“Where is the Second Daughter?” Janak’s voice remained clipped with tension.
“I’ve hidden her away.” Pavan turned apologetic eyes to Aniri. “I’m sorry for the deception, but I promise you, she is fine. I had to secret her away. There is no way the assassin could have accessed her food without the help of someone within the palace. And I suspect they were not simply after Seledri, but the baby. The attempt was made shortly after we announced the new heir-to-be.”
Aniri’s heart was still pounding. “I want to see her.”
“I know. I’ll take you to her. But you must leave your entourage here.” He indicated the multitude still lingering outside Seledri’s room, not Janak. Clearly Pavan understood Janak wouldn’t be leaving Aniri’s side under any circumstance now. “Tell them you wish to spend some time with your sister. They may retire to the common rooms and refresh themselves. I’ll see to it they’re attended to. But it may take some time for us to reach Seledri’s hideaway, and we must use stealth in getting there.” He paused to swallow, something that seemed quite painful for him now. “We must take care to maintain the ruse that she remains here, resting in her room.”
Aniri glanced at Pavan’s guard at her feet. “Is that why you’re keeping the handmaiden’s body here? And guarded?” She left unspoken the question of why the guard attacked Janak, assuming he must have been attempting to save the First Son from Janak’s iron fist. Something Aniri could have told him would be ill-fated.
“He suspects another attempt will be made on the Second Daughter’s life.” Janak’s voice had lost much of its tension. It seemed he believed Pavan’s story as well.
“Yes. And I want any further attempts to be made here… where I have the ability to capture the assassin and find out where the conspiracy lies and who is involved.”
Aniri raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have raksaka in your employ?” Thwarting assassination attempts is what raksaka lived for. She couldn’t imagine any standing by idly while letting a mere palace guard lay in wait for one.
Pavan grimaced. “I cannot be sure of their loyalty.”
Janak looked like he wanted to strangle the First Son anew.
Aniri jumped in. “I can’t believe Samirian raksaka are so different than Dharian ones. They live to serve the crown.”
“But which part of the crown?” Pavan’s voice was still recovering but the growl in it wasn’t from his near-choking.
Aniri drew back. “You suspect the royal family?” It was incomprehensible to her. She would risk her own life for any of her sisters, even First Daughter Nahali. Especially First Daughter Nahali, since an assault on her wasn’t just an attack on her family but her country and its future as well.
Pavan glanced at the door. “We can discuss it further once we’re on our way to see Seledri. That is what you traveled across the sea for, isn’t it, Aniri? I want to assure you of her safety, and perhaps gain your assistance. The backing of Dharia and Jungali would be instrumental in an internal fight for the crown.”
Aniri’s eyes were wide, but she nodded her assent. Meanwhile, Janak had already moved to pull down the curtain of gauze and straighten the netting to hide Seledri’s dead handmaiden. Pavan bent to attempt to awaken his guard, who was moving his head, but not yet fully roused. Between Pavan and Janak, they carried him to the couch and laid him out.
Janak returned to her side, and they approached the door together.
He gave her a stern look. “We will assure Seledri is alive. Then we will be leaving.” She was certain he wanted nothing to do with the internal politics of Samir. Aniri nodded, but her sister’s life was on the line. She had no intention of leaving Seledri in a viper’s nest of political intrigue in a foreign country. Janak should know better, if he believed she would agree to that.
Nevertheless, she opened the door just enough for her and Janak to slip through, with Pavan following close behind. Priya and Karan were huddled together near the Jungali sailors acting as royal guards. They seemed wary, hands on their pistols, as the Samirian guards surrounding them did the same. As if they thought her entourage might start a riot at any moment.
Priya stepped forward, but Aniri stayed her with a hand. “Princess Seledri is doing well,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster, “but I wish to spend some time attending to her privately. I will only require my personal guard. Please bear with me.” Aniri caught Karan’s gaze, which was jumping between Aniri and Janak’s impassive face. She gave Karan a small nod, which he returned.
Priya shuffled forward in spite of Aniri’s words. “Are you sure my lady doesn’t need assistance?” Her pitched voice and wide eyes said she didn’t understand at all what was happening, but it was worrying her. And Aniri couldn’t blame her handmaiden for feeling that way—worry was still wringing echoes through her body as well. Aniri reached out to reassure Priya, who grabbed fast onto her hand and drew close.
Aniri whispered in her ear, “Tell Karan to proceed.” Then she pulled back and added, louder, with a forced smile. “I’m counting on you to keep our crew out of the ale, Priya.”
Priya nodded vigorously. “As you wish, my lady.”
Pavan was artfully keeping a hand over his neck to hide the bruising from Janak’s hold, but he managed to whisper a few commands to an aide, who then scurried off. Aniri waved to the assemblage, gave Priya one last reassuring smile, then returned to Seledri’s room, determined to find a way out of Samir for all of them.
While Pavan revived and reinstated his guard, Aniri quickly searched Seledri’s wardrobes for attire that would allow her to pass for one of the Samirians in the streets below—since that was their apparent destination.
The hidden doorway in Seledri’s room led to a spiraling stone staircase, a secret passageway through the mountain castle that was dank and dripped water on Aniri’s boots as she followed Janak and Pavan. The air grew more foul as they spiraled deeper into the bowels of the mountain. Finally, the stone steps emptied into a tunnel carved from the bare rock. Trickles of water wept down the walls and gathered in the center. The three of them followed the tiny stream, their torches casting orange licks of light around them. The low ceiling and tight walls forced them to walk single file.
Pavan had given them dark, heavy cloaks with hoods to hide their faces, but even those didn’t ward off the pervasive chill. Janak still had the aetheroceiver clenched in one hand, but she wondered how truly secure a communique would be in the heart of the Samirian capital, where surely there would be other aetheroceivers which might intercept their transmission. With any luck, they wouldn’t need to find out. And they would be back before their entourage had tired of the Samirian hospitalities.
“This tunnel is ancient,” Pavan called from the front. His voice echoed off the hard surfaces. “It was designed to provide an escape for the royal family in the event of a siege, back in the days before Samir was a unified country, and the province lords still fought one another.”
“Is the door in the Second Daughter’s room the only one leading to this tunnel?” Janak asked.
“Yes,” Pavan said. “No one has used it for a century, and I only know of it because Seledri’s bedchamber used to be mine as a child.”
“And we’re the only ones who know Seledri’s handmaiden hasn’t run away, but is lying dead in Seledri’s room?” Aniri asked.
“Only a few people know the true state of things. As soon as I realized what had happened, I was at a loss as to whom I could trust. The handmaiden was already dead. There was no use calling for a healer. Instead, I brought in two of my most trusted guards and immediately spirited Seledri away. I kept the tunnel a secret mostly out of habit, but it was the perfect way to remove her from the dangers of the royal estate, where any of a hundred people could present a danger to her and the baby. And as you’ll see, even if the tunnel were discovered and compromised, Seledri is hidden in an innkeeper’s room distant from the tunnel itself. She’s safe because no one knows where she is.”
Pav
an cast a look down the tunnel to Aniri. “I’m taking a risk even bringing you to her, Aniri. But I need your help to keep her from harm.”
Aniri almost suggested that there was nowhere in Samir safe enough for Seledri, but she decided the moment wasn’t right. Yet. “You know I want nothing but the safekeeping of my sister.”
He smiled and turned forward. “Which is why I was so happy to hear you were on your way. The people have been restless with this news of your new skyship, not to mention the burning glass and the destruction it wrought in the attack on your country. I’ve tried to reassure them of our bonds, through marriage and treaty and a hundred years of peace, but it hasn’t done much to settle them. And then with the attempt on Seledri’s life…” He paused and threw her a grateful smile. “You coming here so quickly, in peace and concern for our future Queen, and in the skyship no less—I can’t tell you the effect it has already had in reassuring my people.”
That wasn’t her intent, of course, and who knew what Karan would find in his attempts to ferret out the Samirians’ plans to build another skyship, but now didn’t seem the right time to bring that up either. “Dharia and Jungali wish for nothing but peace with Samir.” At least that much was true. It struck her that she could plausibly speak for both countries while, in truth, having no authority in either.
The tunnel came to an abrupt end, turning upward to form a vertical shaft with a ladder disappearing into darkness above.
“There’s a hatch at the top,” Pavan said. “I’ll go first to ensure we’re unnoticed.” He pushed back his hood, and with his torch in one hand, awkwardly climbed the ladder. The light showed a circular door not far above. He reached the top and cracked it open to peek, then signaled them to follow.
The door was hidden behind a copse of red-berried bushes. The bright morning sun nearly blinded Aniri as she fought her way out of the shrubs, but Janak’s hand at her elbow steadied her. They emerged into a small clearing behind a long line of gray-walled Samirian-styled buildings. Pavan raised his hood and gestured them to follow through a narrow alley that led straight to the bustling streets of the capital.
Their muted brown cloaks and hoods didn’t stand out too harshly—it seemed everywhere the colors had been drained from the marketplace. The business facades were gray granite trimmed with steel, much like the palace, and even the street vendors had carts crafted from the dull metal. A tinker shop across the cobbled road was alive with wind-up toys, as well as larger steamworks that reminded Aniri of the Samirian ambassador’s dancing automaton. A three-wheeled cart ambled, only without a beast to pull it. Like the coal carts in the palace, this vehicle was propelled by the pumping action of the driver, who stood on a small platform and sent the lever up and down, trundling her trunk full of goods down the street. Another cart passed by, this one with passengers instead of cargo.
Aniri shuffled closer to Pavan. “What manner of transport is this?”
“The pamgari?” Pavan asked, surprised. “Oh yes. Seledri says you don’t have them in Dharia.”
“I suppose it would put our beast masters out of business.”
Pavan grinned. “In Samir, we’re a smaller country than you. We have relatively less land, which means less grazing for beasts and less arable land for crops.” He gestured over his shoulder to the distant palace and the looming mountain behind. “Whereas we have an almost unlimited source of metals and coal. If we can mechanize something, we do.”
Aniri nodded as another pamgari trundled by, carrying a bushel of star-shaped fruit. “I can see that.”
“Our destination isn’t far,” Pavan said, gesturing ahead, “but I’d prefer we spent as little time on the streets as possible.”
He pulled his hood lower on his forehead, no doubt hoping to not be recognized. Her gawking at Samirian technology wasn’t likely to help either. Aniri tugged her hood down as well and picked up her pace. Janak followed silently beside her as they wove through the considerable foot traffic along the lane. She dodged mothers with mechanized strollers and workers bearing crates for their shopkeepers. Aniri avoided making eye contact, but had to skirt a small child on the loose, which made her glimpse ahead and see something that froze her heart: a dark-haired man with the high, bronzed cheekbones and dark eyes of every other Samirian, only this one she knew far too well.
Devesh. He met her gaze but didn’t linger, no look of recognition on his face.
Aniri dropped her gaze, her heart pounding. Could it be him? Was it possible? Devesh had fled Jungali with the Samirian ambassador. Her sister assured her that he had not returned to the capital, but in this teeming city, how would she have known? More importantly, had he recognized Aniri?
She peeked from under her hood again, but the figure was long gone. She glanced at Janak by her side, but his purposeful stride showed no sign of anything amiss. Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. There must be thousands of young men in Samir who were Devesh’s age. He had spoken of how large his family was. Surely, it was just a resemblance. Besides, if it was Devesh, he would have shown some sign of recognition. She was sure of that. And, regardless, he was gone now. She kept her gaze on the ground in front of her, calming her heart and focusing on the street turns as they went—two left and one right—in order to not be completely off kilter in this foreign city.
Soon, they reached an inn whose weathered wooden door Pavan quickly pushed aside. The customers inside were a considerably rougher sort than the citizens outside. Most were men, with a few well-armed women holding court, and all were dressed like adventurers returning from hard travel: riveted and scuffed leather vests, loose and torn shirts, breeches of weathered canvas. Aniri guessed all manner of illegal services could be procured here.
Pavan strode to the bar at back and made a whispered request of the barkeep, whose rolled-up sleeves did a poor job of hiding the bulging muscles and series of scars on his forearms. If those weren’t intimidating enough, the dagger, saber, and snout-nosed pistol strapped around his leather-waisted shirt would do the job.
Aniri kept her head bowed, hoping the hood would be sufficient, and turned to face Janak at her back. He was so close, she nearly bumped into him while he performed a slow scan of the other patrons. Janak was a coiled spring ready to explode at the least sign of trouble, but most of the customers had already dismissed them and gone back to their whispered conversations or slow consumption of various ales and liquors at hand.
The barkeep reemerged with a woman dressed in a stylish deep brown corset and trim skirts. Aniri guessed she was the owner by the automatic scowl on her face for the three strangers who appeared at her inn making whatever special requests Pavan had whispered. But when she saw the First Son peering from under his hood, her face relaxed, and she motioned for them to follow her around the end of the bar and toward a dusky stairwell. As they climbed the stairs and passed several closed doors, Aniri slowly realized just what kind of establishment they were in.
In her mother’s court, courtesans like Devesh were considered skilled entertainers and accomplished social creatures. They were accorded a place of honor for their companionship, even though it was understood that their services often crossed over into the soft arts of love. It was all respectable and accepted as the natural course of things, with ladies of the court as well as royalty enjoying the courtesans’ games and skills. That Aniri had fallen in love with one was her own foolish doing, but it wasn’t as if it had never happened before. Courtesans often “retired” from the profession after wooing a lady of the court; indeed, that was the sole ambition of many. That Devesh would be one of those, having won the heart of the Third Daughter, was just one of her many assumptions that had turned out tragically wrong—the added insult being that, according to him, all courtesans were spies.
Perhaps that was true at court, but here, in this darkened inn buried deep in the capital of Samir, the courtesans likely provided only their most basic service. And Aniri suspected they weren’t only male, but female as well, judging by the c
ustomers below. She shuddered to think of the desperation that lay behind those closed doors—not ambition or courtly wooing, but simply a means for survival by trading the only service left to them.
Her eyebrows arched, and she leaned closed to Janak. “I thought courtesans were banned everywhere but at court,” she whispered. “Is that not true in Samir?”
“I suspect a great number of illegal activities occur here.” Janak didn’t take care to keep his voice low, like she had.
The innkeeper scowled at him, but then glanced at Pavan and turned down another hallway, leading them past a dozen more closed doors before reaching one at the very end. She handed Pavan an ornate key for the Samirian-style clockwork lock in the door. Aniri glanced back: the other doors were not so similarly protected. A turmoil of emotions tripped through her, as she remembered their purpose. A scowl settled on her face for the kind of establishment in which Pavan had chosen to hide Seledri away. The innkeeper left them without a word or look back. Pavan knocked twice, then once more, then put the key in the door. The clockwork whirred to gain them entrance.
Inside, a guard in a rumpled Samirian palace uniform held the door as they filed in. Aniri quickly scanned the room for her sister. The guard was the only person in the shabby suite. It smelled of old leather and stale air, like the windows hadn’t been opened in far too long. Hazy light filtered through gaudy curtains over the single window. A lone gas lamp hung near a small couch. Next to those were a table and chairs for eating, but no sign of her sister.
Then she spied another door on the left. “Is she in there?” Aniri asked Pavan in a rush.
He nodded and strode over to knock briefly, then open it. Janak hung back by the guard securing the door, while Aniri was a hair’s breadth behind Pavan. Over his shoulder, she saw her sister lying on a large bed that nearly filled the tiny room. The only light was a dimmed gaslamp that left dull shadows in the corners and made it difficult to see.
Second Daughter (The Royals of Dharia, Book Two) Page 9
