by Sarah Zettel
“It is Radana of Sindhu,” Yamuna answered.
The woman lifted her hands, pleading. “Please, Great Emperor, I am come …”
But Chandra had already walked on. Now he stood in front of Hamsa. “And this, of course, is Agnidh Hamsa. Where is your master, Hamsa?”
“I do not know, Sovereign,” answered Hamsa evenly. Her words raised all the hairs on the back of Samudra’s neck, for she lied. She did know, and he felt her reaching toward him even while she strained to hold herself apart.
“And was it your hand that gave him the poison for our mother?” Chandra inquired.
Hamsa raised her eyes toward the emperor, a thing that was never done. “Prince Samudra did not poison the queen.”
“No?” Chandra arched his brows, his voice full of mock surprise. “Then who did?”
“I do not know, Sovereign.”
Chandra cocked an eye toward Yamuna. “Is this true?”
“I cannot yet tell, Sovereign,” Yamuna answered. “I have had no time to work.”
“Yes, these things do take time.” Chandra sighed, his demeanor full of patience and understanding. Samudra ground his teeth together. “Now, you, from Sindhu, you say there is rebellion there?”
Plainly relieved, Radana spoke with a hasty eagerness. “Yes, Great Emperor. The king has brought the Huni down from the Iron Pillar mountains to aid him in his rebellion. I came as quickly as I was able to warn …”
“Yes, yes.” Chandra waved her words away as if deeply bored by her recitation. “We have heard this much already. Have you nothing to add?”
Radana buried her face in her hands, her weeping muffled but still perfectly audible. “I have tried to serve, I swear it, Great Emperor. I …”
“If one more woman sheds a tear before me, I will have her eyes burned from her head,” said Chandra. Radana fell instantly silent. Chandra rubbed his face hard and glanced backward at the screen. What was Bandhura thinking back there? What was her part in this madness?
And all at once, Samudra was sure whose hand had killed his mother. It was just what Bandhura would do. She had feared Samudra’s popularity with the soldiers and his influence on Chandra, and now … now Samudra was implicated in murder and rebellion. Behind her screen, Bandhura surely smiled.
“Now, we must consider how to reward those who have brought us these tidings,” Chandra went on. He looked at each of the women before him. Every fiber of Samudra’s body was as tight as a harp string, waiting for Chandra to speak. This was his brother at his very worst, when he wore this quiet, reasoned mask. There was nothing less than bloody murder in Chandra’s mind, the only question was where the sword would fall.
“This one.” Chandra moved to stand in front of Radana. “Since the princess cannot be found, this one will die in her place.” He turned away, walking back to the dais, signaling the guards with a flick of his hand.
The woman dove forward, flinging herself full length at the emperor’s feet, clutching at his heels. “Wait! Great Emperor! I came only to serve! I came to warn …”
Chandra rounded on her, his face distorted with fury. “You betrayed your king!” he roared. “Your lord whom the gods set over you! Why would I accept such service when I have treason enough in my house? Take her out of here!”
Radana screamed and leapt to her feet, to do what, Samudra could not guess. The guards seized her at once, and though she screamed and struggled, they hauled her between them out the great doors.
Chandra watched this little drama with his eyes half-closed and his face impassive.
“Now you, Hamsa,” said Chandra, his voice once more casual and quiet. “I think we should give you to Yamuna’s tender care so we may determine what you do and do not know of these things. Will you take this charge, my sorcerer?”
The sorcerer bowed over folded hands. “I stand ready to serve my emperor.”
“Good.” Chandra smiled. “When you are finished, I would have her punished for her part in my brother’s treason.” He glanced toward Divakesh. “That would be your duty, I believe, priest, would it not?”
“In betraying the Pearl Throne she betrayed the Mothers. It is for the sword of the Mothers to take her life.”
Hamsa said nothing. Then, slowly, leaning like an old woman on her white staff, she stood and made the salute of trust, not to Chandra, but to the Mothers who watched all from behind the Throne. Then, one faltering step at a time, she began to cross the floor to the great double doors. The guards hesitated, uncertain what to do, and then she paused and turned to look over her shoulder.
“Well, Agnidh? Are you coming?”
It was a ludicrous, impossibly defiant gesture, and Samudra knew she would pay for it. Helpless, he watched Yamuna walk to Hamsa’s side and bow, gesturing for her to lead the way, and Hamsa did. Samudra bit his tongue until the blood came to stop himself from crying out loud.
“And what for little Ekkadi?” said Chandra, looking down at the maid who still knelt beside the high priest. Chandra squatted down until his face was almost level with hers. “What for this maiden who says she has seen so much of my brother’s treason?”
Divakesh rested one hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I have sworn she will suffer no harm for what she has done in the Mothers’ names.”
“In the Mothers’ names?” Chandra straightened up. “Tell me, Divakesh, did you order her to keep watch on Prince Samudra?”
If the priest had understood anything beyond his own heart he would have lied, but instead, he spoke the plain truth. “When she could, yes.”
You ordered her to spy on Natharie. One of the few Natharie trusted, you turned against her. “So it is because of you that all this was witnessed.” Chandra’s stance had changed. He was no longer loose-limbed; he stood instead like the wrestler he was, balanced, ready to lash out at any instant.
Divakesh inclined his head once. “Yes.”
Priest, you are going to wish I got to you before you had a chance to tell your emperor this, thought Samudra with a grim satisfaction that left him feeling soiled.
“I see. Well.” Chandra sighed, a short, sharp sound. “Since you were obeying your masters, Ekkadi, I suppose there is nothing to reproach you for. You may return to the small domain.”
Ekkadi hesitated for a heartbeat, probably stunned by her good fortune. She made obeisance and then, hiking her skirts up around her ankles, she fled the throne room. But no one watched her undignified, undisciplined departure. Chandra looked to Divakesh, and Samudra saw how his brother’s eyes gleamed with tears he would never shed. “You made this, priest.”
Only in part, Chandra. He had help from you and me. But even as he thought that, he knew it didn’t matter. Divakesh had brought the evil news. To Chandra, that would make him responsible for it, and if Divakesh did not see his sovereign’s fury, Samudra did. It was as palpable as fire against his skin. The question now was which would prove greater, Chandra’s fear of the Mothers, or his anger at their priest?
“It is the will of the Mothers, my emperor,” Divakesh was saying. “The dance must be held sacred. We have spoken of this many times,” he added pointedly.
Chandra’s face twisted. “So, you will join us on our great pilgrimage to Sindhu then?” He drawled the words. “To make sure we do all according to the Mothers’ will in this glorious war we must now fight?”
Divakesh made the salute of trust. “Of course, my emperor.”
Chandra smiled, slow, lazy and sharp. Samudra shivered to see it. “Of course, priest. Of course.” And with that Samudra understood what Divakesh’s real mistake had been. He had broken the one promise he had made to Chandra. He had sworn that if the emperor followed his word, all would stay safe and steady, for all knew that misfortune was the sign of the Mothers’ disapproval. But if Chandra obeyed Divakesh, that disapproval would never come. The dance would remain as it was, and Chandra would never have to stand before the Mothers and all the world.
Divakesh would protect Chandra as his father no lo
nger could.
But Divakesh had failed. Bad news had come. Samudra had turned traitor, and the perfect world had cracked. Whatever else might come, Chandra would never forgive Divakesh that failure, and Chandra in his callous revenge could defy the Mothers themselves.
A foot brushed stone, and Samudra whirled. Out of arm’s reach stood the drama master from the small domain, holding a lamp and bowing deeply, making the salute of trust with his free hand.
“My prince.”
Samudra found himself panting. His whole body ached with the pain of all that he had just witnessed and his mind and heart were so full he could barely take in this new thing. “Master Gauda. What …”
The kohl-eyed eunuch did not wait for the question before straightening. “I am to show you the correct door out of this place.”
“How …” It seemed he could do nothing but stammer. He was beginning to tremble. It was like after his first battle, he mused. During the fight he had been all fire and fury; afterward, he could do nothing but sit and shake for hours.
“Hamsa left me word earlier tonight in case things went wrong and Natharie did try to break seclusion.”
“Why you?” Hamsa walked away so slowly with Yamuna, knowing she left him behind her, knowing he could do nothing at all to help her.
“Because I am a friend of Princess Natharie.” Gauda dropped his voice, and Samudra was at last able to see that this one too was frightened. “And I am praying you will tell me she is still alive.”
“Yes. She is away already.”
“I give thanks.” Samudra noted the strange wording of the prayer, and found himself wondering who Gauda gave thanks to, and how he came to be willing to risk his life for a student he had known for such a short time.
But Gauda was not going to give him any more time for contemplation or hesitation. “Come, please, my prince. Captain Pravan is already making sure his men are the ones on guard.”
Of course he was. Pravan was probably already planning the sacrifices he would make to the Mothers in gratitude for this chance. Samudra could not have cleared the way for his ascendancy more completely.
In a daze, Samudra followed Gauda down the nearest staircase. “Do you know what is happening?”
“Everyone knows what is happening, my prince.” Gauda held his lamp up high to light the way. Samudra realized belatedly he had left his own lamp behind. He had dropped it at some point. He didn’t even remember it falling. “Sindhu is rebelling. The princess is being blamed for the death of the old queen. You are to be trampled to death as soon as you can be tried.”
Ah. Is that how a prince is to die? “I have been very slow, Master Gauda, and naive.”
“Yes, my prince.”
They said nothing more as they hurried down the creaking stairs and through the dim corridors scented with dust and waste. Samudra could not navigate. He was no longer sure what level they were on. The few servants they encountered fell back at once, their eyes covered, not in obeisance but so they could say they had seen nothing.
At last, Samudra felt the weight of earth around him. They were in the cellars again. He heard the distant sounds of soldiers, giving and accepting orders. He smelled spice and sugar. A rat skittered by, letting it be known how it resented his intrusion. His mind began to clear. They were not heading for the garrison tunnels, but through the food stores, kept down here in the cool earth.
Samudra had a heartbeat to see the door looming in front of them before Gauda blew out the lamp. He pulled himself up short in the abrupt darkness. There was the sound of fumbling, and then the creaking of a hinge. He felt fresh air on his face, but could see nothing.
“Here, my prince.” Gauda’s meaty hand fastened on his wrist and led him outside. In the dim moonlight, he saw Rupak. The horse shook his head in annoyance. Holding Rupak’s reins was a slim, young soldier with a lieutenant’s collar about his neck. This was Taru, Samudra remembered. He was a cousin of Makul’s.
“The southeast gate is still watched by our men, my prince,” Taru said, holding out the reins for Samudra.
The touch of the leathers shook the last of the confusion from Samudra. Here was something he could do. He could ride, and ride fast, down through the city to the docks to find Natharie. Surely she had not left yet. Not yet. It was too dark for her to have left yet.
Samudra swung himself into the saddle. “Lieutenant. They have taken Hamsa,” he said. “You are to do what you can for her. Do you understand?”
Taru gave the soldier’s salute. “Yes, my prince. Mothers guard you.”
Mothers forgive me, you should say. Samudra nodded to the young man and to Guada, and wheeled his horse around, and galloped into the night without daring once to look back.
From behind her screen, Bandhura watched as Chandra dismissed the remaining attendants with a brisk word. Alone, he stood at the foot of the dais, gazing up at the Mothers.
“Bandhura?” he said, and his voice shook.
She emerged at once. “I am here, Chandra.”
She thought he would climb up to her, but as she watched he began to tremble with the force of the emotions he had held in check since his servants had roused him to this strange audience. She hurried down the stairs to wrap him at once in her arms. She expected him to melt into her embrace as he had done so many times before, but he remained apart, looking up at the Mothers, cold and afraid.
“Divakesh promised me all would be right,” he said in a small voice.
Bandhura remained silent at that. What could she have said?
Chandra dragged in a long, ragged breath. “He swore that if he was high priest, all would be right. He would propitiate the Mothers and keep their wrath from me. He would be their servant and I would be free. He promised the dance would go on without their anger falling on me if only I did as he said.”
She pulled away. She would be a pitiful queen indeed if she did not understand where these words led. “If he has failed in his office …”
“Oh yes. Yes. He has failed.” He turned to her, master of himself again, and smiled his long, slow, lazy smile. Deliberately, he began to climb the dais. “He failed, and now we are at war, and I must go to the field myself to show that the Pearl Throne is strong.” He reached the Throne, the ancient seat of power raised by Mother Jalaja herself. He stood beside it, contemplating it with that same slow covetous smile that masked so much anger and so much hatred.
“Yes, you must,” said Bandhura firmly, pushing aside the fear that smile raised in her. “Now that Samudra is gone, you must show that you yourself are leader in war as well as in peace.” For all her confident words, she found she could not make herself climb the steps to stand beside him.
Silently, his mouth shaped his brother’s name, and his hands curled into fists. “I tried, Bandhura. I tried to believe in him. Why did he insist on doing this to me?”
“Perhaps Divakesh was right in this much,” she ventured carefully. “Perhaps the princess was pollution.”
“I want to believe that.” He gripped the Throne’s arm as if he meant to break it off. “Then it is not his fault.” A thought struck him. “Where is he now?”
“Yamuna will find him, my husband. He will receive justice for his treachery.”
“Then what, Bandhura?” Chandra, her emperor, her husband, her love, faced her, spreading his hands wide. “When I am alone here without mother, without brother, without priest, then what?”
“You will not be alone, my husband,” she said firmly. “I will be here.”
“Yes.” Now he stretched his hands out to her. Now she could run up those broad, black marble steps into his embrace and receive his hard kiss and give him hers and feel his heart beating against her breast. She could savor all these things and ask silently forgiveness for her moment of doubt.
It was a long time before his embrace loosened and she was able to pull away. But when she did, she saw love and assurance shining in his eyes. “You must pardon me, my husband. I need to return to the small domai
n for a moment. There is something I must see to personally.”
“Yes.” He nodded, folding his arms, gazing out across the empty throne room. “And then we will mourn …” His voice faltered as he remembered, but he rallied himself. “And then we will march out to war in the Mothers’ names.”
She laid her hand on his arm. “Then we will be safe, my husband.”
Chandra covered his hand with hers and held it tightly. “Promise me, Bandhura,” he whispered.
She smiled at his seriousness. “I promise, my husband. I promise.”
She kissed him to seal her words, and left him staring up at the great image of Mother Jalaja. Outside the queen’s door, her women waited, and she walked, stately and dignified, down the stairs to the small domain. So much remained to be done. The ceremony for Queen Prishi must be perfect in every respect. Once those preparations were well in order, she must send for the perfumer, who would have all the necessary ingredients for the potion Ekkadi would have to swallow.
Foolish girl. How can I trust you to be a good servant to me when I know you are Divakesh’s creature? She shook her head in saddened amazement.
But even this could not diminish the triumph glowing warm within her. Chandra did not see it yet, but the Mothers had ordered all things as they should be. They had brought the woman Radana before the Pearl Throne. Because of her warning, the Sindishi and their allies would be taken by surprise and overcome with ease. Chandra would lead the army and this time it would be his name shouted in victory when they returned. Victory in a holy cause would cement Chandra’s rule at long last. He would be safe. She would have fulfilled all the Mothers’ purposes and they would reward her with his child.
Her women opened the door to the small domain. The kneeling, grieving women looked up to her and she smiled benevolently down on them. I must be strong for them and for Chandra too, she thought as she stepped inside the domain that was now hers alone.
There is, after all, much work left to do.
Chapter Nineteen