The Heartless Divine

by Varsha Ravi

  The girl paused before bowing deeply to Suri. She suppressed a frown—it reminded her a little too much of home, of how marks might look at her before she slit their throats. Resignation mixed with fear.

  Suri hesitated before putting a hand on her shoulder, signaling her to rise. She smiled, and the other girl smiled in kind. Her features were soft, but her eyes were bright and alert. She glanced around at the party—recognition toward Galen, warm neutrality toward Isa, and a kind of dragging appraisal directed toward Lucius.

  “I’ve never seen you,” Lucius said, and it was just as much for his own sake as it was for Suri’s. “You must be new.”

  “I’ve helped out as a scullery maid for years.” She glanced at Suri, a frown flickering on her lips. “My name is Mohini, my lady, but—”

  “Then I’ll call you that,” Suri said, attempting a reassuring smile. It felt foreign and rigid on her face. Galen tapped his protege on the shoulder, and he tore his gaze away from Mohini.

  “I’ll see you all around, I’m sure,” Lucius said, dipping his head before turning to follow Galen as he disappeared through the far doors. He shot Suri a quick smile. “Hopefully, the nakshi will take a break to show you around.”

  Mohini stiffened at the word—nakshi—but said nothing, and Suri waved as the other boy left for the doors.

  “What… does nakshi mean?” Suri managed in broken Athrian. She hadn’t studied the language in a long time, and a few weeks of poring over scripts hadn’t helped much. She’d managed to get by speaking Najan with Lucius and the guards, but it was to be expected that Mohini wouldn’t know the language. Or that she might hate it.

  But Mohini just gave her a warm smile. “You can speak Najan with me if you wish, my lady.” Her expression darkened a little, but she looked away before Suri could understand it. She nodded at the guard and he opened the door, letting them into the palace. “Nakshi… it means war dog. It’s a nickname for the king.”

  Before she could ask more, Mohini turned away and started down the halls. The foyer of the palace was beautiful, with vaulted ceilings and iron fixtures hanging from above. Corridors were cut through either side, but the back held a panel of doors. Behind them, Suri could see the beginnings of a huge courtyard.

  Mohini led her down one of the corridors on the left and up a flight of stairs. It would take her a few days to understand the inner workings, and even then she was unsure if she’d be able to wrap her head around all of them. There was something fluid and impenetrable about the palace, thin but strong. A stone heart dipped in glass.

  Mohini stopped in front of a gold-inlaid door. The walls that led up to it displayed paintings of previous monarchs.

  “The king takes part in the morning and evening guard,” Mohini said, with no small amount of pride. She gestured toward the door. “He won’t return until night, but I will take you to see him then.” Nodding toward a set of adjoining rooms, she added, “I’ll be a moment—I need to bring my belongings from the maids’ quarters.”

  They were smaller than Suri’s rooms at home, but not by much. A canopied bed lay in the center, flanked by a nightstand that held precious sculptures in gold and silver. Three windows, panes pressed against one another, were cut into the wall opposite the door. From one, she could see the city below and the rolling farmlands beyond. From the next, she could see the barracks on the edges of the city, and the mountains beginning to ascend. The last one showed the curve of the peaks, showed the stone thin out into spires that sharpened to points under the sun.

  After returning, Mohini offered to give them a tour of the city. Already, Suri felt consumed by homesickness, by the strangeness of streets soaked in revulsion and blossoms, but something about the earnestness of the other girl’s smile made her agree.

  Suri glanced down at the set of stairs leading to the throne room as they passed it. She wondered if the boy king loved his throne the way her parents loved their carved thrones of iron and gold. The thought brought a faint smile to her face. War dog. It was a wonder he hadn’t splintered the mountains yet, that he hadn’t shattered the ground.

  Mohini pointed out the noble houses of stone and marble, the servants’ quarters, and the barracks before descending into the lower city. Navigating the angadi was trickier than it had been before. Suri considered herself adept at learning the tangled streets of the cities she visited, but there was something more frantic, more alive about Marai, as if its king’s furious energy had soaked into the very ground.

  But Mohini folded into the city easily, despite her nervous warnings at every junction. By the time they reached the streets that lined the base of the main temple, Suri’s sash had unwound and hung loose around her waist. She pulled it tight before peering up the looming building, the heights of the towers rivaling the spires of the palace.

  The entrance was painted in bright, almost garish, colors, barely dried from the preparation for the monthly festivals. In Enesmati fashion, the doors were carved with tales of gods and monsters and magic.

  The high priestess stood by the entrance, dressed in the traditional white wrap of sirai maravuri, the dress gathering loosely above her ankles. She was young—she couldn’t have been more than nineteen, perhaps a year older than Isa—but she stood with a steady self-assurance and the other priests deferred to her absolutely. A straw-colored cord was wrapped around her right bicep, marking her class.

  She smiled when she saw them approaching, inclining her head forward to indicate Suri. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  It should not have been a surprising statement. Her engagement to the boy king had become public months ago, and it was far from unlikely that the king had told the temple to prepare for her arrival. But something about the way the girl said it made Suri think she was speaking of something else entirely.

  She smiled again, a secret between them Suri hadn’t quite unraveled, and gestured toward the temple. From here, she could see the doorways that led past the entrance and into the central area. Sunlight spilled out onto the stone and glittered on a shallow pool. “I’m assuming you’ve come for a tour.”

  The priestess led them through the foyer first, immune to the glory of it. Painted carvings of gods slaying demons covered the walls, and the ceilings were streaked in an intricate looping pattern that made Suri’s head spin.

  As they walked, she offered her name with a faint, rueful laugh, as if she had forgotten. Kita. Like the jewels that grew in the stone of the mountains. It was a fitting name. Isa trailed behind Kita, an unfamiliar expression on her face. It was a little like awe, a little like pain.

  She led them out of the darkness of the foyer and into the main colonnades, four stone walkways bordered with walls and yali pillars. Intricately carved doors cut into the walls, one for every corridor. Beside the columns, steep, painted steps led down to the edges of the pool. In the midday sun, the water glinted pale blue, clear all the way through.

  Braziers flanked the pool at all four corners, flames licking against the air. Kita turned at the corner and gestured for them to follow down a matching stone corridor. Suri traced the painted carvings on the walls as they passed. Each one held a different battle, a different divine memory traced out into stone.

  There was a service set to begin in less than half an hour, and the high priestess bid them farewell at the north entrance. Kita leaned against the stone base of the north tower, rubbing her thumb against the carvings as though each was an old friend. “You are welcome to stay, of course. But I thought Your Highness might want to return to the palace before the heat becomes unbearable.”

  The high priestess nodded to her right, where a nondescript door lay, nearly hidden by wooden boxes. “Enter through there, and take the beaten path through the trees at the base of the hills. It isn’t glamorous, but it should be adequately shaded, and it’s the shortest path to the palace that I know of. It leads to the northern gardens.”

  Mohini nodded in understanding. “Thank you for all of your help, High Priestess.” Suri
could see her waiting in her periphery, but she leaned forward and traced the carving at the base of the tower. It depicted a figure kneeling beside a dark lake, hands awash with dark red. The maiden had her head turned upward to the sky, as if seeking something. But her eyes were closed.

  “My lady.” Isa’s voice was insistent, but pitched low. She turned to follow the other girls out through the corridor, glancing back at the priestess with the expectation of seeing her back, white fabric dancing around her ankles in the faint breeze.

  But Kita had her eyes on her, and only smiled when Suri turned to look at her. There was something knowing in her gaze, a kind of wry thoughtfulness that surprised Suri. But she simply held her hand up in farewell before disappearing down another hooded corridor, the fires of distant braziers blurring her figure.

  On the other side, Mohini was leaning against the dried grass walls. At first glance, it was difficult to tell that it led to the temple—it resembled a supply shed, or a small cottage. Just as Kita had told them, a soft dirt path led out from the door and snaked through a copse of kino trees beside the base of the mountains.

  Unwilling to meet Isa’s gaze, she tilted her head up to drink in the view. The grass of the northern side quickly faded out into black stone, and the small incline that the path gave them allowed Suri to look out on the city, clustered and chaotic.

  Mohini continued to elaborate on the capital, detailing the rooms of the palace. The three towers—tall, crooked spires of black stone that twisted into the sky—divided the palace into the eastern and western wing, separated by two courtyards and the ballroom, throne room, and court down the center. She gestured at the dark soil that crept up into stone. “In any case, these mountains are our best defense. They are as close to adamantine as anything natural can come. No human being would be able to stand the terrain for long.”

  Beyond the curve of her face, something glittered in the distance. Suri tilted her head, squinting against the faint glare of sunlight filtering through the leaves above. “What is that?”

  “My lady?”

  “You said no one can survive in the mountains,” she said, words slow as she darted around the maid to get a better look. “So who lives there?”

  It was a premature surmise, to call it a home. Even from a better vantage point, Suri could only intuit that another beaten path led up to it, although at a much steeper incline. There were four pillars with no roof above them, and a smaller alcove tucked into the sanctum, barely distinct from the edges of the mountain. Another path led out to the side, along the edge of the slowly narrowing cliff.

  It was just as much a home as the clump of trees was a forest. But it held the notion of holding something, of simple significance.

  When Mohini said nothing, she glanced back to find her mildly uncomfortable. It was an expression Suri was surprised to see on the girl’s face, rather like how a young child might look at a butcher, too young to know of the context and old enough to shrink back from blood.

  “Mohini?” Isa probed, placing her hand on the other girl’s shoulder. She blinked in response but didn’t say anything, just narrowed her eyes at the building above them.

  Finally, she dropped her gaze, rubbing her hands together and moving past them. “You would do well not to venture there, Your Highness.”

  Suri blinked, shocked at the rebuff. “But… someone does live up there?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?” Despite everything, she found herself impatient at the dragging, discomfited pace of the girl’s responses.

  “And you should stay away. From him and the temple,” Mohini said. “Ask anyone in this city—in this kingdom—and they will say the same.”

  Isa raised her eyebrows, not at Mohini’s foreboding silence but at what Suri was sure was something righteous and ugly beginning to bloom on her face. “Why? Is he a criminal in exile? Why would he live in a temple? And so close to the palace?”

  Mohini waved her hand. “He is not a criminal. But he is dangerous all the same. And one day, very soon from my knowledge, he will die anyway. So there is really no reason for Your Highness to get involved with him. And, to answer your question, he lives up there because the gods favor him. Far more than they favor the rest of us.”

  “Is he cruel?”

  The other girl’s eyes widened, surprise flitting across her face. But she took her time to respond, scrutinizing Suri’s face before she did. “He might as well be.”

  Isa laid a hand on Suri’s arm and leaned in. “Restrain your anger on behalf of the people. You have enough enemies here already. Seeking out another one will get you killed.”

  Suri shook her off and made a face. “I won’t seek him out. I will just… quietly reflect on my displeasure.”

  “Quietly, in the safety of your rooms.”

  “Of course.”

  Isa looked unconvinced but she smiled at Mohini, and the other girl shook her head, the discomfort on her face quickly replaced by blithe cheer. “There is no saying you will even have to meet with him, Your Highness. I’ve only seen him in the city a handful of times.”

  With that, she led them out of the copse of trees. But Suri looked back, gaze drawn back to the temple. It looked more like ruins than a place for prayer, and yet, without the trees impeding her vision, she could see a single stream of smoke rising from a brazier at its heart.

  It was a little like this job, the volatility of that smoke. Suri could see the faint outline of her freedom on the other side of it, and it held true form. But then it flickered and blurred, a mirage after all.

  “This is a terrible idea,” Viro told Tarak’s back. The other boy didn’t move, but after a moment, he spoke.

  “You’ve been saying that ever since we returned,” he said, running his hands over the edge of the gilded throne in front of him. It was a formality, really, to use the throne room at all, but Viro supposed speaking with the Najan princess required it. Tarak turned to watch him, brown eyes glinting in the lamplight. “You should sit. There’s no point in being here if you’re going to perch on the windowsill like a bird.”

  Viro raised his eyebrows, and the other boy’s mouth quirked to the side in a smile. He slid off the windowsill, but leaned back against it. His mouth felt odd, cotton-soft and choked. “I don’t use the throne. You know that. If that offends her gentle Najan sensibilities, so be it.”

  Tarak sighed, heavy with resignation, leaning forward so he could card a hand through his hair. “Promise me you will at least make an effort. Any kind of effort.” His mouth twisted in a faint grin. “Turn on that charm of yours.”

  “What charm?” he muttered, looking away and out the window. This late, Kiran was likely still at the main temple. He’d left early that morning—Viro had only been able to see the blaze of the first fire before he’d left the upper city. Something was bothering him, something he didn’t want to reveal right now. If there was anything that the past seventeen years had taught him, it was that Kiran’s unease was without a doubt more dangerous than whatever threat the foreign princess posed. Even if she meant to take the rest of Athri for her family.

  “My king,” Tarak said, leaning forward and taking his hand where it rested on the edge of the windowsill. The cuffs of his uniform were worn from all the years he’d served the kingdom, patched and darned by Kiran in his spare time. The sight of them felt like a knife in his sternum, another reminder of all they’d lost.

  He pulled away. “I told you not to call me that.”

  “Worrying about him isn’t any better than worrying about the princess,” he replied, ignoring him. His fingers ghosted over Viro’s, but he didn’t take his hand again. “Kiran can take care of himself.”

  Viro snorted. “Perhaps. I can never read him, and he tells us little.”

  Tarak arched his eyebrows. “If you asked, perhaps he might.”

  There was a knock at the doors, bullet wood swept with intricate carvings older than the war. The princess, then. Tarak returned to his place behind the thr
one and, after a moment of hesitation, Viro leaned against the side of it. It was all bravado and illusion, but if the effort would sate him, Viro could at least try.

  “Come in,” Viro called, and the door swung open. The guards stepped aside, and three young women filed into the room. One was a palace maid wearing a black pin and a gaze that refused to meet his. The second was likely the princess’s handmaiden; she wore a hard smile and plain clothes meant to hide her identity. Her proof of service was covered up, too. A sloppy job—he could see the lines of the banded tattoo under her shawl, and it hung awkwardly on her shoulders, too purposeful to be convincing. She might’ve passed for an Athrian otherwise.

  Even if the guard’s eyes hadn’t lingered on her, faintly revolted, he would have been able to distinguish the princess from the others. The north clung to her, in her strong brow and upturned eyes, in the mild brown of her skin, the color of sandalwood. It had been years since he’d last seen her, but her features had changed little; the old, deceptive softness of her face had disappeared, and she was sharp as a knife.

  He relaxed his grip on the side of the throne and straightened. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Your Highness.”

  The princess smiled, but it was brittle, as if she could feel the artifice in his words. “If we are to be wedded, you should call me by name.” She hesitated, a momentary misstep, then nodded toward Tarak. “Won’t you introduce me, Your Majesty?”

  This was a terrible idea. Already, he longed to write back to her parents, to that nest of vipers, and call this entire engagement off. He slid his eyes away and forced his lips to curve unconvincingly. “Please, call me Viro. And… Tarak is the captain of the city guard. We were just discussing security.”

  Her eyes were chips of spun burnt sugar. “My handmaiden told me you served shifts on the city guard, but I didn’t believe her. How do you find the time?”