By the time Aniri and Janak cut through the midsection of the ship and emerged at the walkplank, Priya had joined them. The wind was quiet next to the immense rock cliff that abutted the palace. The fins of the skyship were tucked for docking, and cables lashed the ship to the balcony, holding the walkplank steady enough. Rope handholds had been strung across it, making the crossing somewhat less treacherous than before.
Aniri went first, facing the welcoming party and recognizing Seledri’s handsome Samirian-prince husband immediately. Pavan’s face held an uncertain smile, and his dark brown eyes were wide with the wonder of the skyship before him. He was dressed all in black, from his shiny leather boots to a stern, high-collared jacket. The diagonal slash of coal-black buttons across his chest glinted in the morning sun. As Aniri approached, his smile warmed. He pressed his hands together and held them high with a slight bow, the most formal of greetings.
“Princess Aniri,” he said, in a grave tone, “The country of Samir welcomes you.”
Once safely on the solid ground of the balcony, Aniri returned the formal gesture, bowing slightly with her hands held together by her forehead. “It is my honor to be welcomed to your country, Prince Pavan.”
He immediately dropped the formality and reached a hand out to take hers, guiding her away from the walkplank and toward the palace. Aniri felt Janak close at her back and trusted that Priya, Karan, and the sailors acting as royal guards trailed behind her. Karan had wanted to stay with the ship, rather than leave it in the hands of young Captain Tarak, but Karan’s secret mission to assess Samirian capabilities would not be served from the air. He had donned a blue Jungali sailor uniform, and hoped not to be recognized in his disguise as a royal guard. They left enough crew on board to fly the ship, in case of emergency.
Karan had convinced Aniri that the range of the skyship was an important secret to keep, even if the details of the Prosperity’s design were already known by some—it was precisely who knew what that was at issue. When the skyship was still a highly secret project, the Samirian ambassador in Jungali coordinated all communications and the flow of goods and people between the two countries. Even Karan didn’t know who within Samir had knowledge of the secret airharbor in the northern Jungali mountains. As a precautionary ruse, Karan wished to keep the actual fuel usage of the Prosperity a secret, even as they arrived in Samir. He had requested coal provisions for the return journey, and already a line of mechanized carts had formed along the balcony. The carts were unlike anything Aniri had seen before: Samirian workers pumped long handles up and down, cranking some clockwork inside that propelled the cart forward. It struck her that this was technology that had never made its way to Dharian shores.
Pavan hooked Aniri’s hand over his arm in a gentle and friendly way. “I am so glad you came, Aniri. Seledri will be beside herself with joy.” The warmth of his hand and his voice, and especially the mention of Seledri’s name, made her almost weak with relief.
She squeezed his arm. “I came as soon as I heard. I hope you understand, Pavan. She is so close to my heart, and with the baby… I simply needed to see her with my own eyes.”
His smile faltered, just for a split moment, but it was enough to make Aniri’s heart lurch. She had forgotten: the last she had heard, Seledri had not told her husband about the baby-to-be.
“I… I hope I haven’t misspoken.” Aniri bit her lip and studied his face.
It crinkled into a sad kind of humor. “I’m not surprised you knew of the baby before I did.” He frowned. “Although I will admit that I had hoped, once she had a baby on the way, it would… change things.”
The torment on his face clearly said it had not. Then Aniri realized: he knew.
It was obvious Pavan’s love for her kind-hearted sister was a true one, in spite of their arranged marriage. He was First Son to a Queen with no Daughters—normally he would wed a Samirian noble, just as First Daughter Nahali had found a suitable husband amongst the Dharian court. As Second Daughter, Seledri should have wed the Second Son of Samir, or if there hadn’t been one, another high-ranking Samirian noble. By tradition, the marriages of Second Sons and Daughters cemented the relations between the two countries without upsetting the normal order of ascension. But Pavan had asked for Seledri’s hand, and Second Son Natesh was rumored to have already fallen in love with a Samirian noblewoman. The Queen Mother allowed it, for the sake of both her sons, but everyone knew the match would never have occurred had Pavan not fallen in love with the beautiful, soulful-eyed Second Daughter of Dharia.
Aniri had never been sure if Pavan knew Seledri’s heart—that she had fulfilled her duty, but hadn’t yet grown to love him. But now Aniri realized: of course he knew. How could someone not know when their love wasn’t returned?
Pavan seemed to force a smile. “I still hold onto hope that, perhaps, when the baby arrives…” He swallowed, then continued on. “I didn’t know she was with child until she returned from Dharia. She speaks of you constantly, Aniri, and the difficulty of being away from home. I see the toll on her face. She misses you and Dharia very much, and with the baby now, well, that just cements her place here even more. I can understand why telling me was difficult for her. Of course, I do wish she would have told me sooner. Maybe then, this wouldn’t have happened.” The handsome angles of his bronzed cheeks drew sharper.
“Is it really so dangerous for her to be with child?” She didn’t understand why that would be, but she would use any excuse to bring Seledri home.
They had reached the end of the long balcony and approached the palace proper. The gray granite walls were intricately carved, a veritable lace of stone that allowed light into the palace but kept out the elements. The large, arched doorway was rimmed in riveted steel with an elaborate clockwork mechanism at the center. Pavan inserted a key from a long chain around his neck. The gears shifted and clicked, then sprung the heavy stone door wide under its own mechanical power. Inside was an even larger second door, illuminated by the diffused light filtering through the embroidered stone. Sentries guarded the door—their oversized pistols had dark Samirian-wood handles, but the barrels were a mass of clockwork and pistons, the function of which could only be to make the guns more lethal.
The door behind the guards began to whir and click as they approached. It swung open, and across the threshold strolled a younger, and even more handsome, version of Pavan. Aniri had only briefly met Natesh, the Second Son of Samir, at Seledri’s wedding, and that was two years ago, when he was still a boy. Now he was a man, with the same angled cheekbones and dark brown eyes as his older brother, only his still sparkled with the unspoken mirth of youth. His asymmetric jacket was unbuttoned, baring a casual silk shirt underneath, and his broad smile had an unabashed charm, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Which Aniri understood all too well: with no Daughters in Samir to take the throne, a Second Son wasn’t quite as extraneous as a Third Daughter, but almost.
“Well, if it isn’t the dashing Third Daughter of Dharia come to visit our very home,” Natesh exclaimed, taking her hand in his and bowing deeply to touch his forehead to it. It was a bit presumptuous but also very gallant. His words and the intimate touch managed to work a grin out of her. His smile dampened only slightly when he straightened. “Stories of your intrigues and adventures raced across the sea to entertain us. I’m only sad it took a near tragedy to draw you to our beautiful country.”
“I’ve been meaning to visit for some time.” Which was true, although with the intent of seeing her beautiful sister, not the countryside. “I will have to make arrangements to return for a lengthier visit soon.” She only hoped that would actually be possible.
Natesh slowly let go of her hand, and his smile settled into something just short of a smirk. “It’s my fervent hope that you do.”
“I’m sure Aniri would prefer to meet with her sister without further delay.” Pavan tugged her away from his charming younger brother.
Natesh beamed again. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry to
keep you, Aniri. Please give Seledri my regards.” He stepped aside to let them pass, and Pavan urged her forward through the massive doorway. They wound through a series of polished granite hallways with gleaming brass-trimmed windows and somewhat stuffy portraits of Samirian nobles. Pavan and Aniri led her entourage of Janak, Priya, Karan, and the half dozen royal guards, not to mention Pavan’s royal escorts as well. It was quite a crowd, but they made good time through the palace.
Aniri waited until they had left Natesh well behind to bend her head close to Pavan and ask, “What did your brother mean about giving Seledri his regards? Does he not have occasion to see her rather often?” It struck her as a strange thing to say, even more so because Seledri had so recently been attacked. Surely he had seen her since then, if only to give his regards in person.
Pavan caught her eye, glanced back at the others, and kept his voice low. “Seledri has been quite selective about visitors since the attack. She’s simply not feeling well enough to entertain.”
Aniri’s heart climbed into her throat. “Pavan, please tell me she is all right.”
He took her hand again, wrapping it around his arm and drawing her closer so that their whispers wouldn’t carry. “She’s fine, Aniri, I promise. But with the baby and the poisoning—”
“She was poisoned?” Aniri sucked in a breath.
Pavan squeezed her hand. “She’s all right now, as I told you. I thought you had already heard.”
Aniri let out her breath. “Messages have a way of jumbling with rumor when they cross two continents and a sea. I wasn’t sure at all what had happened. Which was why I was in such great haste to get here.”
He patted her hand. “And I am truly glad you did so. I’m sure you will brighten her spirits.” He smiled, but that didn’t calm the stuttering of her heart.
Aniri’s imagination flew back to the last time she saw her sister: Seledri had seemed close to a death-like appearance then, even though she was merely pale from the rigors of travel and carrying a child. But it highlighted her sister’s more delicate nature. Aniri fought a surging panic in her chest and steeled herself to be a comfort, not react with horror, should Seledri be in a similarly stricken state. But questions still tumbled through Aniri’s mind. She should ask them now, rather than make Seledri endure them.
“How did this happen?” she asked Pavan. “The poisoning.”
“Somehow her handmaiden did not properly check her food before Seledri consumed it.”
Aniri’s stomach clenched. “Was she very ill?”
“For a short period, yes.”
“But she has recovered?”
“Recovering.”
Aniri’s stomach tightened further with each question. “And the baby?”
Pavan hesitated, but Aniri could tell it was from emotion contained, not a reluctance to answer. “The healer assures us the baby is fine.”
Aniri glanced back at her solemn entourage, then dropped her voice. “Do you know who is behind it?”
“No.” There was great frustration in his voice, a coiled anger that reminded her of Janak, only Pavan’s nature was more gentle, so it seemed to hold less deadly potential. “It begs belief that anyone would want this, Aniri. You know your sister. She’s kind-hearted and sweet-tempered to a fault. She earned the people’s love from the moment she set foot in Samir.”
Aniri could feel the fear radiating from him: for Seledri, for the baby, for the near-tragedy that almost stole everything dear to him. “There must be someone you suspect.”
Pavan took a breath. “The handmaiden has disappeared, so yes, she is a suspect. Trust me, I’ve deployed every resource in the Queendom to find her. And the Royal Guard has been tasked with hunting down anyone who may have had access. I’ve also put round-the-clock guards on Seledri’s room while she rests.” He paused to glance at her. “I don’t know for certain who did this, but I have every intention of making them pay for it.”
Aniri nodded, her last doubts fleeing on those words. They were the ones she would use, and they resonated in her heart. It certainly seemed that her worst fears were unfounded, and that Pavan had things well in hand.
They slowed as they approached a white granite door that had been carved with more geometric designs, only these did not penetrate the rock. Pavan brought the whole group to halt.
“If you don’t mind, Aniri, I would prefer just you to come inside. Like I said, I’m trying to minimize her visitors, so she can get the rest she needs.”
Aniri felt Janak materialize by her side. “Your highness, I insist on accompanying you.”
She held up her hand. “It’s all right, Janak. I’ll just be a moment.” She smiled a little, chiding him. “You can break down the door if I don’t come out soon.”
Janak only frowned, not at all amused. “I’m certain that Princess Seledri will understand, given her recent encounter with assassins and near death.” His hard look told her he had no intention of taking her no for an answer.
Aniri glared at him, then turned an apologetic look to Pavan. “He’ll make less trouble if we allow him to come. I promise my overzealous raksaka won’t disturb her.”
Pavan seemed uncertain, looking back and forth between Aniri and Janak, but then acquiesced with a tip of his head. Using a ring-key on his hand, a different one than he used for the outer entrance, he unlocked the door to Seledri’s room. Pavan held the door open just wide enough for Aniri and Janak to slip through, then followed them inside.
Seledri’s room was spacious, with a window to the outside streaming in the morning sun. Dozens of heaping bouquets of flowers filled the room with their mixed perfumes. Dark Samirian furniture formed a sitting area to one side, next to an empty fireplace. A large four-postered bed dominated the middle, draped with heavy netting and gauze all the way around, such that Aniri couldn’t see through to discern her sister within.
Janak drifted to the window to check something, perhaps if assassins could make the climb, while Pavan closed the door, then hurried over to intercept Aniri before she reached the bed. Perhaps Seledri was sleeping, and he wished to wake her first. Instead, Pavan took Aniri by the shoulders. The apology in his eyes made her heart seize up.
She glanced to the bed again. There was no motion inside, none that she could see anyway. “What is it, Pavan?”
“Seledri’s not here.”
“What do you mean she’s not here?” Aniri pulled out of Pavan’s grasp and tried to open the heavily draped netting around her sister’s bed. When she couldn’t find an opening, she hoisted it up over her head.
There was a body in the bed, gray with death, and packed with bags of ice around it. The scent of whisky hung over it like a cloud. The body’s face was misshapen and splotched, but there was no mistaking it: this wasn’t her sister.
Breath rushed out of Aniri, and she tumbled backward into the netting, grabbing at it to hold herself up. This is not Seledri. This is not Seledri. The thought pounded through her head, but she forced herself to lean forward again, to study the body’s face once more, just to be certain.
It wasn’t her.
A scuffle, a thump, and a strangled sound came from outside the netting, then a hand reached to grab her arm through the layers of gauze. Aniri fought against it, jerking and kicking at the unseen person holding her from the other side, but it was useless: their grip was iron strong.
“Aniri.” The admonition was Janak’s. “It’s only me. Are you all right?”
“Yes!” She still railed against his hold, the panic of being constrained fighting through any reason that told her he was trying to help. “Let go of me, Janak!”
He did, slowly, then he grabbed a fistful of the netting and raised it over his head, enough that he could lurch inside the hanging shroud. In his other hand was Pavan’s throat, his eyes bugged and mouth gaping but unable to breathe.
“Janak, release him!” Aniri tugged at the solid rock that was Janak’s hand choking her sister’s husband.
Janak didn’t move
except to cast a look at the body on the bed. “Is that the Second Daughter of Dharia?” His cool tone of voice convinced Aniri that Pavan’s life hung on her answer.
“No,” she said hastily. “I’m certain. Queen’s breath, release him!”
Janak dropped his hand, and Pavan grabbed at his throat, sucking in air, coughing and wheezing. Aniri went to him, digging him out of the drapings as he struggled to breathe again. His hands covered the already-red marks shaped like Janak’s fingers on his throat. Once free of the netting, he knelt to the floor next to another body. It was a man in a Samirian guard uniform, passed out next to the bed. He hadn’t been in the room before, causing Aniri to quickly glance around the room for more. The door they came through was still closed, but a second door—seemingly a hidden one, the way it appeared to fit precisely into the wall of Seledri’s bedchamber—stood ajar leading to steps beyond.
Pavan tried to rouse the guard, but he didn’t move. “Did you kill him?” He wheezed as he pushed up from the body and the floor. A coughing fit took him, and he was forced to bend over, hands on knees, gasping.
Aniri stared at the guard, then looked to Janak for an answer.
He emerged from the curtain of gauze and, with one swift motion, hoisted it over the top of the bed to clear it out of their way. Then he loomed above the still-bent-over Pavan and his inert guard.
“Your guard is lucky I decided he was too weak of a threat to kill.” Janak picked up a small brass pistol that Aniri had missed lying on the floor. He tucked it into the back of his raksaka uniform and stood in front of Pavan. He didn’t touch the prince, but the threat of it forced Pavan to peer up.
“I believe some explanations are in order.” Danger laced Janak’s voice.
Pavan straightened, a hand still holding his throat. Aniri winced as she saw it was already starting to bruise, but he seemed to be recovering his breath.
He gestured to the dead body in the bed. “The woman is Seledri’s handmaiden.” His voice was still raspy, and he had to pause to wheeze in more air. “They were very close. She was poisoned with a meal meant for Seledri.”
Second Daughter (The Royals of Dharia, Book Two) Page 8