by Matt Larkin
His mother’s arched eyebrow was her only movement.
“Chandi is a palace servant. A friend.” Naresh was glad his mother watched him so she couldn’t see the tear run down Chandi’s cheek. “I’m sure she meant no harm. She’s a curious girl.”
“She was in our house, Naresh. Curiosity does not permit trespassing.”
“The missive said on your house, not in it,” he said, which elicited another hand wave.
Naresh glared at Chandi for forcing him to this. As if missing an appointment with the emperor were not enough. “I take responsibility for her actions. As the acting head of the Arun Guard I will take her into my custody.”
His mother scoffed. “Do not try our patience, child. Your authority is tenuous enough as it is. Do not risk it over this friend of yours.”
“I have already agreed to take the blame for her transgression. I cannot go back on my word.”
His mother glared at him. “So be it, Naresh.” She paused in the doorway. “There will be a price for this.”
Naresh sighed, then helped Chandi to her feet. With a hand on her wrist he pulled the Lunar along after him, and then signed them out at the desk. Only then did the guard unlock her manacles.
“Thank you, Naresh, thank you,” she said, sniffling.
Though her wrists were free he still pulled her by the arm. “What am I to do with you?”
“Please, Naresh. I need to tell you something. It’s just hard, I—”
“Shut up.” He ushered her through the palace archway and past the guards. Mercifully, she didn’t speak again until he had taken her to her chamber. “You’re not to leave the palace again without my permission. Do you understand?”
She nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me the Radiant Queen was your mother?”
With a hand on each of her shoulders, he shoved her into the room. “Stop it. No more. No more spying, no more prying information. And you’re damn lucky I was acting head of the Arun Guard, otherwise I’d never have heard in time to do anything for you.”
“I’m so sorry. Please, give me—” His raised hand forestalled her, and she looked down. “How long do you want me to remain here?”
“Until the moon falls from the sky.”
Chandi drew a sharp breath at his blasphemy, but said nothing. Good. “You have no idea what your foolishness just cost me. I’ve staked my reputation on a woman I know to be a liar and a spy. Your infraction will be on my record. I’ve risked my position, everything I have because I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing you burn. But Surya knows you deserve it.”
He shut the door behind him.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Malin needed to run through the rainforest, stalk prey, feel the thrill of chasing it, bringing it down. He needed to become the beast and escape the shackles of his humanity.
Instead he collapsed in an alley between two warehouses in the Harbor District. The rain had pounded down all day, but the warehouse eave provided some shelter. Malin kicked his foot in a puddle, splashing water at a macaque hiding under the opposite warehouse. The monkey scurried away.
He had been a fool to leave Chandi this morning. She had seemed so confident, but they had let arrogance get the better of them. He beat his fist against a rain barrel. If that bastard Naresh hadn’t stepped in, the Ministry of Law would have burned Chandi alive. Tried, anyway. Malin would have rescued her. Of course he would have.
But Rahu should never have sent her there in the first place. The War King was out of control. Malin had served his master for many years. Too many. Though prone to paranoia and violent outbursts, Rahu rarely acted so recklessly as he had in sending Chandi to spy on the Radiant Queen. Malin tugged on his long wet hair, wringing out some of the water. Perhaps he would have to split from his master. Perhaps the years of service had paid for the gift Rahu had given him. But Rahu would never see it that way.
With the rain he didn’t catch Bendurana’s scent until the man had already lumbered into the alley. Water ran down the Serendibian’s face and dripped from his twisted locks. Ben had removed his baju, and was probably the warmer for it. Malin’s own shirt was drenched and plastered to his skin.
“Ah, Malin,” Ben said, shaking his head. “You really did it, didn’t you? You begged me to take you back to Swarnadvipa, and you used my good will to launch an assault on the Astral Temple. Murdered Empu Baradah.” He stepped closer when Malin didn’t answer. “I see you deny nothing.”
“If I did do what you say, why take it so personally, foreigner?” Malin pushed himself off the ground, and took a step toward Ben. His build intimidated most men, though Bendurana was taller than himself.
Ben hesitated, but didn’t retreat. “When I came here, they knew I had run with Lunar pirates. They knew about the years as a smuggler after that. Still, Empu Baradah gave me another chance. He treated everyone—”
“He was the Butcher!” Malin lunged forward and grabbed Ben by the arms, then lifted him up against the warehouse wall. “Don’t try to tell me how kind and forgiving he was. And you, you came to me. I offered you a home, and you joined the Solars. We were at war, and you joined the enemy, my friend.”
“I seem to recall pulling you from the sea, Malin. Do you know how difficult it is for a ten-year-old to pull a full-grown man into a jukung in the middle of a storm? When I might have kept searching for my father, I saved you.”
Malin smelled no fear on the man, even as he held him aloft against the warehouse. “Oh, so now you’re the noble hero. You only needed a new home because you ruined the last one.” A Serendibian captain, Bendurana had failed in battle, fled when ordered to fight an engagement he couldn’t win. “Lost your commission, lost your betrothed, lost your honor. And I welcomed you, gave you a chance at a new life. And you spat it back in my face.”
Once, Malin had thought to hunt down Ben for the betrayal, but when the time came, he couldn’t bring himself to murder his old friend.
The captain didn’t waver, kept his voice level despite the position Malin held him in. “You can’t hold that over my head, anymore, Malin. Empu Baradah is dead, and I don’t care if Naresh learns of my past, he already thinks me a fool and a coward. And after the last time you blackmailed me, I told Landorundun the truth.” Ben jerked his arms out suddenly, catching Malin by surprise and breaking his grip. “And she accepted my mistakes, accepted me. Do you have anyone who would do that for you?”
Malin glared a moment, then, when Ben turned to move, swung at him. His fist smashed into Bendurana’s jaw and sent the captain staggering back against the building. Malin bared his teeth but didn’t move in further.
Ben reeled for a moment, then spat blood. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ah, Malin, you really are an animal, aren’t you? I’m sorry you feel I betrayed our friendship by working for the Solars.”
“By hunting Lunars.”
“Yes. Hunting pirates. Now I know the sting of betrayal myself, don’t I? I can’t prove it was you, and I won’t say anything about this, but don’t ask me for any more favors, Malin. We’re through.”
Malin watched Ben leave. The captain had betrayed him long ago. He shouldn’t care if he lost his friendship now. He stood for a long time between the two warehouses, letting the rain wash over him.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
A hero’s turmoils never ended, but still, Ben was going to need to have a word with the goddess about all this. He mumbled under his breath as he made his way through the palace and up to the lounge the Arun Guard favored. Whenever Landi wasn’t working, she tended to sit there practicing her music. It was a shame she’d given up any aspirations of a professional career at it, because, as far as Ben was concerned, Landi played the flute well enough to impress even the goddess. And somehow, he just knew it was Naresh’s fault she’d changed careers.
His jaw still hurt where Malin had struck him. Despite Malin’s natural propensity for violence—or the tiger spirit’s propensity at least—Ben hadn’t seen that coming. After a
ll they had been through together, he hated letting their friendship end like this, but Malin had left him no choice. His betrayal of the Solars, and worse, having used Ben to help carry it out by getting him to Bukit in time to launch the attack, was unforgivable.
The only thing he wanted in the world right now was Landi, was to hear her play and leave the maelstrom of lies and chaos behind for an afternoon. Today, though, she sat staring out the crystal pane over the lounge, not playing, not even holding her flute. That might have been a bad sign, if Ben believed in bad signs. But pessimism was about as helpful as trying to pry barnacles off your hull using nothing but your teeth and a winning smile—it never worked and it left a bad taste in your mouth.
“Ah, princess. I was rather hoping for an aria of sweet love that would titillate and amaze the senses. Failing that, I’d be satisfied with some flute music. Either way, we both know, satisfaction is most important.”
Landi snickered. “You love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”
“Should I not? I command both a rumbling baritone that would make a whale jealous and a rhythmic harmony suited for praising the beauty of an apsara—or a bidadari, as you call them here.”
The woman looked like she was trying not to smile, and Ben was absolutely determined not to let her win that fight. “Whales don’t speak, Ben.”
“Ah, my dear, but if they did speak, it would be in rumbling baritones.”
“It’s hard to argue with that.”
“It is, in fact, nearly impossible to argue with it.” Ben raised a finger imitating a tutor he’d had as a boy. “You could try to argue with it, but you’d wind up looking like a monkey, chittering away at the birds, as if they could understand a damn thing you were saying.”
With a snort Landi rose and drifted to his side. “There’s something I have to tell you …”
“Indeed. I am, as always, well aware of your undying love. That doesn’t stop me from wanting to hear you say it, and say it often. But, I’ve been thinking. I have the money now, all we ever talking about. I know things are complex—politically speaking, not between us, of course—but they always are. What better time, then, to finally marry and fulfill the desires of our hearts, loins, and bellies?”
“Bellies?”
“I imagine there will be a wedding feast, after all.”
Landi was shaking her head even as he spoke. “Ben, I … my parents found out about us and have forbidden us to marry.”
Ben’s mouth hung agape, his intended witticism forgotten. He was really, really going to have to speak to the sea goddess about throwing up so many obstacles in his path. He worked his jaw, struggling to find words. “You … ah … Well, that’s … That’s not even acceptable. They just haven’t met me. One look at this charming face and they’ll be more than happy for me to part their daughter’s knees. Why, I can barely keep from swooning at my own reflection.”
Landi pushed him away from her. “I’m sorry, Ben. It’s my mother’s decision, really, and if she won’t allow it … I guess I’d like to be alone.”
Before he could think of any response, she rushed out of the lounge.
Ben folded his arms and stared out the crystal pane, unable to form a thought.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The sun had almost set when Chandi’s father returned to his room. She had sat there on a straw mat, in near darkness, waiting for him, almost since Naresh had brought her back from the Ministry. Twice she had gotten up to leave, cursing her foolishness, but each time something forced her to sit back down.
He had been in talks with Rahu and Kakudmi all afternoon. Probably with Aji Bidara, too. What would the Radiant Queen say about the incident this morning?
Her father pulled the door shut, then kicked off his sandals. When he turned and saw her he started, but resumed his calm after only an instant. He lit a candle on the dresser, then sat down on the mat across from her. He would wait all night, she suspected, for her to speak—she was the one who came to him.
“Father,” she said, giving him a respectful nod. When he returned it, she continued. “How did Mother die? Why did the Solars kill her?”
Her father sighed, staring at the candle on the dresser. “Because of Calon.” He grew quiet. Chandi waited. “Rahu married Calon because she was a witch. I don’t think either expected love at first. I hadn’t, when he arranged my marriage to Simhika. But Calon provoked the Solars, brought pestilence among them. One of the Arun Guard killed her. We think Simhika tried to intervene.”
Everything Malin had told her.
“Why didn’t you remarry? It’s been thirteen years.”
“I loved her deeply.” He would not dismiss her question, but getting a straight answer would be difficult. Chandi hated to admit it, but sometimes her father intimidated her. More now that her mother was gone than he used to.
“You think it would dishonor her memory to love again?”
“No, that’s not it.” She could almost see him fight not to look away. “Her memory would remain, no matter if I remarried or not. But I won’t love again. Love is a luxury. I have a cause, my child. Chandra has given us a great duty to claim these lands in his name. We have no time for anything else.”
Chandi folded her arms around her knees. “You think we can only love once?”
Her father sighed. “You remember the story of Jaka Tarub your mother used to tell you?”
She recalled the story as if she’d heard it yesterday, though it had been years. The hero had searched the world over for the complement to his soul. When at last he found her, the Wheel of Life had returned her in the form of a bidadari—a divine bird maiden. Jaka Tarub stole her magical clothes, taking with them the power of flight.
With his heart’s desire unable to flee, he’d won her love, and they married. With her magic, she’d enchanted a pot to provide them limitless food. Despite her warnings not to look inside, Jaka Tarub couldn’t resist. And he found nothing. By breaking his wife’s trust, he’d broken the spell. Distraught, she’d taken back her winged garment and flown away. But Jaka Tarub never stopped searching for her.
At the time she’d insisted her mother tell it again and again, thinking it romantic. The man searched for his beloved, despite all odds. Maybe the point was that different worlds couldn’t be reconciled. But even now, the story spoke a different truth: that even the Wheel of Life could not forever separate two souls in love.
She hid her face, not wanting to explain her emotions, not sure she understood herself. But her father saw. “I can’t say Anusapati was the love of your life. You’ll find someone else. When this is over, when we return to Swarnadvipa, you will have your dreams.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Chandra sees to these things, child.”
“And what do I do when I find this man?”
“You’ll know.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
“He’s made his decision,” Landi said. “He’s called the whole Arun Guard. Unless he’s planning to declare war on the Lunars …”
She and Naresh looked at each other without pausing on their way down the hall, and both shook their heads. The emperor should have declared war. And yet, the thought sickened Naresh now. Perhaps it was Chandi, despite her actions yesterday. Perhaps he’d lost his way over her, but he couldn’t see the Lunars as monsters. Their Macan Gadungan, though, were another story.
“If it’s not war, then he’s chosen,” Landi said. “Don’t think just because you were his favorite you deserve the position.”
“What makes you think you deserve it?”
“I’ve been here longer. I’ve worked harder. I’ve—”
“Others have been in the Guard longer than either of us. We don’t measure based on seniority.”
She drew closer. “Apparently we measure based on favortism.”
“Jealous? Maybe if you’d tone back the attitude, you’d have some friends, too.”
She was so close he could feel her breath on his face. Would she take a swing at him, right
here in the hall? She should. Maybe it would help them both to draw the damn blades again. She spun on her heels and stormed into the Great Hall instead. If he thought himself friendless among the Guard, he had to remind himself Landi had it worse, even if she brought it on herself.
Naresh followed behind her. Most of the Arun Guard had already arrived, along with some courtiers and his mother. Declaration of war or investment of a new First, either required a full ceremony. The almost total silence that enveloped the hall made his footfalls echo.
The emperor sat on his throne, Ratna on hers beside him, her face empty. Revati squirmed in her mother’s lap. Every so often Kakudmi reached over to smooth his daughter’s hair.
The Stranger stood behind the emperor’s throne, his green eyes searching the room, his face expressionless, except for a moment when he met Naresh’s gaze. In that moment, Naresh felt the man reading him, analyzing every aspect of who he was. Naresh suppressed a shudder under the man’s scrutiny.
The rest of the Arun Guard filtered into the room. Only eight left. The three who had gone to the Astral Temple would not return. Kakudmi should have chosen a new First within days. His indecision would cost them all. It made him look weak to his subject kings and to the Lunar envoy. What would Naresh’s mother think of it?
The emperor let them wait a moment before he spoke. “Sun warm your faces.” A rather informal greeting, for such a formal occasion. “We have lost much. We have lost Empu Baradah and many young Guard and soldiers. But the hope for peace remains. The Arun Guard has need of a new leader. And I have been careful deliberating on the matter.”