by Sarah Zettel
Already seen, stealth would do her no good, so Natharie pushed aside her fear and walked up to the three guards at the left-hand side of the gate, making the salute of trust with her free hand.
“Please, masters,” she said, keeping her voice low. “I am sent from the small domain. Has anyone today come from Sindhu?”
The shortest and broadest of the three had a thin mustache on his lip. He blew out a great sigh. “What in the name of all the Mothers could the domain want to know for?”
Natharie risked a tiny smile. “Is it for any of us to question?”
That earned a chuckle from the guard on the mustached man’s left. “As you say, sister.” He dug his finger behind his ear, scratching and thinking. “I was coming on shift, and I heard something, over that way …” He pointed to the left. “Woman I think.”
“She was talking with one of the rice sellers,” volunteered the mustached man. “Pretty too. All in pinks. Silk, yet. Thought of offering her a better bed for the night.” He leered companionably at the others, forgetting Natharie for a moment’s fantasy.
“You may be glad you didn’t if she’s wanted inside,” answered the other. “Try over there,” he said to Natharie and pointed again. “We don’t want to start waking people if we don’t have to.”
Natharie made the salute again and picked her way across to the yard holding her lamp over her head, craning her neck, praying that the woman was not one of the anonymous forms under thin blankets.
There. The flickering light touched a flash of deep rose pink. Natharie stepped closer. There on her back, one hand resting on her belly, her hair spread out beneath her, lay her “Auntie” Radana.
Natharie stuffed her hand into her mouth to stifle her gasp. Kneeling at once, she shook the courtesan’s shoulder.
“Radana. Radana.”
Slowly, the woman stirred, blinked, and came awake. She saw Natharie and sat up at once.
“Princess Natharie. Thank all the blessed. Princess, I am come to warn …”
Natharie began to gesture her to silence, but even as she did, a hand touched her shoulder. She jumped, nearly out of her own skin and turned, and looked into Hamsa’s wide eyes.
He knows, she thought, despairing that Samudra had found her, but relieved it was no one else.
“Who is this?” Radana demanded in a whisper.
“Hamsa. She serves the first prince.”
Radana did not waste another heartbeat but threw herself at Hamsa’s feet. “Great Lady, I am come with a warning to the Pearl Throne! I beg you hear me!”
Natharie stared, stunned. Hamsa recovered before Natharie did. “Quick.” The sorceress forgot all rank and propriety and grabbed Natharie’s hand. Natharie did not resist. If Hamsa was already here, who knew who else might be coming to find them? The sorceress dragged her up to the gate with Radana following so closely behind she stepped on Natharie’s heels. The soldiers all shifted their grips on their spears as they approached, ready to bar their way.
Hamsa stopped in front of the mustached guard and pushed the veil back from her face.
“Agnidh? What …?”
She did not let him finish. “I’m on the prince’s errand, Chintan. Let us through.”
Chintan laid his free hand over his heart and then touched his forehead. “At once, Agnidh.”
The guards parted, but instead of opening the gate, Chintan stomped his foot down on what Natharie now saw was a wooden platform. A trapdoor lifted in it, and an angry eye glared in the lamplight. “Agnidh Hamsa on the prince’s errand,” said Chintan, and the anger turned to surprise. The eye and its owner disappeared, leaving the ladder leading down into the tunnels clear for Hamsa, then Natharie, and, more slowly, Radana.
The ladder ended in a square-cut tunnel of stone and earth. Lamps hung from chains and flickered in niches. Natharie could hear men’s voices laughing or quarreling mildly, along with the rattle of dice and the tread of sandals. A pair of soldiers shouldered passed, stopping only momentarily when they saw Hamsa.
“Great Lady …” said Radana anxiously as her delicate sandals touched the earthen floor.
“Not here.” Hamsa turned north and strode ahead, with the confidence of one who knew the dim route well. Of course she would. This was clearly a place of soldiers, and as such it would be Samudra’s place.
Natharie found herself wondering how far the tunnels stretched. They passed ladders that led even farther down, and branch corridor marked with neatly etched plaques to keep new arrivals from becoming hopelessly lost.
Hamsa did not stop to consult these markings. She took the Sindishi women around a right-hand turning, and then another. Natharie thought she could sense the weight of the palace over them and the idea drained the blood from her cheeks. Did Hamsa mean to lead them straight into the heart of the mountain?
No. They came to another ladder, leading upward. Hamsa climbed this quickly. She unlatched the trapdoor overhead and paused a moment to watch. Then, she pushed it open and beckoned Natharie and Radana to follow her.
They emerged into a small, plain room. Its walls, where they could be seen, were adorned with friezes of the Mother of Increase with her sickle and round belly. But mostly, the room was taken up by shelves which were crammed with scrolls and tablets and sheafs of papers. Natharie realized it must be a records store, probably only one of many in this ancient palace.
The only furniture was a writing desk with an abacus and a lamp. Hamsa took Natharie’s lamp from her hand, checked the other for oil and then lit the wick, setting the two lights side by side.
“Now.” Hamsa turned fully to Radana, who immediately and humbly bowed.
“Forgive me, Great Lady,” she said in her slow and clumsy Hastinapuran. “I see now that you are the sorceress who follows the Prince Samudra. I did not know you before. I …”
At this little speech, Natharie’s frayed nerves gave way entirely. “Radana!” she shouted in Sindishi. “What is it? Why are you here?” And why aren’t you talking to me?
Radana flicked her a glance full of scorn. “The news I have is for the Pearl Throne, not the child of traitors.”
Natharie gaped. Hamsa had gone pale. “Who is this woman?” she asked Natharie.
“She is my father’s chief concubine. Radana, you will tell me what is going on immediately.”
But Radana just shrugged and turned again to Hamsa. “Take me to the Pearl Throne and I will tell all I know. You will be rewarded, I promise you, for I speak of grave treachery.”
Natharie’s hands curled into fists and she was a hairsbreadth from snatching Radana’s shoulders and slapping her until her ears rang and the words tumbled freely from her, but Hamsa held up her hand.
“I cannot take you to the emperor until I know you have some truth to tell him. You will have to let me make a working upon you.”
That, at last, made Radana hesitate and look toward Natharie. It was Natharie’s turn to shrug. Impatience and anger boiled within her. Radana had never been at complete peace with her rank and all the world knew it. This could be some great lie. This could be … it could be true. Mother could have done something in her anger. It would be Mother. Father would not, could not break a treaty he had made, but Mother, Mother could.
Hamsa bit her lip. She snatched an ancient scroll off the nearest shelf and unrolled it. “Stand there,” she ordered. Radana, clearly gathering her nerve, lifted her hems fussily and stepped onto the crackling parchment. Hamsa nodded and began to circle her, her staff tracing symbols in the dust of the floor. At the same time, Hamsa began to sing in a low, deep voice. Natharie could not understand a single word, but the relentless rhythm of the words made her shiver.
Nine times Hamsa circled Radana, drawing her signs over and again and singing her song without pause or hesitation. For a moment, Natharie had to admire Radana’s courage. The concubine stood-stock still in the center of the faint circle, her hands folded together, never once flinching or betraying any emotion. Natharie found herself gritt
ing her teeth against her impatience. Her thoughts darted between Sindhu and the palace above, where Ekkadi waited in her flimsy disguise beside a weak old woman. She had been gone too long already. Surely someone had noticed their ruse by now. She was a fool, a fool, a fool …
Hamsa let the last note of her song die away as she came once more to stand in front of Radana. She touched her palm briefly to the concubine’s forehead and Natharie saw a single bead of perspiration trickle down Radana’s temple. So. She was afraid after all.
“Speak now, and speak the truth,” said Hamsa. “If you lie, I will know.”
Radana licked her lips. “King Kiet and Queen Sitara have sent their spymaster to make common cause with the chief of the Huni who inhabit the Pillar of Heaven foothills. It is their intent to bring them down the river to Sindhu to do what they will from there.”
Natharie’s heart constricted and her hand flew to her mouth. No. No. They had not done this. Not even Mother in all her rage would doom Sindhu in this way. Father would not permit it. Mother would not … would not bring Natharie’s death to her with such an act, because she would die, because she was hostage. Mother never would do this. This was a lie. But Hamsa stood before Radana completely silent. Not even the air stirred around them.
“So,” breathed the sorceress. “You do not care, then, Radana, that your mistress will die when this becomes known.”
Natharie choked on her own breath. She began to shake. Mother had done this. Father had done this. Her loving parents had condemned her to die, and Radana had come to carry the word that would bring them down, taking all of Sindhu down with them.
Radana lifted her chin. “I am loyal to the Pearl Throne.”
Hatred blazed hard and sudden in Natharie and in that moment she wished hard for Divakesh’s sword.
Hamsa was breathing hard and fast as if undergoing some great struggle. Natharie’s glance darted to the door. Could she run? Could she escape to the walls and the gardens, maybe find a way into the city?
Then, Hamsa swung her staff around, touching it to the spot over Radana’s heart. For a moment, the concubine stared at the sorceress, her eyes bulging with disbelief. Then, Radana’s eyes closed in complete and utter peacefulness, and she slumped to the floor.
Natharie could not believe what she saw. “Is she … did she lie? Is that what this is?”
Hamsa went down on her knees. Her hands were shaking, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “No. No. She sleeps, that is all.” She smiled a little. “Truth tellings are complex. They take hours to make. If you knew anything of the invisible workings you would know that. Sleep is much easier to weave, especially at night, especially when one is already tired.”
Natharie’s mind refused to encompass what was happening. “But you said …”
“I was the one who lied,” Hamsa told her sharply. “But she believed, just as you did.” Hamsa grimaced, and it came to Natharie that this working she spoke of was not finished. Hamsa by the force of will and soul that were the sorcerers’ blessing held this spell over Radana. “Listen to me, Natharie. I cannot leave her like this. This working is light and will not hold. You must go find the prince immediately. He must be the one to know this.”
“Yes … yes.” Natharie shook herself. It was too much. Her mind dipped and spun, but she knew Hamsa was right. Samudra was the only help Sindhu had.
The only help she had.
“Where is he?”
Hamsa reeled off a series of directions to take her through the soldiers’ tunnels into the gardens. Natharie forced herself to listen, and to repeat them, steadily and accurately, along with the passwords for the guards she would meet.
“What of Radana?” Natharie asked at last.
“I will take care of her.”
Natharie met the sorceress’s gaze. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Hamsa nodded once. Natharie took up her lamp again and opened the door onto a corridor as narrow and as dark as any of the servants’ ways. She looked sharply left and right and saw no one. Before she could forget the route Hamsa had given her, she ran ahead into darkness. For this moment, she needed only to worry about speed. For this blessed moment, she did not have to think about the message she carried.
Her heart breaking inside her, the princess of Sindhu ran on.
As soon as Princess Natharie left her, Hamsa turned to the nearest records shelf. Most of the aging tallies were written on scrolls, and most of those scrolls were bound with colored cord, blue, green, red, yellow, black, or white. Hamsa went through the shelves, cutting the knots with her small knife, harvesting the cords, and sneezing as she raised great clouds of dust. Scrolls slithered to the floor, piling up around her ankles to be kicked aside and trod on carelessly in her hunt for what she needed.
It didn’t matter. What mattered had already been done. Natharie carried the warning to Samudra. They would be able to escape ahead of the storm that was coming, and she would finally be able to obey her dream.
When she had a good handful of the silken strings, Hamsa sat cross-legged beside the fallen Radana. The sorceress was sweating, despite the fact that the room was quite cool. She could feel her working strain and begin to fray as Radana’s self struggled to reassert its freedom and wake. She must be swift.
Setting the cords on the floor in front of her, Hamsa closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, and another, and another. She focused her mind, forming the task and its boundaries. Sleep. Deep, restful sleep. All care, all urgency, all need to be bound away. Just sleep. Only sleep. She knew how to do this. It was one of the first spells she had learned for healing, for nothing healed so well as blessed, blessed sleep.
She opened her eyes and looked down at the cords. She picked up a red one and a blue one and with careful fingers began to knot them together. She drew her magics up from within and down from without. She breathed them out onto the cords she wove one into the other making a loosely netted collar for Radana’s pale throat.
Sleep. Healthful sleep. Sleep until the knots were undone and the spell was broken by the hand that wove it.
“Mothers give me strength to do this much, just this much,” she murmured as she laid the net against Radana’s skin. Let it be strong enough to bring him here.
“The Mothers may give you the strength, but you should have asked for time, little Hamsa.”
Hamsa’s head jerked up and the net she had woven so carefully slithered to the floor. Yamuna stood in front of her, three soldiers behind him, and the sorcerer Madhu in all his new finery, carrying the lamp for Yamuna and grinning to show all his dirty teeth.
Yamuna, however, only looked on her with scorn. “Did you think I would not know?” he asked, as he snatched the netting from the floor. “Did you think you could hide the least working from me?” He glanced as Radana where she lay and then turned to the soldiers. “Bring her. The emperor and the first of all queens need to hear what she has to say.” He smiled at Hamsa in terrible mock hospitality. “Come, little Hamsa, it is time for you also to serve your true master.”
Hamsa rose. She walked past him out in to the dark and narrow corridor. She did not look back. She did not want Yamuna to see her own tremulous smile.
Chapter Eighteen
Evening cast its long cloak over Samudra as he stood on the edge of the gardens, twisting his hunting spear restlessly in his hand.
It was the custom for the men of the imperial line from time to time to have some fearsome creature loosed in the gardens so they, and select intimates, could hunt. It was a good night for such sport. The air was warm, but dry and clear. Only a few stars lit up the sky, their brilliance making a setting for the white crescent moon that shone so brilliantly it was possible to see the new moon in its arms.
An omen, he thought as he gazed up at it, leaning on his hunting spear. But of what?
Out there, men waited beside a caged tiger, waiting for the signal to open that cage and retreat, leaving the garden empty for Samudra and Makul, and the others Makul brought
with him. What would happen to the tiger tonight, Samudra could not say, but he would have his catch of men. Tonight, Chandra would understand the truth of his loyalty, and the loyalty of the others who would weaken the empire and drive brothers apart.
And Mother A-Kuha would understand that he honored her, but that he would remain Mother Indu’s son.
Behind him, Samudra’s groom held a restless Rupak, stroking the horse’s neck and murmuring to him. Neither was happy about being kept from his rest, nor were the young men who held the lamps, but all here served as they must.
At last, the hoofbeats sounded on the shell road and Makul came riding up the gentle slope. He was alone, without even a man servant to attend him. Samudra straightened, warning tolling in his heart. When Makul reached them, he dismounted and handed his reins to Samudra’s groom so that he could make his obeisance.
Samudra raised his teacher up and clasped his hand. “Thank you for coming, Makul,” he said, and he meant it. They both knew what must be done, but after a sleepless night Samudra had seen how he might spare Makul the worst. The Mothers were kind, even Mother Vimala. He would not have to betray his oldest and best friend to save his brother. “Come, let us stretch our legs a bit.”
“It is ever my pleasure to accompany my prince,” replied Makul evenly. Side by side they walked, two friends who had seen much together, moving out of range of the lanternlight, and out of the hearing of the servants.
“It is a beautiful night,” Makul murmured, looking up at the emerging stars.
“It is,” Samudra agreed. His ears were straining for the sound of other horses, but he heard nothing except the nighttime sounds of the garden tempered by a muted roar from the tiger waiting for its freedom and its death.
“The others are coming soon?” Samudra asked softly.
“No, my prince.”
Samudra stared at his teacher, and Makul returned his gaze with calm and ease. “I warned them. I told them you knew they wished you to take the Throne, and that you would not agree.” Makul folded his hands behind his back and lifted his face to the stars. “Four have fled. One, at least, has taken his own life. Another, I believe is making sacrifice to Indu and Jalaja and praying this all will pass over.” He gave a shrug and to show how likely he regarded that before he lowered his gaze to meet Samudra’s. “If you wish to take anyone to the emperor, it will be me.”