She pulled back her veil, and at last I saw her face. It was cold and solemn, her pale skin thrown in unflattering contrast by her dark robes. Sharati turned to glance at me, and her golden cat’s eyes met mine.
Devendra looked, if possible, even angrier. “What is the meaning of this, Lady Sharati?” he demanded. “You have no right to burst into my ship and interrupt my interrogation after I dismissed you—”
“I don’t answer to dishonored princes. I’m here on orders of King Jahan,” Sharati interrupted smugly. “There’s been a change in plans. His Majesty now wants the Bookweaver released into my custody. So if you’ll untie her—”
I strained to see past Devendra, who had planted himself firmly in front of me, glaring at Sharati.
“No way. You’re not taking her. I laid siege to the entire city of Bharata to capture this girl for my father.”
Sharati smirked. “I’m sure you’ll have time to tell him all about your conquests if he ever invites you onto the Council.” She said it with delicate stress, as though it was unlikely that the invitation would be issued. “In the meantime, I’d be glad to pass on a message.”
The soldier beside him fidgeted nervously. Devendra purpled, which clashed oddly with his eye color. He looked more rattled than ever.
“Fine, then. Take her. Good luck getting anything out of her.”
“We’ll see,” said Lady Sharati. She pointed a finger at me, and I felt the straps on my wrists split apart with a sizzle.
“Come with me, Bookweaver,” she ordered. I stood up, rubbing my wrists, too stunned at what she had just done to disobey.
I followed Sharati up the stairs, taking care to glare at Devendra as we crossed the gangplank. We stepped off the ship onto a deserted dockyard, my legs shaking slightly from hours of disuse. Devendra’s battleship, now emptied of its precious cargo, bobbed dismally on the oil-black river.
“Welcome to the royal grounds, Bookweaver,” said the Mage in clipped tones. “I am Lady Sharati, his Majesty’s personal Mage. The king will receive you shortly. He has placed you in my care, and you will present yourself to his Council today. First, I will be taking you to your quarters.”
I blinked. “My quarters?”
Sharati frowned at me, like I was being daft on purpose. “Your quarters,” she repeated. “You will be living in the mahal as Jahan Zakir’s personal guest.”
I stumbled to keep up with her long strides. “I thought he wanted to kill me.”
Sharati’s face was impassive. “Like I said, change in plans.”
I was silent for a moment, struggling to keep up with the new turn of events.
“Where’s Nina?” I asked at last.
The woman finally stopped striding and turned to face me. Her cat eyes latched on mine.
“Lady Kandhari, I am only going to say this once,” she said. “From this moment onwards, Nina Nadeer is dead to you. If you mention that peasant’s name, or disobey the king in any way, I shall see to it that she becomes dead in a very literal sense.”
I felt as though she had stabbed me.
Nina was going to be used against me. She had become everything I feared: a pawn in my game, bait, collateral damage.
I took a deep breath, but my pulse rocketed again as we rounded the crest in the hill.
Because standing before me was the mahal itself. Somehow, it was even more magnificent in person— far grander than the dark paper cutout I had gazed at from my mango tree for the past seven years. It was solid and sprawling, dominated by teardrop-shaped domes, barbed minarets spiraling into the misty sky.
A squadron of royal guards saluted us smartly as we passed through a pair of massive gates. They followed me like an entourage into the mahal.
It was like nothing I had ever seen before: arches guarded by stoic stone tigers. Broad columns. Carved wood and polished stone, vast and deep as a maze. Colored glass windows sent light splintering across the floor, suffusing us in colors. Everywhere I looked was the massive Z, declaring the Zakirs’ indomitable presence.
As Lady Sharati led us down a sunlit corridor, the servants and guards bustling around stopped to stare at me—some with awe, some with open hostility. I ignored them, staring instead at the train of Sharati’s veil.
The guards ushered me through a doorway, surrounding me like a human prison. I stepped inside to behold a bed of satin pillows, lined by shelves of books and endless furniture. There were even mirrors, a luxury I’d never had access to in the Fringes. The enormous window overlooked the hills, dwarfing the entire Raj.
I didn’t have time to marvel, though, because Sharati was hustling me inside, glancing at the clock. “These will be your chambers,” she said. “You will eat, sleep, and study here every night.”
She pointed to a small bell that was hanging by the door. “His Majesty has arranged for servants to attend to your every need, so that you should never desire to leave. You will ring this bell to summon them.”
I swore silently to myself that I would never use it.
Lady Sharati had scarcely rung the bell when my servants filed in: three girls who were hardly older than me, silent and meek. “Hello,” I told them.
One of the servants gasped.
Sharati made a noise of displeasure. “Lady Kandhari, you will never address your servants like that,” she snapped. “They are not your equals. They may not speak to you unless responding to a direct order.”
The girls wouldn’t meet my eyes. I ignored the pinch at my throat. Did they have any idea that just a month ago, I had been one of them: poor, disrespected, terrified to look anyone with power in the eye?
“She’s due to the Council in half an hour. You three will bathe her,” Sharati ordered the servants, who jumped a little before leading me to the bathroom. Like everything in the palace, it was magnificent, centered around a gilded bath of steaming water.
As I peeled off my shirt, I glanced at my reflection in the surface of the glistening bath. To my shock, I saw my servants reflected back in the water, still standing expectantly behind me.
I whirled around, hastily pulling my shirt back on. “Do you mind giving me a moment?”
The braver girl looked fleetingly up at me. “Our orders were to bathe you, miss.” She looked quickly back down, as if unable to believe her own nerve.
“I can bathe myself,” I said. “And you don’t have to call me miss.”
The servants exchanged glances, clearly unprepared for such resistance. “But royalty can’t be made to bath themselves,” one whispered.
I raised my eyebrows. “I think I can handle it,” I said.
“Our orders were to—”
My chest knotted. “Fine. Fine. Bathe me, follow your orders. I don’t care.”
The girls looked relieved, and despite the situation, a mixture of guilt and pity bit at me. I ignored my embarrassment as they helped me out of my clothes, their hands hesitant and cautious.
“What are your names?” I asked the girls as they helped me into the bath. They hesitated, and I added, “That’s an order.”
“Kira Chadav,” whispered the bright-haired one, with the hint of a smile that I couldn’t help but return. “And these are Trisha and Sita, miss.”
“I’m Reya,” I said. “You don’t have to call me miss.”
The water stung my bruises as I scrubbed myself properly for the first time in a month. By the time I stepped out of the bath, the water was several shades darker.
“His Majesty has picked out a dress for you, miss,” said Kira. She caught herself. “I mean—he’s picked a dress for you, Reya.”
She crossed the room and opened the wardrobe.
For a moment, I forgot where I was, because framed in its wooden doors was the most beautiful sari I’d ever seen. Tiny silver flowers sprinkled the green silk like a glimpse of stars in the jungle, flowing into solid midnight. It would have cost a peasant a year’s worth of wages.
My servants wrapped it almost reverently around me. With deft fingers
, they wove and bobbed around me, brushing out my hair, puffing color onto my cheeks. Then Sita turned me around to face the mirror.
The girl in the mirror was elegant in her sari, almost too bright if stared at for too long. She looked like money, power, and security. I couldn’t recognize her staring back at me.
“The color really brings out your eyes, Reya,” said Kira quietly. I was too preoccupied to notice that she had finally stopped of calling me “miss.”
Sita reached for the pearl on my neck, and I jerked my hand up to stop her. She looked confused. “Miss, it’s cracked,” she started, but I cut her off. “I don’t care,” I said. “It stays.”
“Let her keep it,” Kira told her, and Sita shrank back reproachfully.
There was an irate knock on the door, and Lady Sharati stepped into the room. She, too, had prepared herself for the Council; she was wearing a fresh black sari, and her silk veil was back over her face. “Come with me, Lady Kandhari. We’re behind schedule.”
I caught a glimpse of Kira smiling encouragingly before Sharati slammed the door behind us.
Her brisk pace didn’t slow as she led me through the winding halls. I stumbled on my sari when she came to an abrupt halt before a set of huge wooden doors. “His Majesty and the Council await you,” she said. “Prepare yourself.”
“But what do they want from me?”
“That is the king’s prerogative to inform you.” Sharati said it as though the matter was closed for discussion. “You are presenting yourself to his Council now, and you will obey them. I don’t have to remind you what happens if you don’t.”
Nina.
I wiped my sweaty palms against the dress, but they slipped off the silk. Instead, I clenched them until the knuckles turned white.
To calm my nerves, I studied the ornate oak doors of the Council—the last barriers between me and the lair of a beast. They were carved with what initially looked like flowers, but actually turned out to be human faces, contorted and twisted in agony. I felt my stomach wringing itself, because the faces belonged to Mages, paying the regime’s ultimate price.
Lady Sharati nodded, and the doors opened.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I walked through the doors with Nina’s name still burning on my lips.
The Council was an enormous circular room, but its mirrored walls made it seem dizzyingly larger. Built into the walls were pews that were filled with nobles, reflected thousands of times in the mirrors. They were all staring down at me like I was a beetle in a jar.
My footsteps echoed as I walked into the center of the room.
The floor was inlaid with chips of mirror that sparkled like candles, forming an elaborate mosaic. I suspected I’d have to stand on top of the room to see the whole design properly, but what I saw was staggering enough—stars of ice and fire, surrounding an enormous Z.
The room’s beauty, however, couldn’t disguise the fact that something was obviously missing. Because the throne in the center of the room was empty. The king hadn’t shown.
“Where’s my father?”
I whirled around to see Devendra Zakir framed in the Council doors. He was still wearing his military cloak, but he’d pinned on all of his medals. They glinted impressively in the reflected light.
“I was told he’d be here at the Council,” he said. “I have an update on the Renegades.”
“Awfully brave of you to interrupt us,” one of the nobles said. I looked up to see an old man in red robes glaring at Devendra. “After what happened in Bharata last night, you’re lucky you still bear the Zakir name.”
I saw Devendra blanch. “Watch yourself, Lord Raksha,” he said, his voice dangerously low; it was only because I knew him so well that I noticed the tremor in his voice. “I’m still the imperial commander of Kasmira. I do not tolerate disrespect.”
Lord Raksha looked down at him, his eyes steely. “That remains to be seen,” he replied coldly. “His Majesty says that he will deal with you later. At the present, you are barred from this Council.”
I savored the outraged look on Devendra’s face, but it passed quickly, because Lord Raksha turned on me.
“Identify yourself,” he said.
“My name is Reya Kandhari.” I was surprised by how even my voice sounded, because inside, my stomach was contracting with stress. “I’m fifteen years old. I’m the Bookweaver’s daughter—”
“This is the Bookweaver?” Lord Raksha wasn’t looking at me: he was frowning at Devendra with an air of puzzlement.
“I’m Reya Kandhari,” I said again. “I’m—”
“No, no, I get that,” Raksha interrupted again. “You’re just ... a girl.”
Torture, insults, death threats, I could handle. Sexism, not so much.
“Well spotted,” I snapped, before I could stop myself.
There was a ripple of gasps, and Lord Raksha’s eyes narrowed. He leaned over the front of his pew, robes billowing.
“You’d better learn some respect, Bookweaver’s daughter,” he said. “You’ll need it for the task his Majesty has in mind for you.”
“A task?” I echoed, but Raksha interrupted me for the third time.
“He has asked me to assess the skills you have to offer,” he said. “So I ask you, Lady Kandhari, what sort of black arts can you perform?”
“I’m sorry. Black arts?”
“Magic,” breathed Lord Raksha. He said it reluctantly, like the word carried an infectious disease. “Sorcery. Witchcraft. Whatever you call it, his Majesty requires it of you.”
I frowned. “I thought magic was illegal,” I said finally. “Why is the king eager for me to know how to use it?”
The lords murmured amongst themselves at that.
“Magic is an abomination,” admitted Raksha. “As a result, King Jahan only keeps a few Mages in his employ, and even they must remain veiled in his presence.”
He glanced at Lady Sharati. She inclined her chin haughtily beneath her satin veil, and I remembered how Devendra had once called her a freak.
“However, the events in Bharata have caused him to reconsider,” Raksha continued. “He recognizes that magic is necessary to fight an even larger evil—the wretched rebellion that plagues Kasmira and threatens to plunge our kingdom into hell.”
His words hung in the air, and it took me a moment to find my voice.
“Even if I wanted to,” I said, “how I could I help Jahan?”
“You’re the Bookweaver,” said Raksha. “As a result, you possess vayati, the black art of making your words come to life.”
And at last, I understood. I understood exactly why the king had wanted me alive. It was as though my entire life was a series of falling dominoes, culminating in the horrible realization that threatened to knock me down at last. I finally understood what Jahan wanted me to do.
“You will perform vayati for him,” said Lord Raksha, confirming my suspicions. “In light of Bharata’s rebellion, the king wants you to weave a spell that will crush all rebellion and destroy the Mages, solidifying his control over Kasmira.”
I could feel a scream building up in me, filling my throat, lungs, and stomach, expanding until I thought I would burst. Because I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t join King Jahan, help his twisted cause after everything he’d taken from me—
Lord Raksha seemed to read my mind.
“I hope you’re not considering resistance, Lady Kandhari,” he said, his voice low. “His Majesty has no shortage of ways to convince you otherwise.”
The scream wouldn’t leave. It had turned solid, pressing against the cracked pearl I wore on my throat.
“About that,” I said. “Slight problem—I can’t control my magic. Let alone perform vayati.”
The entire Council burst into whispers—not disapproving mutters, but shocked, angry hisses that reminded me of hawks launching from trees.
“You’re telling me,” said Lord Raksha, “that you can’t even use magic?” He finally looked away from me, glaring instead at
Devendra. “Is this a joke, Commander Zakir?”
Devendra’s hands were balled into fists. “How dare you pin this on me, Raksha,” he snarled, his voice thundering in the circular room. “I subdued an entire rebellion to capture Reya Kandhari. Don’t tell me you expected me to find her a damn magic guru, too.”
“Insolence!” Lord Raksha said. “The Council will be making report of this to your father.”
Devendra stiffened, glaring at me like everything was my fault. I could tell from the way his fingers twitched that he’d love nothing more than to wrap them around my throat.
“There’s no need to make a report,” someone said sharply. I turned to see Sharati looking up at Raksha. She pulled back her veil so that he could see her catlike face. “I can train the girl in magic, if his Majesty so desires.”
“That’s a hell of an offer, Lady Sharati,” said Lord Raksha. “However, there are only six weeks remaining until the ceremony.”
“That is for me to worry about,” said Sharati. “I shall take care of it. I will ensure that the Bookweaver is prepared to serve his Majesty.”
“Will you,” said Raksha, looking unconvinced. “This girl is even more of a disappointment than I had feared. I knew we should have stuck with her father.”
I felt myself go cold. “What did you say?” My voice was frigid, deadly calm.
The Bookweaver's Daughter Page 10