Second Daughter (The Royals of Dharia, Book Two)

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  The corners of her mother’s eyes crinkled, but she didn’t open them. “Aniri.” Her voice was a tiny, pained whisper, but it jerked Janak’s attention to it.

  His hand on her head shifted slightly to hold her better. “Hush, Amala. You need to rest.”

  The corners of her mother’s eyes relaxed. Aniri watched her chest move, slowly drawing in one tremulous breath after another, then swiped at the tears that had leapt to her eyes. Her mother was alive, at least for the moment, but she would almost certainly die if she didn’t get a healer soon.

  “Janak!” Aniri said harshly, trying to break him out of his shock. “We need to move my mother. She needs a healer.”

  He gasped a short kind of breath, like he had forgotten to breathe in a while. Then he slowly seemed to recognize Aniri.

  “I killed him,” he said, staring at her with dead eyes.

  Aniri frowned and glanced at the raksaka behind him.

  “I killed the man who shot her,” he elaborated.

  Frustration hitched a ride on her voice. “I know, Janak. But we need to get the Queen to a healer. Now.”

  He peered down and adjusted the pressure against her mother’s wound. “Yes, that would be prudent. You should fetch a healer for your mother, Aniri.” But he said it like it was an unimportant task. Like he thought finding a healer was the same as bringing her flowers.

  He thinks she’s going to die.

  Aniri had to bite back her whimper. She needed Janak to snap out of it, but she had no idea how to accomplish it. “Janak, there’s another raksaka in the building,” she tried.

  His eyes flitted momentarily to Aniri’s. Then he shook his head minutely and focused on his blood-covered hand. He nodded to himself. “It’s all right, Aniri. I killed him.”

  “No, there are two.” She kept her voice as calm as she could, even though a black panic was crawling up the back of her neck. If this wouldn’t rouse him, nothing would.

  But he didn’t seem to hear. He simply repeated that small petting motion again and again, gently cradling her mother’s head to his chest. “It’s all right, Amala. I killed him for you.”

  Aniri let out a breath that almost pulled the life out of her. What could she do?

  She forced herself to think: if Janak were coherent, he would gather weapons and hunt the other raksaka until he was sure every royal in the household was safe. Then, he would scour the city to find a healer for his Queen.

  Aniri turned to the slain raksaka behind them. His back was arched up unnaturally, with the aetheroceiver still trapped underneath him. He had a blade in one hand, and a pistol near the other, with a second sword fallen to the ground next to him. The second blade must belong to Janak—the grip carried a Dharian crest, and it was smeared with the dead raksaka’s blood. Aniri stumbled over to snatch Janak’s blade from the floor, then wrenched the raksaka’s blade from his grip. The pistol had already been fired, so it was of no use. She slid the dead raksaka’s blade into a loop at her waist—a clumsy sheath, but it would do for the moment—then she returned to kneel next to Janak and her mother.

  She laid Janak’s sword next to him. “If anyone comes for the Queen, use this.”

  Janak nodded several times, but it wasn’t really in response to her.

  A muffled scream sounded from the hall. Aniri bolted upright, holding her gun toward the open door. She slowly crept forward, but the screaming came again, and it propelled her from the room. Down the hall, two figures slipped from view around the bend before she could properly see them, but the cries traveled back to Aniri.

  She ran.

  As her boot steps pounded through hallway, she forced herself to slow and hug the wall. The raksaka was almost certainly still armed. But he apparently wasn’t out to kill her sister: he was kidnapping her. But for what purpose? And how could he possibly think he could haul Seledri the length of the city and somehow escape? It didn’t make sense, but Aniri didn’t want to do something foolish and force the raksaka into killing Seledri instead.

  Aniri crept down the hall, her heart ripping with each muffled sound of struggle. Finally the sounds faded, and Aniri shuffled ahead faster, afraid she had somehow lost them. But they had merely reached the end of the hall, where the stairwell lead to the roof.

  What? Then she figured it out: he was going to take the skyship. Possibly her sister as well, but most definitely the ship: it was his ticket out, and it was the only weapon the Jungali had left that might have a chance of fighting back.

  Aniri ran up the stairs as fast as she could without making a ridiculous amount of noise. She hoped the raksaka might be distracted by Seledri, or other things, once he was on the terrace. All she needed was to be there during that moment of distraction and use her one shot on him.

  She reached the top, and the sun momentarily blinded her. She shaded her eyes and blinked fast while she scanned the stone terrace. He was already a third of the way across the expanse, but he wasn’t heading for the skyship.

  And no wonder—the Prosperity was blown half to bits.

  An entire chunk of the ship was missing, the bridge window blown out as well as the cargo hold below. A good piece of the terrace was gone as well, its ragged edges burnt to blackness. Crew members scrambled up the side of the gas bag, working to repair a scattering of holes that had pierced it. Aniri had no idea how it stayed inflated at all with so much damage.

  A muffled scream carried across the terrace, riveting Aniri back to the raksaka and her sister. It drew the attention of several of the crew as well, who shouted their alarm, a commotion that in turn drew the raksaka’s notice. He stopped trying to cover Seledri’s mouth, instead grabbing her wrist and twisting it awkwardly. She cried out, but she didn’t struggle against him anymore.

  Aniri let out an animal sound and raised her gun. But she was too far to be sure of her aim, and besides, her sister was in the way. Aniri realized belatedly that he was using Seledri as cover. Aniri lowered the gun and stalked closer. He wasn’t watching her, instead keeping his eye on the skyship crew who were starting to spill out along the walkplank, armed and ready to rescue Seledri. And he kept flicking looks to the sky.

  To the sky?

  The Dagger hovered a couple hundred feet above them, poised like red death. Aniri’s mouth fell open and she froze. They could bomb the entire terrace right now. And likely kill them all. Or at least a good portion, depending on just where the bomb fell. But instead of dropping bombs, there was a snake made of rope winding its way down.

  The raksaka was trying to strap something on her sister—it looked like a climbing vest—but she was fighting him, screaming and trying to twist away. She was in no danger of escaping, but she was definitely impeding his ability to strap her in. Aniri aimed her gun at the raksaka’s head and crept steadily toward him. If Seledri broke loose for even a moment, she would kill him. And she wasn’t the only one—sailors from the ship were closing on him as well.

  In one quick motion, he hit Seledri, then caught her as she slumped, unconscious, into his arms.

  Aniri almost pulled the trigger, but Seledri was too tight against him. And now he was able to strap her in. The rope kept unwinding and lowering. It was nearly there. Aniri growled her frustration, then swung her pistol to aim at the skyship. She fired, but she couldn’t see any effect. She tossed the gun to the ground, drew her sword, and rushed at the raksaka. He had Seledri not only strapped into the harness but to him as well, leaving his hands free to grab the rapidly descending rope.

  He missed it on the first swing, but before Aniri could reach him, he caught it on the way back. Grabbing the hook at the end and snagging it onto the harness, he swung out over the edge. Aniri raced to the precipice, stopping just before tumbling over the parapet. She waited for him to swing back, but by the time he did, he was already a dozen feet above her and ascending fast. Something was pulling up the rope with a speed that had to be mechanical. She stared at the raksaka quickly rising and realized it wasn’t just the rope that was hauling
him upward—the Dagger had also started to rise.

  Her mouth dropped as she realized what that meant.

  “Get back on the ship,” she shouted at all the gawking sailors, who were likewise hoping to either shoot the raksaka or otherwise stop him. She ran past them. “Back on board! Now!”

  She flew across the walkplank, tore into the ship, and raced to the bridge. It was half missing, but Aniri knew most of the instrumentation and controls were along the back. Karan would either be there or on engines, and she only had time for one guess.

  Thank the gods, he was there.

  The wind whistled past the gaping hole that had been blown out of the ship. “Karan!” Aniri shouted to be heard over it. “Get us in the air. Now.”

  “Aye,” he said tightly, flipping a series of toggles on the panel in front of him. “Mr. Tarak!” he shouted into the brass bell at his side. “I need yer full steam.”

  A tinny response came squeaking through that Aniri couldn’t understand.

  “I don’t care if she’s primed or not,” Karan shouted back. “We’ll all be cinders if ye don’t.”

  A second later, the ship surged underneath them. But it didn’t rise up, simply rocked back into place.

  “Queen’s breath, we’re still lashed, Aniri,” Karan said in a hushed voice. Aniri followed his gaze out the front, where thick ropes still held the Prosperity to what was left of the terrace.

  Aniri’s eyes went wide. She spun and raced back out of the bridge, along the corridors and then out of the ship itself, nearly crashing into two sailors along the way. “Clear the ropes!” she shouted as she emerged on deck, but the crew was already on it. Only now the lines had grown taut as the ship surged, foiling their attempt to unwrap them from the cleats. Aniri still had the dead raksaka’s sword in her hand. She swung it at the nearest rope, but it just bounced off. She changed her grip and started sawing. The other sailors followed her lead, finding whatever they could—axes, knives, daggers—to spring them free. Aniri only got through a few of the twisted strands before the rope snapped. She craned up to see where the Dagger had gone.

  She didn’t have to look far—it was right on top of them.

  “Take cover!” she shouted into the wind, never tearing her eyes from the pitch black underbelly of the ship. A door in the bottom opened, and what looked like a giant bullet rolled out and plummeted toward them. Someone grabbed her by the arm and hauled her inside the nearby bulkhead door. She dropped the sword and fell into the sailor as someone else closed the door behind her. Once she righted herself, she ran from the door, like the rest of them. She didn’t get ten feet before a tremendous crack ripped the air and threw her from her feet. Another of the sailors broke her fall. They all had been tossed to the floor and piled up against the wall. The door to the deck had become twisted metal hanging loose on its hinges, and the side of the ship was bowed in, but both had saved them from the blast. Only now the ship was listing badly. Then it swung back the other way, rolling them all around like dolls.

  She had to get up front. Aniri grabbed hold of a wall railing and climbed over and around the sailors who were likewise picking themselves up. She worked toward the bridge. The ship heaved under her feet, keeping her off balance, but when she reached it, she gasped at what she saw.

  They were aloft.

  “What?” Aniri said, to no one in particular.

  But Karan answered. “Something broke us free, fresh.”

  Aniri peered around the edges of the broken bridge. They were a hundred feet above the terrace already, and she could see how: the bomb had blasted away another chunk of the tower, including the anchors where the ship had been lashed.

  She looked above them. “Where’s the Dagger?”

  “Still above us.” His voice was strung as tight as the ropes that had tied the ship.

  “We need to get above her.”

  “Aye,” he snapped. He banged a serious of switches, flipping them back and forth, again and again. “I’ve vented all our ballast. There’s something else weighing us down. Or we’ve just lost too much gas.”

  Aniri frowned then held the edge of the broken bridge and leaned as far into the wind as she could, looking for the Samirian skyship. They were heading away to the east. Aniri’s heart skipped a beat, a moment filled with hope… but then the Dagger started a slow, sweeping turn.

  “They’re coming around, again,” she shouted over the wind.

  Karan swore, then jumped over to the brass bell horn again. “Tarak! Dump her! Dump her now!”

  The tinny response squeaked, but Aniri couldn’t understand it at all.

  “Every last bit. Do it now!” Karan’s voice boomed so loud they could probably hear him in engines without the horn.

  Nothing happened.

  The Dagger kept turning: a slow, graceful arc of blood-red gasbag billowing against the Jungali-blue sky. The ship was Devkalaka herself, her black fins caressing the air and gliding her through the heavens. She was coming with an aching but inexorable slowness to spill her fiery destruction straight down upon them.

  Aniri pulled her head back in from the wind, eyes glued to the Dagger as it approached, still a hundred feet above them. “We need more altitude, Karan,” she said quietly, even though she knew he had already done everything he could. And they were still far too far below the Dagger. They were a target, sitting in the air, waiting for it.

  “Aye, fresh.” The way he said it… he knew it, too.

  She turned to him, a numbness taking hold of her. “The Queen still lives. She will avenge us all.”

  He glanced over her shoulder at the Dagger. “She can’t fight ‘em without a ship, fresh.”

  The bottom dropped out of Aniri’s stomach, but not because of Karan’s words: they moved.

  The Prosperity shot up and up and up. Aniri grabbed the edge of the bridge to keep from tumbling to her death. They ascended so fast, her stomach hadn’t yet rebounded when suddenly they were face-to-face with the Dagger and flying past her… straight up.

  “Well done, Mr. Tarak!” Karan shouted into the bell horn, his face split into a wide grin.

  Aniri stared in amazement at the Dagger, now below them. They had passed by so close she had seen the startled faces of the bridge crew. They were no more surprised than she, although probably a lot less pleased. Aniri grabbed hand holds around the edges of the bridge, all the way back to Karan’s station by the panels. He was busy checking dials.

  “Can we take them, Karan?” she asked, giddy with the rush. Their ascent had slowed, but her stomach was still hollowed. “Can we force them down or use the butterfly…” She stalled out. They couldn’t destroy the ship. Her sister was on board.

  Karan frowned. “Fresh, I can keep us alive. Maybe. And I might land again without killing the lot of us. But I can’t do much else. Tarak dumped all our fuel to get us aloft.” He rubbed his face with one meaty hand and turned to face her. “And we better pray the Samirians turn tail and leave. We’ve got five minutes, maybe ten, before we start to lose steam. We’ll lose heat in the bag… then we won’t so much land as fall.”

  “We can’t go after them.” Aniri stared into his eyes, hoping she misunderstood.

  “No, fresh. We can’t.”

  She shuffled back to where the wind whipped, cold and gusty, past the broken edge of her skyship. Her limping, bleeding skyship was the only thing standing between her country and a militarized enemy bent on destroying them. She watched the Dagger, now several hundred feet below them, point toward the east in a much sharper turn than before. Once they made the turn, they kept going, plotting a straight line for the distant horizon.

  They were heading home. With her sister. And she couldn’t stop them.

  “Keep us aloft as long as you can, Mr. Karan,” she said quietly. “Then land us wherever is safe.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Aniri frowned, but she didn’t look back. Her eyes were fixed on the Dagger, and she watched as it grew smaller and smaller into the hazy d
istance.

  Aniri walked among the wounded, gently touching shoulders and heads and hands—wherever wasn’t covered in blood or bruises. The people were battered, taking refuge in the bunker-like safety of the palace, at every level except the bombed-out top. They needed her reassurance, her quiet presence, and she gave it—but she needed something more.

  She searched every face, but Ash wasn’t among them. Her mother lay in her room upstairs, closer to death than Aniri could bear to think upon. And she was far from the only person who had lost, or nearly so, a loved one today.

  A fog pushed against her mind—the same haze she had seen cloud Janak’s eyes as he held her mother, bleeding in his lap. Aniri couldn’t afford that kind of retreat, so she blasted the fog away with a righteous anger at the carnage and destruction the Samirians had wrought. They had taken a beautiful, peaceful, loving city and beaten it bloody. They had terrorized the people, kidnapped her sister, attempted to kill her mother. And Ash. She knew he was alive. He wasn’t thrown to the bushes like her. He wasn’t among the wounded.

  He walked away.

  Not that she believed for a moment that he had abandoned her. Or his people. But he had somehow walked away from that first bombing of the gate. The one that had brought the raksaka in and allowed the prisoners to escape. Because escape they had: there was no sign of them now. Nor any sightings of Ash. It was possible they took him. Or he was hiding somewhere. But wherever he was, she knew he would have a purpose. A plan.

  It fell to her to carry on until he returned.

  In the chaos after they finally landed the ship, she had issued a slew of orders. Search for the prisoners, inside and outside the city walls. Search every cubby hole for the prince. Bring a healer for her mother, even though there were none to be spared. Repair the Prosperity immediately, in case of another round of attacks. Keep the wounded and children protected in the palace. Rebuild the gate at the entrance to the city. And finally, start the cleanup. And the burials.

  Aniri would attend—she already had called upon Sage Padma to begin the preparations—but she wouldn’t mourn. She couldn’t let the possibility that she might have a funeral of her own to prepare—for Ash, for her mother, possibly even for her sister—enter her heart. She would lead her people, but she couldn’t let herself join them in their tears. Not and still keep the pretense of carrying on.