Second Daughter (The Royals of Dharia, Book Two)

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it, my lady?” Priya stood on the deck with her, a cloak pulled tight against the chill air.

  “Indeed, it is.” Aniri spied a flurry of figures on the tower, but she couldn’t hear any of their shouts over the pulse of the skyship’s propellers and the whipping of the breeze. “Now that we’ve returned, have you plans for a wedding as well?”

  “Only yours for now, my lady.” But Priya had a secret smile.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve eloped, Priya. I won’t forgive you.” The horror on Priya’s face made Aniri laugh. “What, then? Do you not have any plans?” She couldn’t imagine that Priya had done anything less than laid out the entire ceremony, celebration, and probably a few extra parties as well.

  Priya held her head high. “First I have my duty, and Mr. Karan has his.”

  “Mr. Karan’s duty may carry him away again soon,” Aniri said softly. “Perhaps you should attend to more important matters first.”

  Priya’s eyes sparkled. “As soon as my duty is done.”

  “And what is that?” Aniri smiled.

  “To see my lady properly wed.” Priya gave a sharp nod as if this was obvious. Aniri supposed it was, and she wouldn’t deny that pleasure to her handmaiden for all the wealth in the three Queendoms.

  Sailors now buzzed around the deck, readying the cast off lines. Aniri peered over the railing. She searched the parapet for a lone, tall, dark-haired figure, finding none but those busy in helping the skyship in its final descent. A small ache pierced her chest, but it was silly to expect him to be awaiting her at the moment of their arrival. It was not as if they were constantly messaging their expected flight times. Janak had relayed the essentials of their flight and plans to Ash, at least the information that was already known to the public: that they had Seledri on board, that she and the baby were well, and that they were expected early this morning. The rest of the debriefing would have to wait until they arrived in person.

  Ash had sent word that the Queen and First Daughter had returned to Dharia, after extensive treaty negotiations, which Aniri took to mean preparations for war with Samir. The Queen would have to implement those personally back in Dharia, rather than message them by aetheroceiver, to ensure those plans did not leak out—Aniri had come to believe Devesh when he said that Samirian spies were everywhere, including her mother’s court. Although now that the Second Son had Devesh, surely he would know all that they knew: about the skyships, about Natesh’s plans, about everything.

  Aniri pulled in the crisp morning air and let it out slow. When she was finally reunited with Ash, she wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around him. But she would have to keep the kissing to a minimum in order to leave room for all the things he should be briefed on.

  “My lady,” Priya said. “I believe we should go below decks to debark.”

  Aniri swept a last look across the tower, now so close that it was quickly being obscured by the bottom of the ship. Still no sign of Ash. She lingered a moment more, then followed Priya through the bulkhead door. They quickly filed down the stairs and across the metal-floored corridors to the walkplank, then waited for the docking to be complete.

  Priya muttered something about missing parcels and scurried off into the bowels of the ship to retrieve them, leaving Aniri alone. Once the walkplank was secure and the sailor on the parapet gave her the signal, she strode across. She had hoped Ash would have heard of the arrival of the skyship by now, but the terrace was occupied only by sailors in their brilliant blue uniforms. Aniri wandered the stone tower roof for a moment, then strode purposely toward the stairwell. If Ash was detained on some business, she would come to him, perhaps surprise him, if he was not yet expecting her or couldn’t tear himself away from the business at hand.

  The stone staircase echoed her boot steps as she spiraled down deeper into the palace. The regular staff of the estate bustled through the hallways, paying her no mind. She would only seek help if she couldn’t find Ash on her own. Her first thought was the receiving room, but when she arrived, it was empty, except for a stoic guard at the door who let her through and a maid at work on the tea set. Ash’s adjacent private office had the door closed.

  The last time she had been inside was when she still was spying on him, pawing through his things while an assassin set her bed on fire. Ash had rushed into that burning room to save her—and that was before they were in love and betrothed for real. The juxtaposition—her spying, his heroics—made her falter once again. Then she straightened her shoulders and crossed the room to knock on his door.

  There was no answer. She almost knocked again, but then she heard a scuffle of footsteps inside.

  After a moment, the door opened. “I told you, I don’t—” Ash cut himself off when his gaze reached her face. “Aniri.” He seemed flummoxed by the fact that she was standing before him.

  “I’m back.” She smiled, but the moment was painful. Did he somehow not expect her?

  He glanced over her shoulder, as if looking for something, but there was no one in the receiving room. Even the maid had finished her duties and vanished. He stepped back, opening the door wide, and welcoming her in with a sweep of his hand.

  “Please come in.”

  She hesitated, crossed the threshold, and waited for him to close the door. “Must we be secretive about meeting now?” Something was very wrong, and it was sending tremors through her heart.

  “No, of course not.” Ash crossed and uncrossed his arms, holding onto the door frame, then letting go. He seemed unable to decide where to stand. Finally, he stepped closer to his large desk and leaned against it. The rosy morning sun filtered in through the balcony door and gave a cheerful look to the room that was at odds with the discomfort screaming from Ash’s rigid perch on the edge of his desk.

  “You’re angry with me.” Aniri felt all her doubts rush back in a haze that clouded her mind.

  “No.” But he dropped his gaze to his boots and gripped the edge of the desk on either side of where he leaned against it. “Captain Tarak says your sister is well in spite of your harrowing escape from the city.”

  “I… yes, she and the baby are both fine.” How much did Captain Tarak message to Ash? Aniri had assumed it was too risky to share too much. “Pavan insisted that she leave in the end—that it wasn’t safe for her there anymore.”

  Ash looked up and peered into her eyes, but it was cool, like he was merely seeking information from her. Nothing more. It made her heart seize up. “So the plot against Seledri’s life was from within the royal household? Tarak said he suspected as much through his coded messages, and Janak confirmed it once you were back on board.”

  “Yes.” Aniri frowned. What coded messages? And what else did Tarak say? “The Second Son sought to remove Pavan’s Dharian wife. I believe it is part of his plan to make war on Dharia.”

  “But not Jungali?” Ash’s voice was even cooler.

  She frowned. “Jungali too.” Her heart pounded. He knew. Tarak must have told him about the kiss, and he was angry because of it. She took a tentative step toward him, but he leaned back and folded his arms, so she stopped and clung to the side of his desk for support. He was very angry. “Ash, please, I don’t know what you’ve heard…”

  “I haven’t heard much at all. From you.” His voice was hard.

  Aniri winced. “I was being foolish.”

  “Foolish?” Ash gave a bitter kind of laugh. “Is that what you call it?”

  “I only meant that it was foolish for me not to message you more frequently. Or perhaps more thoroughly.” She floundered for the right words. How could she explain? “I was so absorbed in trying to spirit Seledri away from danger, that I didn’t think—”

  “No, you didn’t think!” The anger finally broke through the restraining hold he had put on it. Ash shoved away from the desk and paced to the door, hesitating there. For a moment, she feared he would simply order her away. Instead, he ran his hand through his hair and turned back to her.

>   “I thought perhaps Jungali wouldn’t be enough to hold a Daughter of Dharia. That maybe you regretted your decision because, once the adventure had passed, you realized we were too… backward for you. But apparently a courtesan is more than sufficient to hold your interest.” The words seemed wrenched from somewhere deep inside him. “If that is what you want, Aniri, then you may have him. But don’t embarrass me by kissing him in front of a skip full of Jungali sailors.”

  Her heart suspended its beating while he spoke, the word no echoing through her mind with every word. When he finally stopped, she surged toward him, but he backed away, hands up. She balled her fists and brought them back close her sides.

  “I do not want Devesh.” Her voice cracked. “The kiss was just… just… I didn’t even know he would…” Her words tangled with the lump in her throat. “It doesn’t mean anything, Ash, I promise you.”

  He just shook his head, like he couldn’t believe the words from her mouth. “It means something to me.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Tears were threatening to burst forth. Nothing she said was coming out right. Her words were only making him angrier. “Please, Ash. Please trust me when I tell you there is nothing between me and Devesh.”

  He took a deep breath, but just shook his head slowly. “Aniri, I trust you to leap to the defense of your sister in need. I trust you to be recklessly brave in protecting the people you love.” He gave her a pained look. “I just don’t trust you to know who exactly that is.”

  “I do not love him, Ash. I swear it.” She reached tentatively for his arm, but he leaned away.

  “The treaty still stands,” he said coolly, all business again, “especially now that war seems even more likely. Your mother and I have fashioned plans to fortify our countries against attack from Samir, and now that you’ve returned with the Second Daughter, the Queen is returning to Jungali to retrieve her. In accordance with our treaty and our plans, I will use the skyship to defend Dharia if it’s within my power to do so.” He took a breath, paused, then let it out. “But I will not hold you to the marriage, Aniri. You may return to Dharia with your mother when she arrives.”

  Aniri wanted to speak, but her throat had completely closed up. She ducked her head so the tears in her eyes wouldn’t show.

  “I would like—” Ash’s voice cracked.

  Aniri looked up, hopeful, but he simply cleared his throat and pressed on.

  “I would like to debrief your raksaka, if that is acceptable to you.” His voice was formal, but not cold. Not harsh. Because, even in this, he was a better man than she deserved. “It won’t be necessary for you to attend. But it would benefit both our countries to have as much information shared as possible about the capabilities of the Samirian fleet, whether on the sea or in the air.”

  She nodded, mutely. She still couldn’t force words past her lips. And even if she could, she feared they would reduce to sobs and spoil Ash’s noble attempt to release her from their marriage with some measure of dignity. She forced her legs to shuffle to the door, taking care to give him wide berth along the way. She gave him one last nod before turning the knob and pulling it open.

  “Aniri.”

  His voice jerked her to a stop, and she turned to him, her heart in her throat. At any moment, the tears were going to crest her eyelids and course down her face.

  He opened his mouth to say something, stopped, then finally said, “Safe journey home.”

  She pressed her hands together, bowed quickly, then fled as fast as her feet would carry her from his office without breaking into an actual run.

  Tears blurred Aniri’s vision, so it was fortunate she knew the palace layout well enough to find her way. She passed a few household staff, but she ignored them, keeping her head ducked. When she arrived at her room, she threw open the door, and let it bang against the solid granite of the walls.

  The sound startled Priya, who stood amongst a pile of teetering parcels. “My lady?”

  Aniri didn’t answer. She stalked to her cases and pushed aside one after another until she found the one with her swords. Heaving it out of the pile, she turned to march toward the door.

  “My lady, what’s wrong?” Priya’s soft slippers pattered on the stone floor after her.

  Aniri picked up her pace, nearly breaking out into a run, out the door, down the hall, dashing the long length of the top palace floor until she arrived—breathless, tears streaming down her face, barely holding in the sobs—at the door to the fencing hall. She wrenched the door open and heaved a desperate exhale of relief when she found it empty. Closing the door behind her, she threw open the case, yanked out a blade, and stalked to the automaton at the far end.

  It was larger than her automaton at home, with more brass and obvious clockwork. It looked Samirian, but didn’t appear to be steam-driven, and Aniri had no idea how to activate it.

  She cared not at all.

  With a guttural scream, she raised the sword above her head and slashed down upon the automaton’s shoulder. The blade bounced off and sent a wincing ache through her arm with its reverberations. She brought it around for a sideways hack at the mechanized creature’s neck, and the resounding clash of metal on metal pierced the air. The automaton didn’t respond. Whatever mechanism it had inside lay as still and silent as death. She hacked and slashed and stabbed at it, blinking free the tears that surged out of her. Her growls and the clang of her metal-on-metal strikes echoed off the solid walls of the large, empty fencing hall. The one refurbished for her by Ash, her future husband who now wasn’t. Who finally discovered the truth about her foolishness in time to save himself from the mistake of marrying her. And who would go on to be a good and righteous King and probably save her homeland of Dharia again in the process. All without her help.

  He had no need of a princess who would embarrass him with her fecklessness.

  She held the sword aloft with two hands, driving it with a final scream into the heart of the Samirian clockwork beast. The blade stuck, finding purchase between two mechanical plates, and remained there. She yanked and yanked, trying to free it, but got nowhere. Her arms aching, she finally released the hilt, and only then, did she see the saber for what it was: the blade Ash had fashioned from his dead brother’s dagger especially for her. A saber meant as a promise for their future together. I want to give you that future, Aniri, if you’ll let me. Ash’s words haunted her now. If you’ll let me.

  She had made it impossible for him.

  Aniri dropped her hands to her sides, hung her head, and quietly let the tears fall to the polished wooden floor by her boots. Her sobs ghosted through the hall, returning to her in whispered breaths. The soft sound of footfalls followed behind and made her frown. She looked up, seeking the source of it: Priya had followed her to the hall.

  The pain on her handmaiden’s face was more than Aniri could bear. She quickly faced the automaton again, wiping her face and sucking in air to regain her composure. Priya came to stand quietly beside her.

  “What can I do for you, my lady?” Priya asked softly.

  Aniri avoided looking at her and gestured to the saber still lodged in the automaton. “I’ve stabbed it in the heart, and now it refuses to return my blade.”

  Priya hesitated, then asked, “Did you mean to hurt it, my lady?”

  Aniri turned sharply to her. The torment on her handmaiden’s face had turned to the sweet earnestness that Aniri loved so much. “No, Priya. I didn’t.” The ache in her heart forced her to turn back to the automaton. It was as strong as the mountain it was forged from. Resolute. Implacable. But even it could be pierced with a strike in the right place.

  Priya edged closer, crossing her arms.

  Aniri was surprised to find herself already in the same pose.

  “Is it a thing worth having?” Priya asked, eyeing the saber sticking out of the automaton.

  “It was a gift. Forged from the past. A promise for the future.” Aniri paused. She knew they weren’t talking about the blade. “Y
es, Priya. It’s very much worth having.”

  “Then you must fight for it, my lady.” Priya stepped up to the automaton. Placing one silk-slippered foot on the solid mechanical leg of the thing and grabbing the saber’s grip with both hands, she made a valiant effort at pulling it free. After a moment, she gave up. “I’m afraid I’m no help here. My lady will have to do this herself.” Priya’s dark eyes were filled with challenge.

  Aniri held her gaze a long moment, then gave her a small smile. “You’re wrong, Priya.” She reached to take hold of the sword. It required considerable twisting and yanking and wrenching, but finally, the blade came free. Aniri held it up like a hard-won trophy, then flipped it down and planted the tip firmly in the wooden floor. “You are considerable help.”

  Priya beamed. “I will assist you in any way I can, my lady. You’ve but to ask.”

  Aniri examined the blade that Ash had given her, forged from the pain of his past. He had taken that pain and turned it into something good. Something better. Earning the trust of someone that noble at heart would take more than words and apologies and declarations. “I may need help from more than just you, Priya.” She looked up. “And it’s possible that, in the end, it may be too late.”

  “No prize worth having is so easily won.” Priya stood taller. “And I’ve yet to see my lady not win any battle that she’s engaged.”

  The tears threatened to make a return, so Aniri hugged her handmaiden fiercely to ward them off. When she released her, Aniri managed a grin.

  “Where would I be without you, Priya?”

  “In a much worse state, I am sure. Less well dressed, to be certain.”

  That forced a laugh from her. She grabbed Priya’s hand and led her to gathering her swords. She had no idea if winning Ash’s trust again was even possible. And she had little time in which to do it, before he would send her packing back to Dharia. But even if she failed in that, she was determined to repair the damage she had already wrought.