Coin of Kings (The Powers of Amur Book 2)

by J. S. Bangs

“Responsibility,” Sadja said matter-of-factly. “It would be negligent of me to leave before my ally’s heir was born. But I really need to be in Gumadha before Praudhu-dar goes to Majasravi. As soon as Mandhi’s child arrives, I’ll leave with my party.”

  “And I don’t get to be part of your party.”

  “You would hate traveling with me. I travel very austerely. And,” Sadja added with a little bemusement, “I’m going to secure a wife, so it wouldn’t be the best place for you.”

  Nagiri sat up and hugged her knees against her chest. “So I’ll be cast off,” she said, with a hint of melancholy in her voice.

  So that’s what this was about. Sadja chose his next words carefully. “Did I say I was casting you off?”

  “You’re going to Gumadha to get married.”

  “Marriages are the coins with which kings pay each other,” Sadja said scornfully. “I’m making an exchange of bodies and producing an heir. Whatever else I do with my bed is my own business.” This was always the risk with young mistresses: they were prone to illusions about the nature of the relationship.

  “So who is this girl?” Nagiri asked. She gathered she sheet around her and watched Sadja mournfully. “What do you know about her?”

  “She’s the Prince Imperial’s youngest daughter,” Sadja said. “Really, what else matters? Praudhu-dar’s emissary says that she’s pretty and healthy and has good bones for bearing children. But he would say that. I’ll go to Gumadha to see her for myself, first.”

  “And I’ll just go back to my father’s house,” Nagiri said. She looked around Sadja’s bedchamber wistfully. “I suppose I’ll never be here again.”

  “You certainly shouldn’t bother to wait for me,” Sadja said. “If you want another lover, take one. It may be months before I come back.”

  He did not mention to her that his plans included more than a simple wedding. His play for the empire was not something to share with young and flighty mistresses.

  Nagiri cast aside the sheet and rushed across the room to Sadja. She pressed her naked body against him and took his cheeks in her hands. She pressed her lips against his in a long, passionate kiss.

  “Won’t you remember me?” she whispered.

  Sadja pushed her gently away. “I’ll remember you, of course. But don’t be a fool, Nagiri. You knew this was never permanent.”

  The brightness in her eyes dimmed, and her hands slipped away from Sadja’s face. So it had to be. There was no painless end when in came to young women, women who had not had enough lovers to understand how things were. He turned away from her and walked to the door.

  He paused at the entrance, turned, and looked back a last time. Nagiri had lain down on the bed with her back to Sadja and her face to the flawless moonlit night. The light poured through the window and frosted her purple shape with white light, like an amethyst set in silver.

  * * *

  It was evening before Sadja made time to meet with the Prince Imperial’s ambassador. Most of the day was consumed with putting in place the delegates who would manage the kingdom in his absence. This trip would not be as long as his previous absence, but it was still vexing to have to leave Davrakhanda so soon after returning. When he had eaten dinner he called for the ambassador, who met him on the terraces of the west garden.

  Sadja was waiting at the bottom of the garden, near the pool of lilies flecked with the yellow petals of the golden shower tree. Amitu, the imperial ambassador, approached with a look on his face that suggested some unpleasant but necessary duty followed. That was Sadja’s first clue.

  Amitu bowed and said, “Sadja-dar. Honored to be called into your presence again.”

  Sadja nodded at him. “I would have liked to meet with you earlier, but as I’m sure you’ve heard, I’ve put the household into an uproar again preparing to go to Gumadha.”

  “Gumadha, yes,” Amitu said with a swallow. “To see the Princess Basadi-dar.”

  “To ensure that everything is ready for our marriage,” Sadja said. “Once we’ve performed the formal betrothal, I hope our retinues will travel together to Majasravi for Praudhu’s installation as Emperor.”

  “Ah, yes,” Amitu said diffidently. He fidgeted for a moment.

  “Is something the matter?” Sadja asked. His jaw began to hurt with annoyance.

  Amitu sighed deeply. “My earlier assurances to you may have been premature.”

  Sadja raised an eyebrow. He said in a deep, disturbed voice, “Go on.”

  “A courier from Gumadha came recently. Sent by Praudhu-dar as Praudhu was leaving for Majasravi.” Amitu paused and looked down, refusing to meet Sadja’s gaze.

  “Praudhu has already left for Majasravi?”

  “Yes,” Amitu said, averting his eyes from Sadja’s gaze.

  “Continue,” Sadja said. “I’ll hardly hold you guilty for whatever poor decisions Praudhu-dar has made.”

  Amitu flinched a little. “The Prince Imperial has considered that it might be more beneficial for him to keep Basadi-dar in his own hand, so to speak, while he consolidates his rule in Majasravi.”

  “Is there someone in Majasravi that Praudhu-dar would rather send his daughter to?” Sadja asked, allowing a little of his annoyance to seep into his voice. “Some majakhadir that would do better for the Emperor of all Amur than the king of Davrakhanda?”

  “I don’t believe so. I don’t know. The Emperor is convinced of your loyalty, so he sees no need to buy it.” Amitu added this last part quickly, as if hoping that this small flattery would take the sting out of the Prince’s change of heart.

  “Ah, so if I had been more independent, then the Prince Imperial would have been more likely to give his daughter to me. I see that’s how he rewards his friends.”

  Amitu pressed his hands together and bowed, as if begging relief. “I am my master’s tongue; I can only speak what has been relayed to me through the imperial messenger. I should not have speculated.”

  Sadja breathed heavily and closed his eyes for a moment. “Of course,” he said. “Perhaps next time you’ll be more circumspect.”

  “Basadi-dar is still in Gumadha,” Amitu added helpfully. “If you wish to go there… it might not be entirely fruitless.”

  “And why would I go to Gumadha to inquire after a woman who will probably not be my wife, and whose father is absent? The Prince Imperial is in Majasravi, no?”

  Amitu bowed again. “The message I received indicated Praudhu-dar’s intent to go to Majasravi and claim the Ushpanditya.”

  But of course Praudhu would find it very difficult to take the Ushpanditya, thanks to Sadja’s meddling. If Sadja left immediately, he might reach Majasravi before the Prince had any way to get through the gates of the Dhigvaditya, and if he reached Praudhu while he was still outside the city, then Sadja himself could arrange for the downfall of Dumaya. What Sadja had set up, he could also take down.

  Sadja stroked his mustache. “Perhaps, instead of going to Gumadha, I’ll go to Majasravi.”

  Amitu was visibly taken aback. “Why, Sadja-dar?”

  “To meet with the Prince Imperial there. Princess Basadi-dar is in Gumadha—why bother her? Her father is in Majasravi, and he’s the one who speaks for her.”

  Amitu balked for a second, then said quickly, “Of course. If you wish to convince the Prince Imperial to change his mind….”

  “Changing his mind or not is hardly the only matter of interest. He is in Majasravi, and will soon take the Ushpanditya and offer the sacred ram to Am. As one of his loyal vassals, I should be present, shouldn’t I?”

  “If you see fit to do so.”

  Sadja rose to his feet. Amitu backed away nervously. “The household is already preparing for my departure. What does it matter if I go to Majasravi rather than Gumadha? My fortune will be better made at the Emperor’s side. You’ll stay here in Davrakhanda, of course. Or you may return to Gumadha.”

  A strange look of confusion and dismay crossed Amitu’s face. “I assumed that I would come with you t
o Majasravi. My lord Praudhu-dar sent me to the king of Davrakhanda.”

  “Of course,” Sadja said dismissively. In reality, the Prince’s ambassador was as much a spy as a liaison, and he had no desire to carry the Prince’s spies in his retinue as he completed his coup. “The Prince Imperial sent you to be his liaison to Davrakhanda, and here is Davrakhanda. I will be in Majasravi in the River Palace, within earshot of the Prince Imperial. If he wants to hear of me he can send a messenger in an hour. You can stay here with my servants and ministers.”

  Amitu looked around uncomfortably. “Perhaps I should return to Gumadha.”

  “Wonderful,” Sadja said quickly. “I’ll arrange a ship to carry you. You can leave as soon as the rest of us have departed for Majasravi.”

  Amitu seemed like he wanted to say something additional, but Sadja quickly waved him away. “I am retiring to my chambers,” he said quickly. “I have been up since midnight. If you have more questions, you may ask the house-master of the palace. Or bring it to me if you must.” He started up the pathway toward the palace.

  Amitu remained behind, staring at Sadja as if lost. Praudhu would be deeply displeased when he found out what had happened with his spy. But by that time Praudhu would find out, he’d have bigger things to worry about.

  Sadja ascended the stairs toward the torch-lit colonnade that overlooked the garden, but paused before the shrine to Ashti. The image of Kushma was painted into the niche behind her: scowling face, fanged mouth, blood-splattered feet, necklace of skulls, the harvester’s knife in his hand. The serpent he trampled underfoot. Sadja glanced up at the constellation of the Serpent in the sky and picked out the prick of red in its heart.

  A portent of change, his astrologer assured him about the star. And Kushma, the destroyer, the renewer. He bowed and dropped to a knee.

  “Lord Kushma,” Sadja said, “your hour is near. Make me your knife, make me the death-bringer. I will thresh the chaff and burn the field of the Empire and make it new again.”

  He rose and saw a servant waiting for him at the top of the stairs. Upon glimpsing his face, the servant dropped to a knee and waited for Sadja to approach him.

  “What is it?” Sadja asked. He did not slow his stride.

  The servant fell into step behind him. “Sadja-dar, my lord and king, I am pleased to announce that Mandhi has given birth to a son. Mother and child are healthy and alive.”

  Sadja allowed himself to smile. “Good,” he said. “Send her my congratulations—through an Uluriya messenger, of course. No one had breached the purity of her quarters, I presume?”

  “No, my lord and king, no one.”

  Sadja nodded. “Very good. Tomorrow or the day after, I’ll be leaving for Majasravi with my retinue.”

  “Majasravi?” the servant asked. “Not Gumadha?”

  “Not Gumadha,” Sadja repeated. “I’ll explain later. Leave me, now, I’m going to bed.”

  Sadja’s chamber was empty when he reached it, lit only by a pair of lamps which the servants had left burning. The bed was made, but no one was in it. Sadja lay down on the padded bedroll and pulled the silk sheet over himself, letting the weariness of the day gradually leak out of him. He let out a contented sigh.

  There was a little of Nagiri’s smell still on the sheets. Sadja rolled over and felt the place where she had slept the night before. She was gone. A little part of him had hoped that she would stay for a last night. Perhaps he had been too harsh with her. Of course, that harshness was half for himself. That was the other problem with young, beautiful women.

  Sometimes you grew fond of them.

  Mandhi

  Mandhi opened her eyes. The baby wasn’t crying yet. How novel. And she felt… well-rested would be saying too much, but the sharp edge of exhaustion had been worn down by the hour-long nap. She turned toward the window.

  Dim sunlight dribbled in. Early evening. Jhumitu slept in a nest of blankets at the foot of her bed with Aryaji next to him. She was working a cotton charm on a hand loom, and she smiled at Mandhi as she saw her eyes open.

  “Can I get you anything, my lady?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” Mandhi said. She rested her eyes for another moment, then sat up. She was hungry. “Do we have any food?”

  Aryaji pointed to a tray near the door, covered by a cotton shroud. “The kitchen brought it a while ago. I can have them make something hot—”

  “No need. Bring me the tray.” She hadn’t the patience to wait for the kitchen to make something new—between breastfeeding and remaking her body after birth, her appetite was bottomless. Cold roti and rice would be fine, so long as she didn’t have to wait for them.

  Aryaji rose to fetch the tray for Mandhi. At the door she stopped and said, “Oh. I’m sorry—”

  “Never mind,” a voice outside the door said. Mandhi caught a glimpse of a jewel-toned sari slipping past her doorway.

  “Who is that?” Mandhi asked.

  Aryaji set the tray down before Mandhi. “Nagiri,” she said softly. “The woman we met on the porch.”

  “I remember,” Mandhi said. She had seen the woman once or twice in the meantime, but never near her chambers. “Go find out why she’s here.”

  Aryaji looked at Mandhi with a hint of fear.

  “Oh, she won’t bite you,” Mandhi said. “Just ask her.”

  Aryaji sighed deeply and went into the hall. The unintelligible sound of a few words in the hall, and a moment later Aryaji appeared in the doorway with Nagiri behind her.

  “Sorry for bothering you,” Nagiri said bitterly. She did her best to strike Mandhi with a cold glare, but her underlying sadness showed through.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Because no one uses these halls. Because they’re purified for you.” She drew out the word purified with a half-hearted sneer.

  “They aren’t pure now, because I’ve given birth. Not until… never mind, you don’t care. Come in.”

  If the woman was skulking around the disused halls of the palace, something must be wrong. Sadja had left a few days ago, just after Mandhi had given birth. Was Nagiri merely pining after her lover? Or was there more? Mandhi was not above using the woman’s grief as a chance to make an ally.

  Nagiri looked at Mandhi through narrowed eyes, then stepped into the room. “What do you want with me?”

  “You seem upset. I see that Sadja-dar left without you.”

  She winced. “If you’re going to mock me, I’ll just go.”

  She was halfway out the door before Mandhi found her voice. “Wait. I didn’t mean to attack you. I was curious.”

  Nagiri stopped, turned around, and leaned against the door frame with her arms crossed.

  “Since you asked,” she said, “yes, Sadja-dar has gone to Majasravi without me.”

  “Majasravi?” Mandhi asked. She hadn’t been privy to this plan. “What’s in Majasravi?”

  “The Prince Imperial will be there soon with his daughter. Whom Sadja-dar will marry.”

  “Is that why you’re acting like a widow—”

  “I’m not grieving,” Nagiri snapped. “Sadja-dar was never my husband, and in any case he’s not dead.”

  “But you’re disappointed.” Mandhi gestured to the cushions on the far wall. “Sit down, please. I’m not trying to mock you.”

  Nagiri sniffed, but she crossed the room and sat down in a very sloppy version of the Palm posture. She watched Mandhi for a few moments warily, then said, “Well, you’re no one of importance at least.”

  Mandhi smiled mildly. “Of no importance at all, so you can tell me. I certainly won’t go gossiping to the young khadir ladies you consort with. Was Sadja-dar cruel to you as he left?”

  Nagiri sniffed and looked aside. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “It was always temporary.”

  “Yes,” Mandhi said, “but it may still sting.”

  For a moment they were quiet. Aryaji spoke up from where she had been kneeling in the corner of the room. “May I bring you both some tea?�
�

  “Yes,” Mandhi said quickly. As soon as Aryaji had left for the kitchen, Mandhi spoke in an urgent whisper. “Did he sting you?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Nagiri said. She dropped her head into her hands.

  “If you’re angry… perhaps we should sting him back.”

  She looked up, a curiosity and suspicion sparkling in her eyes. “Sting the King of Davrakhanda? That’s a bold plan.”

  “I am a bold woman.”

  Nagiri snorted. “You married a Kaleksha against your father’s wishes. I suppose you have to be. So tell me, how do you plan on stinging the King of Davrakhanda?”

  “A small sting,” Mandhi said. “At least we could frustrate some of the plans he has for me.”

  “What plans does he have for you?” Nagiri said suspiciously.

  “Mostly to keep me confined to the palace or visiting the Uluriya harmlessly, rather than spying on him.”

  Nagiri pointed to the nest of blankets beside Mandhi’s bed. “You have a baby. You make a very poor spy right now.”

  “Do I?” Mandhi asked. She raised an eyebrow. “Now listen, I knew that Sadja had left, but no one told me that he had gone to Majasravi to marry a princess of the imperial family. So there’s one thing you’ve given me already.”

  Nagiri shrugged. “That’s common knowledge in the palace. If that’s all you could find out, then you’re doing a poor job.”

  “I’ve been otherwise occupied for several days,” Mandhi said, gesturing to the sleeping boy. “It’s been hard to follow the gossip.”

  “As I said. And knowing that Sadja-dar went to Majasravi is hardly prime intelligence.”

  “It matters to me and to Navran-dar of Virnas,” Mandhi said firmly. “Because if Sadja-dar marries, he might have another heir soon, and Sundasha-kha whom Navran-dar has in Virnas would be a lot less valuable as a captive.”

  Nagiri’s lips pursed for a moment in surprise. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I’m not surprised that he tried to keep the news of the wedding from me. It could put me in a precarious spot. Or give Sadja-dar extra leverage over Navran-dar.”