Pride of Empires (The Powers of Amur Book 3)

by J. S. Bangs

  Sadja

  “My lord and king,” Bhargasa said, “I have heard interesting news today.”

  “I hope so,” Sadja said. He sat on the porch of the River Palace, looking out over the sluggish, murky waters of the Saru. He had meditated earlier, to reestablish his connection to the inner silence and to spend some time peering through the depths of his farsight. He learned little, but he didn’t expect to immediately find something. Bhargasa’s spies were more immediately useful to him.

  “Nothing dangerous,” Bhargasa said. “Princess Basadi-dar has left Gumadha to come to Majasravi. Her message reached the Ushpanditya about two weeks ahead of her arrival.”

  “Ah,” Sadja said. Good news or bad news, depending on how he construed it. “Any idea how she is?”

  “What do you mean, my lord and king?”

  “Does she come willingly to her wedding? Is she under guard or is she in command of her own retinue?”

  “I don’t know,” Bhargasa said with a slight bow of his head.

  It was something. Sadja looked to the east, across the jumbled, variegated roofs of Majasravi that were smeared with smoke and fog, toward Gumadha. Something for his farsight to focus on. Little came to him. She was too far away, and his practice was too weak.

  “I think we should find out, then,” Sadja said. “Before Basadi-dar actually reaches Majasravi.”

  Bhargasa raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “Not me, of course,” Sadja said. “It would be conspicuous if the king of Davrakhanda were to meet Basadi-dar on the road. Rather, I think she should encounter a khadir traveling to Majasravi for the first time. Someone from Davrakhanda, unknown in Majasravi. Well-off, but not extravagantly so.”

  “The khadir,” Bhargasa said, “will at least travel with a retainer, I hope.”

  “A single retainer. Well-trained, able to protect his lord, but silent. Bhargasa, call for my valet.”

  “If I may ask, what does this khadir actually intend to do once he meets the Emperor’s daughter?”

  Sadja smiled lightly. “I’m not sure, but I have an idea.”

  * * *

  The keeper of the guesthouse wrung his hands together earnestly and affected a forlorn, exhausted expression. “But Majatha-kha, the Emperor’s daughter has filled every one of my rooms with herself and her men, and she spills her servants into the streets. The imperial retinue is very large, even for the youngest daughter—”

  “I don’t care,” Sadja said. He pounded his fist against the lintel of the doorway in which the housekeeper stood. “You have rooms here—”

  “I have no rooms here, my lord.”

  “Then give me your room.”

  The housekeeper balked as if he had never considered that, despite the fact this was the conclusion toward which they had quite clearly been driving. “But my lord, my wife and I would have to sleep with the animals, and we have a small child.”

  “I’m sure for the painfully inflated price you are about to name, you’ll find a neighbor or friend in the village who will let your wife and child stay under their roof. You won’t need room, because you’ll be busy here serving us.”

  “Serving the Princess, yes—”

  “Serving both of us.” Sadja said snidely. “The Emperor’s daughter is not so demanding as to force you to set aside every consideration for your other guests.”

  “I have no other guests, my lord.”

  Sadja sighed. “How much do you want for your room?”

  He named his price. Sadja said to his attendant, “Pay him, Bhargasa.”

  Bhargasa offered the housekeeper a small stack of copper. The housekeeper took it with a gleam of greed in his eyes, slipped the coins into a purse beneath his kurta, and bowed.

  “Oh, right away, Majatha-kha. I’ll clean and prepare the chamber and send out the boy with something for you to drink. Do you prefer beer or tea? Sugar?”

  “Weak beer,” Sadja said. “Too strong and it bothers my stomach.”

  The housekeeper nodded and scurried away. Sadja relaxed against the door frame and looked at Bhargasa with a satisfied smile.

  “As soon as we are in the chamber, send an invitation to Basadi-dar to join me in the dining hall. Just the two of us.”

  “And what if she doesn’t come?” Bhargasa said. “You are, after all, only a khadir from Davrakhanda. She has dined with kings.”

  “As I understand it, she hasn’t dined with anyone other than eunuchs and old ladies for a while,” Sadja said. “I think she’ll be glad for the invitation.”

  It took a suspiciously short time for their chamber to be readied, and soon the false khadir and his attendant found themselves alone in a small but adequate room. There were bedrolls for both of them, and a ewer full of water on the floor.

  “Help me prepare,” Sadja said. “Then send my invitation to the Princess.”

  They washed and changed, the invitation was sent and immediately accepted, and the dining room was cleared of everyone except the servants hiding in the shadows. The noble guests entered one at a time.

  The khadir Majatha entered first, shining in a pure white dhoti which reached to his ankles, bound with a gold-embroidered sash, and a dark blue kurta that shimmered with silk. His face was washed and his beard trimmed, and he had been splashed with a perfume of myrrh, orange, and anise. He strode to the spot at the table where a red down-filled cushion was laid out for him. A herald announced the entrance of the Princess Kupshira Basadi. The doorway darkened for a moment, and she stepped into the door.

  Well.

  Sadja had never seen her before, but Praudhu’s emissary Amitu had described her. He had not done her justice. Large, bright eyes, lids brushed with kohl, set on either side of a high, narrow nose punctured by thin gold rings; hair oiled and pinned with coral combs that glittered with rubies; narrow shoulders draped in a red sari embroidered with chrysanthemums and serpents; slender waist cinched with a broad yellow belt; feet peeking out beneath the folds of the sari in white silken slippers, the mahogany color of her feet offset by the jeweled brilliance of her clothes. She strode to the table and took in Majatha with a haughty, indifferent glare.

  “Are you the khadir who asked for my presence?” she asked in a thin, imperious voice.

  He rose to his feet and bowed deeply. “My lady, Basadi-dar, I am. Having come to this place at the same time as your imperial beauty, I could not resist begging you to dine with me, as humble as this guesthouse may be.”

  “Humble?” Basadi sniffed. She moved to the embroidered pillow across from Sadja and lowered herself onto it with practiced disdain. She looked around the common room, brushed her hands together, and said, “I suppose the servants of the Moon Palace in Gumadha might eat in such a place. That’s how it’s been since we left Gumadha, alas.”

  Sadja nodded vigorously. “But Majasravi, my lady. Majasravi is near.”

  “Majasravi is near,” she said dully. “And what of it?”

  “In Majasravi there are treasures greater than those in Gumadha.”

  “So they say.” Basadi shrugged and leaned forward, leaning her elbows on the table. She looked off to the side with an expression of practiced boredom, letting Sadja admire her exquisite profile.

  Sadja leaned forward and mimicked her pose, with his elbows on the table and his head cocked to the side. She smelled of myrrh and anise. “You seem less than impressed by the reputation of Majasravi.”

  “Everyone has a reputation. They don’t usually live up to it.”

  “Even you?”

  She gave him a sidelong glance with a hint of a smile at the corner of her painted lips. “What sort of reputation do you think I have?”

  Sadja pulled back and hid his hands beneath the table without breaking eye contact with her. He smiled at her coyly. “Let’s eat, shall we?”

  Servants appeared with slices of melon and platters of spiced yellow rice. The scent of cumin and basil filled the room. Basadi ate daintily, while Sadja tore into his food with gust
o, maintaining the minimum amount of decorum for a dinner with the Emperor’s daughter. Basadi seemed mildly amused at the vigor with which he consumed the rice and reduced the melon to its rind. When they brought out a baked fish, he took a bite and pushed the platter away in disgust.

  “Only gulls would eat this in Davrakhanda,” he said.

  “Davrakhanda? You didn’t tell me you were from Davrakhanda.”

  “You haven’t asked. We’ve barely started conversing, Basadi-dar. A terrible rudeness from a lady such as yourself.”

  Basadi snorted. “If that’s the greatest breach of decorum you’ll see from me…” She gave Sadja a withering look. “But my father’s the Emperor, now. Who will you complain to?”

  “Complain? I was never one to complain about a lack of decorum in a young lady.”

  Another flicker of a smile on Basadi’s lips. “But now you’ve changed the subject. I wanted to ask you about Davrakhanda.”

  “Oh, yes, Davrakhanda. My holdings are near there, and I keep an estate in the city. Loveliest in Amur. But I haven’t been to Majasravi yet.”

  “You’re here for the first time?”

  “Like yourself, my lady.” He bowed his head to her.

  “And why?”

  “To visit the Majavaru Lurchatiya, offer my dhaur to Am, and offer a gift to the Emperor.”

  Basadi frowned. “A gift?”

  “It’s customary when visiting Majasravi, isn’t it?”

  “How would I know?” Her frown deepened into a scowl. “My father just became Emperor. And I don’t really care what trinkets the khadir bring to him.”

  “Oh well.” He picked up another slice of melon, took it to his lips, and nibbled at the edge. “Your melons are sweet. I’ve heard that the women of Majasravi are sweet as well.”

  “I definitely don’t care about that,” Basadi said. “I’m going to get married.”

  “Married? Seems a waste.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “Waste?”

  “In the same way this fish is a waste.” He flicked a crisped fin on the platter with his finger. “It might have been alive enough in the river, but these fools don’t know how to prepare it.”

  Basadi covered her mouth and laughed. “You’re saying I’ll be overcooked.”

  “Beauty is wasted in marriage. That’s why I’m not married.”

  “So you call yourself a beauty?”

  Sadja smiled. He took a slice of melon and offered it to her across the table. “Here, take this. It’s crisp and fresh, and definitely not overcooked.”

  She took the melon from his hand, and their fingers brushed against each other. She rested her elbow on the table and lay her chin in her left hand, feeding the melon into her mouth with her right. A drop of green juice dripped out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Let me help you,” Sadja said. He reached across the table and wiped away the juice with his thumb. She did not react to his touch except with a clever smile in her eyes. Sadja licked the bead of juice from his fingertip.

  “And how do you know that the ladies of Majasravi are so beautiful?” Basadi asked. “You say you’ve never been.”

  She took another deliberate bite of her melon. Another drop of juice escaped down her lip, and she licked it with the tip of her tongue.

  “Reputation,” Sadja said.

  “You remember what I said about reputation.” She straightened and looked at him down her long, straight nose. “I had a reputation as a beauty in Gumadha.”

  “Are you claiming this reputation was unearned?”

  “No, no. I earned every bit of my reputation.” She took another bite of melon, her eyes fixed on Sadja.

  Sadja finished his melon and set the empty rind on the tabletop. “So your goal, then, is to set the ladies of Majasravi to shame.”

  “Which should be easy, since I have no shame at all.”

  Sadja drew in a sharp breath. “Really, Basadi-dar, you should watch your tongue—”

  “You were watching it a moment ago.”

  He was thrown off for a moment and laughed involuntarily. The clever girl had gotten a point in their game when he wasn’t expecting it. “I meant to say, my lady, that a bride such as yourself should show a little shame.”

  “And why should I? My father is the Emperor. Who is going to complain about me?”

  “But your wedding—”

  “I won’t be a young bride with legs crossed and burning cheeks,” she said contemptuously.

  “Really?” He leaned across the table and pressed the back of his hand against her cheek. “You seem plenty warm to me.”

  He pulled his hand away slowly and brushed his knuckles against her lips. Basadi grabbed his hand by the wrist as he withdrew it, her small, soft fingers wrapping around the wiry tendons of Sadja’s arm.

  “I’m as hot as any woman,” she said quietly. “But you, Majatha-kha, seem a little cool. I wonder if you’re cool all over, or if its just your tongue.”

  He clasped his free hand over hers and pulled her toward him. He kissed her fingertips. “You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

  She tried to pull her hand free, but Sadja held her tight. So she put her other hand over Sadja’s and leaned forward slowly, inch by inch, her eyes locked on Sadja’s, until their foreheads nearly touched.

  “Let. Go. Of. Me,” she said in her most imperious whisper.

  He let go. “Is that better?”

  Basadi ran her fingertips down his arms, barely brushing against the hair. “I don’t like being held down,” she said in a voice soft, serious, and urgent. Sadja could feel her breath on his cheeks. “But with a light touch—”

  * * *

  Basadi’s injunction against being held down turned out to be non-literal. In practice, she was quite eager to be pinned to the ground, squeezed, scratched, and bitten. Sadja was aware there were servants in the kitchen and the entranceway who had been watching them—but she was the daughter of the Emperor. Who were they going to complain to?

  Well, to the Emperor. That was the point.

  They moved into Sadja’s chamber, adjacent to the common room, where Basadi finally spent the last of her pent-up lust. Tangled atop Sadja’s bedroll, draped lightly in the thin sheet, they collapsed to the ground. Sadja doubled over the pillow and rested it beneath his head. Basadi curled up next to him, draping her leg over his, and playing her hand over his chest. Sadja rested his hand on the small of her back.

  “You should count yourself lucky, Majatha-kha,” Basadi said.

  Sadja snickered.

  “You’re probably the last one to see me like this before I get married.” The bitterness in her voice was black and leaden.

  “You’ll get a husband out of the deal, though,” Sadja said. He squeezed her hip. “Hopefully someone young and vigorous with a pole like a palm tree to keep you happy.”

  Basadi snorted. “Ashti’s tits, I wish. No, the man is some miserable majakhadir that my father wants to reward.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “Lushatha-kha. But that’s about all that I know. Probably has a jowly face and a wilted rice stalk.”

  “See what I told you about marriage being a waste?” He leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. “But there’s always more men around. Maybe he has a younger brother. Or some vigorous young man-servants.”

  “Maybe,” Basadi said glumly. “On the other hand, he probably wants to repeat what my father did and keep me locked in a room surrounded by eunuchs.”

  “What?” Sadja said. He turned to look Basadi in the eyes. “What did your father do to you?”

  She smirked and gave Sadja a wicked, playful expression. “He locked me into a wing of the Moon Palace and let no one but eunuchs and old ladies come to see me. I had enjoyed the company of the khadir in the palace too much.”

  “But you’re the Emperor’s daughter—”

  “And he’s the Emperor. So who am I going to complain to?”

  “Ah.” Sadja relaxed aga
inst his pillow. “I see it cuts both ways, being the daughter of the Emperor.”

  “Mostly it just cuts me,” Basadi said, her voice going black. “I hate my father.”

  Sadja was quiet for a while. “I was going to say you shouldn’t, but maybe…. I could insist that he does it because of his care for you.”

  Basadi laughed and pinched Sadja’s stomach. “If I thought you actually believed that, I would leave right now.”

  “We’ve been together a few hours, and already you claim not to believe what I say.”

  “Oh, I never believed half of the things you said. But you were good enough at saying them, I had to see what else you were good at.”

  “So you’ve had many men to compare me against?”

  Basadi sat up and gave him a haughty, mocking look. “You would think poorly of me if I have?”

  Sadja laughed. “You certainly aren’t any blushing virgin. What will your poor husband think?”

  The mirth in her expression vanished, and she lay back against Sadja’s chest. “I don’t care,” she said with fierce finality. “But maybe I can get other things I want from him. Money or clothes—”

  “A manservant of your own.”

  She guffawed. “Just one?”

  “I’m sure with your skills at, ah, persuasion, you might convince him to give you two.”

  She made a noise of disgust. “Persuasion. Whatever. I’ve never had trouble getting what I want from men, and I’m sure he’ll be no different.”

  “Except for your father.”

  “What about my father?” A note of alarm and annoyance sounded in her voice.

  “You didn’t get what you wanted from him.”

  “Oh, that. What I want from him is for him to die and leave me alone.”

  “Ah!” Sadja said, slapping her gently on her thigh. “Be careful how you speak of Praudhu-daridarya, whose name we say with fear and trembling.”

  Basadi snickered. “Call him that if you want. I hate all of them. The whole family. The whole court.”

  “You’re the youngest?”

  She nodded. “My sister Jasthi-dar is okay, I guess. She visited me when I was imprisoned. She… sympathized.”