some trick. Was it really you on the other end?”
His anger surged up and colored his face. “Of course it was me, Aniri! Didn’t you see my note?”
“Yes, but... how did you know? About my true mission here?” Aniri felt like a small tugboat being tossed in a sea of emotion. “Has it always been just about the politics for you? Did it… did all of it, all of us, mean nothing to you? Have you always simply been a spy in the Queen’s court?”
His anger fell off him like a shrugged winter coat. When he came to her, his hands on her shoulders were warm, his deep brown eyes soft. She swallowed, uncertain if she could trust the man she loved, which left a hollow pit in the depths of her stomach.
He touched her cheek with his fingertips. “My feelings for you have always been real, Aniri.” Warmth flooded her heart with his touch and his words, but she didn’t miss his evasion.
“So you are. Always have been. A spy.” The warmth clashed with a cold front that started in her head and worked its way down.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then gave her one of his patronizing looks. “Aniri, my love, you never have paid enough attention to the workings of the court. I am a courtesan.”
“I’m not a fool, Dev!” She pushed away from him, but he held fast to her shoulders. She didn’t have the heart to stop him from pulling her back.
“No, you’re not,” he said softly. “But you don’t always see what is right in front of you. What do you think courtesans do, Aniri?”
“Play with the hearts of gullible women at court?”
“Aniri...”
“Pretend at love when you’re only fishing for secret information?” Her anger flared back. “What a noble cause you serve, Devesh, lavishing your soft attentions to deceive.”
He tipped his head back, eyes closed for a moment again, then stared deep into Aniri’s eyes. “Aniri, all courtesans are spies. You must know this.” His voice dropped. “It doesn’t mean that we don’t also fall in love.”
She shook her head—it was telling her to flee, but her heart wouldn’t let her rip herself from Devesh’s grasp. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“I know.” He softly touched her cheek again. “But all those times I told you I loved you—it was the truth. I need you to believe that much, if nothing else. And I need you to trust me now. I’m here because I’m afraid for your life.”
“If you want anything from me, you’ll need to explain yourself much better than that. What did you mean by your aether message? How can you be certain the Jungali’s flying weapon doesn’t exist? And how can the marriage possibly trigger a war? That doesn’t even make sense, Dev.”
“I know the flying weapon is a ruse,” he said solemnly, “because I know why the rumors are being circulated. It’s a distraction, a way to keep the eyes of Dharia all focused on the north, on a threat that is as thin as the air up here.”
“A distraction from what?” she asked, but there was some truth to what Devesh was saying, she could feel it. Her mother’s court was tied in knots, chasing vapors of rumors, trying to discern whether the flying weapon even existed. It was something so potentially devastating it could not be ignored, but so ephemeral it threatened like a ghost moaning from the high, dark mountains. It so thoroughly distracted her mother that she sent her Third Daughter on a dangerous mission to find the truth.
Devesh wasn’t answering her question.
“What is the rumor distracting us from?” Aniri asked again, fear forming a cold pool in her stomach.
Devesh looked into her eyes. “Can I trust you, Aniri?”
“What do you mean?”
“If I tell you something, I need you not to tell your mother, the Queen.”
“You can’t ask that of me!” Aniri said, pulling back.
“No. You are probably right.” Devesh released her and rubbed the stubble on his face with one hand. He studied her, obviously debating whether he could tell her.
“You said you feared for my life,” she said. It was a challenge.
“You are in grave danger here, Aniri.”
“And you claim to love me.”
He just gave her a hopeless look.
“Then tell me, Dev.”
He turned away from her, pressing a fist to his mouth and staring out the far window of the privy. The afternoon sun shone brightly on a clear blue sky. It seemed to be made darker by the lack of air—the skies were bluer in the mountains than anywhere she had seen before.
So much was different here, a change of perspective, as Prince Malik rightly pointed out. She had never been more uncertain of what was true and who she could trust—even the man she loved, who was staring out the window, contemplating whether he could trust her enough to tell her the truth.
Her gown and the crown jewels around her neck weighed heavy on her as she waited, wondering whether she should trust anything he might choose to tell her.
When he turned back, Devesh’s face was resolute. “The Samir are planning war, Aniri.”
She leaned away from him, giving him a skeptical look. “On the Jungali?” That didn’t make much sense. She’d seen the Samirian dignitaries at the engagement party. They seemed very comfortable here in the wilds of the Jungalian mountains, very amiably partaking in the festivities.
“No,” he said. “On Dharia.”
“How can Samir be planning war with Dharia?” Aniri’s voice was climbing, but her heart was sinking. Devesh wasn’t telling her the truth after all. “We have been allies for a century. We have bonded through countless marriages. My sister is married to the prince heir apparent. This cannot be so, Dev.”
“I didn’t say going to war with Dharia was a grand idea,” Devesh said sarcastically. He folded his arms again and leaned against the washbasin of the privy. “And I’m not the only Samirian who thinks the plans are foolish. Nevertheless, they are real.”
“That makes no sense,” she said, throwing her hands out in exasperation. “We are the breadbasket to the world. We feed Samir—”
“And we provide you with the latest technology.” The sarcasm was still heavy in his voice. “How do you think
that feels, Aniri? To be more advanced, more proficient in metalwork and clockwork and all manner of steam-driven wonders, but beholden to a backward-looking Queen because she happens to control the food supply?”
Aniri swallowed. Devesh had never talked like this before. As if Samir and Dharia were truly enemies, not allies. “The Queen would never threaten Samir—”
“She doesn’t have to,” Devesh cut her off again. “Short of a full military assault and occupation of Dharia, Samir is at the mercy of whatever terms the Queen would like to set. Do you ever wonder why the Queen is so enamored with tradition? Why she clings to gods like Devkasera as if she’s given your mother a divine right to rule?”
“My mother just… likes the traditional ways.” A tremble started in Aniri’s stomach. She never had given it much thought, and she feared what Devesh would tell her next. His words were taking on more weight of truth the more he spoke.
“Your mother clings to the past because she knows Samir is the future.”
“What do you mean?” But that trickle of fear was turning into a gush.
“Steam-driven technology is the way of the future, Aniri. It is unstoppable. It is only a matter of time before our technology is strong enough to outmatch Dharia’s greater numbers and resources.”
It was true that Dharia had greater size, both in land and army. Most of the world was ocean, and most of the land belonged to Dharia. The Jungali claimed the frozen mountains and seas in the north, and Samir was a small, mountainous country, less than half the size of Dharia, and separated from it by a hundred miles of water. There was a saying about good water making good neighbors, but the Samirian strength had always been its trade boats, the ability to bring manufactured metal goods from the Samirian mountains to Dharia in exchange for the food that kept Samirians well fed.
Third Daughter (The Dharian Affairs, Book One) Page 15
