by J. S. Bangs
Queen of Slaves
The Powers of Amur, Book 4
J.S. Bangs
Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International
Queen of Slaves
Copyright and Thanks
Map
Prologue: Vapathi
Sadja
Mandhi
Vapathi
Navran
Mandhi
Daladham
Mandhi
Vapathi
Daladham
Navran
Daladham
Mandhi
Daladham
Mandhi
Navran
Mandhi
Vapathi
Daladham
Mandhi
Vapathi
Daladham
Vapathi
Mandhi
More From J.S. Bangs Throne of Ruins: Book 5 of the Powers of Amur Chapter 1
The Wave Speaker: Prelude to the Powers of Amur
About Me
Cover
Table of contents
Copyright and Thanks
Queen of Slaves
Copyright © 2016 by J.S. Bangs.
Join my mailing list for info about upcoming releases, sales, and other news.
Cover design by Deranged Doctor Design
Map by Robert Altbauer
Editing by Stephanie Lorée
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License. You may find a summary of the license and a link to the full license here: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/
Map
Prologue: Vapathi
Ladhi took the glazed faience bowl and set it atop the tray in Vapathi’s hands, next to the alabaster salt-cellar and a silver dish of honeyed anise seeds.
“That’s not too heavy for you to carry?” she asked. She looked over Vapathi with her lips pursed and her fists on her hips. “It looks like half a breeze could knock you over. The tray is very full. Are you frightened?”
The kitchen was unbearably hot, muggy with steam from the boiling rice, reeking with the smell of sheep’s milk and cumin. Rather than being frightened, Vapathi was desperate to get out. “No,” she said quietly.
“Good.” Ladhi wiped her hands on a rag and tousled Vapathi’s hair. “Now the master likes his rice warm, but not hot. See, I always take it off the stove and let it cool beforehand. If any of the other cooks ever gives you rice which is straight out of the steamer, scold them and let me know. I’ll have them thrashed. Better them than you, yes?”
Vapathi nodded. Sweat trickled down her temples.
Ladhi scooped up a big handful of rice and laid it in the faience bowl. The rice grains looked like clouds in the bowl, white puffy mounds against the deep cerulean glaze. Then she dropped a large spoonful of butter atop the rice and stepped back to examine the tray.
“Is the salt-cellar full?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Vapathi said quietly.
“You should check. Always check. I won’t ever give you an empty salt-cellar—you remember that Ladhi is a good mistress, she won’t play tricks on you—but the other girls might. Better you check the salt-cellar than get the wrath of the master. Not that—”
She stopped herself in mid-sentence, bit her lower lip, and turned away. She glanced back at Vapathi over her shoulder, a strange look of chilly evaluation and consternation showing in her eyes.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Twelve.” Was the woman done? Vapathi wanted to get out of the kitchen and into the house where the tiles were cool and the palms shaded the windows. She had served food plenty of times to her previous master. She didn’t know why Ladhi was making such a big deal about this.
“Twelve,” Ladhi said, shaking her head. “It’ll do. The master is kind. You know the way. Go.”
Vapathi bowed and turned, catching a glimpse of the sorrowful look on Ladhi’s face as she left. She credited the woman with this: she was much kinder than the mistress of the last house that Vapathi had worked in. This was only her second day in the new household, and so far everything was a great improvement. Kirshta had said the same thing yesterday.
It was a short walk from the kitchen to the master’s chamber. The hallway was dark and cool, a release from the miserable humidity by the stoves, and the arched entrance to the master’s chamber was covered by a black cotton curtain. A copper ring hung from the hook by the doorway, the signal that she had learned yesterday. It meant that the master was waiting for his food, and that she should enter without stopping to request permission. She took the ring off of its hook so no one would follow her, then pushed through the curtain with her head bowed low.
She kept her head bowed as she entered the room. Someone was plucking the strings of a vina to her right. Ladhi had showed her the room yesterday and made her walk across it ten times with her head bowed, so that she would know how to find the proper place without needing to look up. About ten paces from the door was the long, low table where the master sat. Vapathi knelt and placed the tray in front of him, keeping her eyes down. She glimpsed only the toes of his yellow silk slippers. She began to back out of the room.
“Wait,” a man’s voice said.
Vapathi paused.
“You’re the new girl, yes? The house-master was to bring in a boy and a girl yesterday.”
“Yes, sir,” Vapathi said. The flutter in her chest quickened. Had she done something wrong?
“Look up. Let me see you.”
Her heart constricted. She looked up, terrified that she would see anger or disappointment on the master’s face. But no, he was smiling blandly and looked at her with compassionate pleasure. He was younger than she expected, only a touch of silver at his temples, and thin. His hands were covered in silver rings, and he wore earrings with rubies in them in both ears.
He examined her for a moment, then gestured to the cushion beside him. “Come. Sit here.”
Vapathi balked. That was the mistress’s cushion, the place where the master’s wife would sit when she was here. But she wasn’t here, was gone on some errand, and here was the master, inviting her to sit in her place. Would the mistress be angry if she found out? Would the master be angry if she refused? But she couldn’t refuse. With a bubbling terror in the pit of her stomach, she bowed her head, walked around the table, and sat down on the cushion. She kept her head bowed and did not look up at him.
“Look at me,” the master said again, and he took her by the chin. He turned her face toward his and examined her, his gaze slowing dripping down from the top of her head, taking in her forehead, her brows, her black eyes, her long nose and brown lips, the chin where his thumb pressed into her flesh, her bony shoulders, and the sari draped over her body.
“Is something the matter, my lord?” Vapathi asked.
“No, nothing,” the man said. He let go of her chin and turned to his tray of food. He began to eat with cultured indifference, tearing a little corner off the roti on the tray and using it to scoop a tiny pinch of rice. He gestured to his left, where the vina player sat atop a cushion in a little niche. The player kept his head resolutely down, as if Vapathi and the master weren’t even in the room.
“Do you like the music?” he asked.
Vapathi had never paid the first moment of attention to music. “Yes,” she said automatically. “It’s lovely.”
“Last year, when I was a guest at the majakhadir’s house, we heard the great vina player Yaladhu. He could make you weep with his sounds.”
“Your player plays very fine.”
The master murmured in acknowledgement. Another pinch of
rice went into his mouth. A stray grain fell from his chin into his lap. He brushed the rice grain to the ground, then rested his hand on Vapathi’s knee.
“You silly girl,” he said gently. “You don’t know anything about music, do you? Do you even have the vina where you come from?”
“You mean at my previous master—”
“No, I mean in the mountains.”
“I haven’t lived there for years. I don’t remember.”
He gave her an indulgent smile. “Well, I’ll give you plenty of chances to listen to the music now. I told the house-master to find me something nice, and he did very well.”
Vapathi was quiet. She wasn’t sure if she should answer that statement.
He pushed the tray of food away from him on the table. The hand which had been on her knee slid back and curled around her waist, and he pulled her closer to him. She slid halfway off the cushion. Her heart pounded rapidly, and her lips trembled.
He turned toward her. His other hand closed around her ankle, his thumb fondling her calf.
“You will be very fine,” he said with an avuncular smile.
The music of the vina player halted and came to a stuttering stop. A breath later, the player continued as if nothing at all was happening.
* * *
Her hands and feet tingled. She walked back into the kitchen with her head bowed, rubbing the palms of her hands together to dispel the strange numbness. The kitchen sounded with copper pots being scraped and clay dishes clattering together. Vapathi lowered herself onto a stool by the door and rested her hands in her lap.
The clatter stopped. For a moment the only sound was a quiet crackle from the fire.
“Dear thing,” Ladhi said softly. “You don’t—never mind, you stay there. Do you want some tea?”
Vapathi said nothing.
“I’ll make you some tea. Water is nearly boiling here. It’ll only be a moment.”
A copper ladle banged against the side of the pot hanging over the fire. The crush of leaves and splash of pouring water. Ladhi pushed a hot clay mug into Vapathi’s hands.
“Now stand up, child, and let me fix your sari. It’s draped terribly. Here, onto your feet. Let me tuck this in here. Turn quickly. There. Now you don’t look—you look nicely put together.” She sucked in her breath sharply. “Are you hurt?”
Vapathi shook her head.
“No bleeding? No pain?”
Vapathi shrugged. She could barely locate her limbs through the numbness. Perhaps she was hurt. She couldn’t tell.
“Well,” Ladhi said, “all told there are lots of worse ways it could go. Now listen, this is very important. Did the master ask you to return to him tonight?”
She tried to move her lips. Her voice came to her slowly and quietly. “Yes.”
“Good. That’s very good, you understand that? Better than to be used once and discarded. If you’re openly acknowledged as his concubine, it will be much better for you. Luxuries and privileges, you see? If he has you sleep in his chamber, it means he won’t be keeping you as a private secret. Drink your tea, now.”
Ladhi lifted the mug of tea to Vapathi’s lips. The scalding liquid burned the tip of her tongue. The pain cut through the numbness, and she felt bitterness at the back of her mouth.
“Did I mention that your brother came by?” Ladhi said.
“Kirshta?”
“Is that his name? He was here, looked for you. I sent him off, of course. The house-master should be giving him more work to do, not letting him scurry around the kitchens.”
“What kind of work?”
“Unloading cargoes, I believe, or bringing bales of wool in from the shepherds in the fields.”
“Kirshta wants to read.”
Ladhi looked at her curiously, wiping her hands on a rag. She turned back to the dishes she was washing. “And why would he want that?”
“He likes to know things. If I asked the master…?”
“Not so fast, not right now, little one.” Ladhi shook her head vigorously. “Wait a bit. If he likes you, soon he’ll start giving you gifts and favors. Then you might ask him to send your brother to the scribe. Not right now.”
“How long will I have to wait?”
“A few days, a few weeks. Don’t wait too long, or he might lose interest.”
Vapathi nodded. She took a large swallow of tea, swirling the black bitterness over her tongue.
“You finish that, then you go wash. Clean yourself very well, above and below, and then come back to me before you go to the master’s chamber. Do you have any sari other than that one?”
Vapathi shook her head.
“Too bad. He’ll have to give you one if he wants to see you in something finer. No doubt he will, soon enough.” Ladhi came over and took the empty tea cup from Vapathi’s hands.
“If you see Kirshta, tell him where I am,” Vapathi said.
“I hope your brother’s not the jealous type. I hope he takes a practical view of the matter.”
Vapathi was sure he would. Kirshta was always practical. He had kept them together and safe since they had been taken from the mountains. If Vapathi could give him the chance to learn letters, then it would be worth it.
“Believe me,” Ladhi added with a dark grimace, “there are worse ways it can go.” Then she brightened. “Go wash up. I’ll talk to the house-master, and perhaps your brother can come visit you before evening.”
Sadja
The Red Men threw their captive onto the floor of the Green Hall, where he shuddered and wept onto the marble. He was a pitiful thing, clad in a blue silk kurta which had once been fine, but was now ruined with dust and oil and blood. A silver chain hung around the man’s neck, full of empty sockets where the gems had been pried out, presumably to pay for his flight. Sadja descended slowly from the Seven-Stepped Throne and prodded the figure with his toe.
“Ashturma-kha,” he said in a carefully modulated tone of patience and indulgence. “Why did you run?”
“Sadja-daridarya,” the man stuttered, “may you live forever. I meant only—I wished to escape—”
“You wished to escape,” Sadja said. “Why didn’t you ask for my help, instead of running away?”
“You were in Majasravi, my Emperor. You were with Praudhu—you married the Empress—I could not request that you return suddenly to Davrakhanda.”
“You could have warned me. You could have begged for clemency.”
“I’m begging now, my Emperor. Forgive me, merciful and kind lord of all Amur, forgive me—”
“Quiet.” Sadja gave the man a sudden thrust with his toe and flipped him onto his back. “I am not Praudhu, to be plied with sycophancy and flattery. Now stand up like a man and tell me what happened with the woman I left in your care.”
Sadja climbed the steps back up to the throne with deliberate slowness. He heard panicked rustling behind him. When he turned around he saw Ashturma on his knees, eyes red and face wet with tears. At least he kept his back straight and didn’t cower under Sadja’s glare.
“She was willful and insolent—”
“Don’t make excuses for yourself.”
Ashturma swallowed and nodded. “Mandhi wished to meet with the Kaleksha in their district—”
“Why?”
“Because she had been contacted by them. One of them claimed to be the brother of her late husband.”
“And you allowed her?”
“I forbade her. I didn’t want any woman in my care associating with the Kaleksha, regardless of how unwise her earlier liaisons had been.”
Sadja leaned forward and pulled at the corner of his mustache. “And it didn’t occur to you that it might be better to allow her to go with a guard? Rather than having her go unaccompanied and be captured.”
“But my Emperor, how was I to know that she would leave without my knowledge or consent?”
“Was her willfulness not already apparent to you at that time?”
Ashturma’s face crumbled. He bowed his
forehead to the ground and began to weep. “My Emperor, if I had known—-”
“Oh, get up,” Sadja said. “In any case, I heard the story of her capture and Jhumitu’s abduction from Bhargasa. What I fail to understand is why you didn’t immediately set off in pursuit of them.”
“Sadja-daridarya, to send out one of your dhows would be a considerable expense—”
“A worthy one!” he shouted, and the Green Hall shook with his anger. Ashturma flinched as if Sadja’s voice were a spear threatening to spill his innards. “I had taken in Mandhi and her child under an oath of safe-keeping. Did you think I would spare any expense recovering her child?”
“My Emperor—”
“Did you hesitate to send the money when Navran-dar of Virnas sent you notice of Sundasha-kha’s kidnapping?”
Here Ashturma straightened, and he seemed to regain a measure of confidence. “No, my Emperor.”
“Because you’re a fool. Navran-dar of Virnas was honorable, and when he was under duress he sent word, admitting his guilt and begging for assistance. But you, you unclean dog, you kelp-spined coward, you never begged my help, nor admitted to your wrong. And when the ransom you sent to Virnas was stolen by Mandhi—by a woman, who had the courage and rectitude to attempt what you refused—you didn’t even admit your wrongdoing then, but attempted to hide in the countryside.”
Ashturma seemed to turn to stone. He said nothing, rigidly upright on his knees, his hands frozen in a gesture of supplication.
In the Emperor’s Tower Sadja had a message, stamped with the seal of Virnas, describing the resolution of the matter: Sundasha was recovered, the previous king Thudra was executed, and Navran was married to the daughter of the majakhadir of Ahunas. At this very hour, Sundasha was underway to Davrakhanda. Ashturma probably knew none of this, and Sadja was disinclined to tell him. Let him continue to think the situation was a total disaster.
And Mandhi’s whereabouts were still unknown.
“Do you have any word to say in your defense?” Sadja asked.