Her grin slipped, vanishing all together. This is what she had wanted her whole life—to see the capital and to taste it, but there simply wasn’t any time. These people were in danger, and she and Ravi were the only ones with the knowledge to help save them.
She squeezed Ravi’s hand. “Come, we need to get directions to the palace.”
People in the capital were made of sugar and spice. There was not a frown to be seen, or a harsh word to be heard. The smiles were blinding, the pleasantries soothing to the ear. They had little trouble obtaining directions from a jewelry merchant. He even offered them a discount on his large selection of anklets. He held out a particularly delicate-looking piece with tiny charms dangling from it, moons and stars and suns. Priya reached for it, tracing the chain with her finger. She smiled politely, declining the offer. It was a beautiful piece at a more than reasonable price, but they had no money. It was something she had refused to think about until this moment. It was something they would worry about once they had delivered their message to the King.
Priya moved away from the jewelry stall, her eyes scanning the people’s happy faces. She glanced up at the sky. It would be red sun soon but she saw no signs of stalls packing up for the freezing weather. There was a huge whirr and a hiss, and the walls erupted in flames.
Priya stumbled back in shock and felt Ravi’s hands on her shoulders. “It’s all right. There’s a pit inside the wall filled with oil. They light it during red sun in winter, it keeps the temperature bearable.”
So that’s what the pit and fire sconces were for.
They wound their way through the market square. The delicious smells made her stomach grumble and cramp with hunger. She couldn’t recall the last time she had eaten.
The red sun painted the sky crimson, but the fires kept the ice at bay. They passed a stall selling sweet cakes and pastries, and the smell of freshly fried jalebi caused her pace to falter. Saliva pooled in her mouth at the sight of the delicious fried sweets. She swallowed, licking her lips. The stall was crowded with waiting customers, but it was the customer who was being served that caught her attention. Tall and slim with a regal air, but dressed in simple britches and a tatty-looking coat and boots, he picked items for the stall owner to pack.
“That one you fool,” he said. “Are you deaf or simply stupid?”
The vendor smiled, wiping at his brow. “Apologies, of course.”
“Another two of those sweet pastries and a pound of jalebi will do fine.”
The vendor packed the items into a thick paper bag. “That will be one silver.”
The customer took a jalebi from the bag, bit into it and chewed with gusto. “Truly delicious.”
The vendor waited patiently, his smile looking more and more strained by the moment.
“Worth much more than one silver I would say.” He leaned in toward the vendor, his lip curling in an ugly fashion. “But I’m not going to pay you. What do you say to that?”
The vendor wiped his brow again, his eyes shifting from side to side. He swallowed and nodded. “Enjoy your sweets, sir.”
The customer stepped back, and Priya was confused to see disappointment flash across his refined features. The crowd parted to let him through.
“Did you see that?” Priya whispered to Ravi.
Ravi nodded. “Odd.”
It was odd, but they had a job to do, so leaving the stall behind, they continued on their way to the palace. It was a few hours’ ride by cart, or half a day on foot. They had no money to hire a cart, so would have to wait until red sun time was over before setting off on their journey. They’d be traveling by night, which was fine, because in the capital there were no rakshasas to fear.
They traveled by the light of the moon, round and high up in the inky-blue sky, and they were not alone. The road to the center of the capital was busy with carts and pedestrians, but they kept to themselves. They reached the palace late into the night. It sat on a huge hill, surrounded by a moat and a drawbridge. Priya’s feet ached and her stomach grumbled angrily. They crossed the bridge that led to the great doors that opened into a moonlit courtyard where a handful of guards were lounging against a fountain.
One of the guards broke from the group as they approached.
He looked them up and down, his brow furrowing then clearing quickly. “Are you lost?”
“We need an audience with the king,” Ravi said.
The guard glanced behind him. “Are you certain?”
Priya frowned. The guard’s obvious anxiety set alarm bells ringing in her mind.
“We’re certain.”
The guard sighed. “Follow the path. You’ll come to a huge set of doors. You’ll find the king keeping court there.”
Her stomach cramped, this time with unease. Ravi took her hand, squeezing it gently.
She squeezed back.
This was it. There was no going back, because the fate of the isle depended on her, on the words that would flow from her mouth, on her ability to convince a king that a peasant’s fear was real. If she failed, then . . . failure was not an option.
She glanced at Ravi, who inclined his head, his expression sombre. She returned the nod and, hand in hand, they walked down the path toward the ornate doors.
11
PRIYA
Priya huddled deeper into her coat, her toes aching with cold. Her fingers, nose, and ears were numb from it. Here, deep beneath the palace, there was no illusion of warmth. She pulled up her knees, rested her arms on them, and dropped her head into the cradle of her arms.
There was no hope for them. No hope for anyone, because the king, their only hope, was completely mad. She closed her eyes, ignoring the ravenous screams of her stomach, and relived her doom again.
She’d stood with Ravi outside the ornate doors, frightened yet optimistic. The huge doors had opened into a magnificent, oval-shaped ballroom, filled with people of all shapes and sizes, dressed in a multitude of colors and fabrics the likes of which she had never seen before. There were jugglers, musicians, contortionists, and dancers. The room was filled with laughter and merriment. Long tables, sagging under the weight of food, ran along the sides of the room. At the helm of it all sat the king, tall, broad, and regal, on his throne of gold and rubies. Beside him sat his wife, the queen. At first glance it seemed as if she were grinning; a huge obscene smile that showcased too many teeth. But on closer inspection Priya realized that the smile was a fake, drawn upon a veil that covered the lower half of the queen’s face.
This was the first indication of something amiss. It caused the hairy moths in her belly to come to life. Ravi noticed it too. He squeezed her hand, pulling her closer.
There was no guidance as to what to do next, so they approached the king. His sparkling eyes swept over them briefly before returning to the juggler standing nearby.
“More. Juggle more!” the king ordered.
The poor juggler, who was already juggling so many items that Priya was surprised he hadn’t dropped one, attempted to add to his collection of floating objects. He fumbled and stumbled. Balls, pins, and hoops rained down on him, falling to the ground with a clatter.
It was as if a flame had been snuffed out. The room was suddenly absolutely silent. All eyes turned to the king.
The room held its breath.
The king inhaled, opened his mouth and emitted a startling guffaw. It sounded so much like the hee-haw of a donkey that Priya had to bite the insides of her cheeks to stop herself from laughing. The rest of the citizens in the room, however, had no qualms about joining in. In fact it seemed as if joining in was obligatory. Ravi’s deep laugh joined them, and a nudge to her ribs galvanized her into faked mirth. She laughed, she watched, and she saw. Painted smiles, frightened eyes, stiff spines, and tension—everywhere, she saw tension.
The king finally ceased his baying and turned his attention to them.
“Well? What is it?” he said brusquely.
Priya, took a step forward. “Your majesty, I hav
e grave news—”
A collective gasp filled the room. Priya snapped her mouth closed. What had she said that was so wrong?
The king was leaning forward on his throne, his fingers clutching the arms so tight that his knuckles were bled dry.
Ravi’s hand curled around her upper arm.
“What did you say?” the king asked.
Priya’s gaze flicked to the queen, who shook her head infinitesimally. Her eyes above the veil were wide and frightened.
The heat of Ravi’s fingers lent her the strength she needed to continue. “Our village was attacked by invaders. They came from the sea. They are monstrous murderers. They killed . . . everyone. We came to warn you; something must be done.”
The king was staring at her most curiously; he cocked his head from side to side examining her. “I don’t like your eyes,” he said, “and your mouth tells lies. I don’t like that either. There’s nothing ‘grave’ in my kingdom.” He tapped his chin. “I think we’ll take out your eyes, and your mouth . . . that can be sewn shut.” He clapped his hands together in glee. “What a clever idea!”
The room erupted into applause.
The queen hung her head.
Priya was suddenly surrounded by smiling guards, their eyes sympathetic, but their hands unforgiving as they grabbed her, pulling her away from Ravi.
“No! Wait! Please, you have to do something!” Even as she pleaded she knew it was futile; this man was not whole. This man was not a king. He was a fool—a fool dressed in finery and a crown.
Ravi lunged for her, knocking a guard down and sealing his own fate.
“Priya? Are you all right?” Ravi’s voice, faint but audible seeped through the stone wall.
“I’m . . . I’m all right!” she called back.
“I’ll get us out, I promise.”
She leaned her head back against the wall. There was no getting out, they both knew that, but if they admitted it, then there was no hope. And without hope they’d both crumble.
The jangle of keys outside her door had her moving into the shadows, trying to breathe through the lance of fear that pierced her heart. The king had sentenced her . . . her eyes, her mouth . . . they had come to carry out the sentence.
“Priya? Priya! What’s happening?”
She pressed her lips together, as if in preparation for her punishment. She was too afraid to answer Ravi.
The door swung open, and a man ducked his head to step into the cell.
“Phew, it stinks in here. Don’t tell me you shit yourself with fear?”
Priya peered up at him silhouetted by the lamplight from the corridor. There was something familiar about him.
“Well, come on then. I haven’t got all day. Believe me, I have better things to do than to help prisoners escape, but Mother insisted, and for the life of me, I can never say no to Mother.”
He took another step into the cell. Priya huddled against the wall. It was a trick, a ploy to get her to leave with him willingly.
The man knelt before her, peering at her with open curiosity, and she finally made out his features. It was the rude man from the market.
“I think your eyes are pretty, by the way.”
“What do you want?”
“Honestly? I want to get out of this cell, because it stinks like dog shit. Please tell me a pretty girl like you doesn’t make that kind of mess?”
“It was like that when they put me in here.”
“Typical, too busy entertaining Father to do any real work.”
Father? Did that mean . . . “You’re the prince?”
“Unfortunately, and you’ll be minus two eyes and a working mouth if you don’t come with me. Now.”
If he wanted to hurt her he would, either here or elsewhere, but if there was a chance he was telling the truth, then she had to take it.
“Okay, but we need to take my friend too.”
The prince rolled his eyes. “I thought you might say that.” He held up a bunch of keys, jingling them at her. “That’s why I swiped the whole bunch. Come on.” He held out his hand, and she took it, allowing him to haul her to her feet.
Her knees cracked, and her stomach grumbled long and loud.
“Come on, I have a bag of delicious jalebi somewhere.”
12
PRIYA
“Eat quickly, but do not fill your bellies. It’s harder to run on a full stomach. Eat enough to fuel you, and I’ll pack the rest.”
Priya barely glanced at the queen before tearing into the plate of food before her. She devoured the rice and peas, and tore into the spicy fried chicken, barely taking the time to chew. She continued like this, without taking a breath, without looking up, until her plate was wiped clean. Her stomach grumbled, and to her shame she lifted her plate up and said, “More.”
Ravi pushed her hand down, taking the plate with it. “No. No more.” He was looking at the plate strangely, and then she realized why. She could feel shreds of it caught in her teeth. It was the oddest sensation, stringy but juicy. Meat. She’d eaten meat and not thought twice about it.
“You were hungry. It’s all right,” Ravi said.
But it wasn’t, because she was a vegetarian. She wasn’t supposed to like meat, but she had . . . so, so much.
She picked a shred of chicken from her teeth, looked at it, and then popped it back in her mouth before spitting it out in horror. What was wrong with her?
“Priya? It is Priya, isn’t it?” The queen’s voice was soft and melodious, like the swish of long grasses on a summer day.
They were in the queen’s personal chambers. Huge tapestries adorned the walls, and the floor was covered in thick piled rugs scattered with huge seating cushions. There was an oval bed in the center, draped in veils of purple and cream, and above them the ceiling twinkled, encrusted with a multitude of tiny crystals. There was one window made of stained glass, and the light shining through painted the room in blues and greens.
Priya looked at the queen properly for the first time, registering her perfectly heart-shaped face, large doe eyes, and raven-black lashes. She was beautiful, and her mouth, even though it wasn’t smiling, was a perfect sensuous pout, rosy and full. At first glance she seemed too young, barely a girl, but on closer inspection Priya noted the fine lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth.
Ravi’s elbow digging into her ribs halted her assessment. “Yes, my name is Priya, Your Majesty.” She inclined her head in respect.
“A beautiful name, one of my most favored.” She smiled kindly, her dark kohl-rimmed eyes crinkling with warmth.
Priya felt answering warmth unfurl in the bit of her stomach. “Thank you for helping us.”
“I wish I could help them all, but alas, if I did my husband, despite his insanity, would discover it, and then I fear he may follow through on his many threats to have my head.” She sighed. “He was a good man once, a kind man, intelligent and full of life. He loved me, and I him. However, if I’d known how short our years together would be, I fear I would have traded that love for my freedom.” She winced. “Does that make me a terrible person?”
“Oh, Mother, for goodness sake, stop procrastinating,” the prince said, rolling his eyes.
The queen sighed. “And this, as you may have gathered, is my dear son Chandra, the light of my life.”
Chandra winked saucily.
Priya bit her lip to hide her smile.
“You spoke of invaders. Please, tell me more.”
Priya told her what she knew, what she had seen, and by the time she finished, the queen’s face was twisted in compassion, her eyes welling.
“I am so sorry for your loss, child, but you will find no aid here. If my husband has his way, then we will be laughing while these invaders batter down our walls. In truth he will expect us to laugh as they slit our throats. I fear that the capital is useless, the army grown fat and lazy. In truth, death would be a relief.”
“There must be something we can do?”
“Maybe one o
f the smaller kingdoms?” Ravi said.
The queen frowned. “If you refer to our neighboring Kingdom of Svastha, then you’re sorely out of date. King Manu’s people have been plagued by one sickness or another for generations, but five years ago they succumbed to an ailment so strange, so contagious that he was forced to close the gates to all. They’ve never reopened. We believe that all perished. King Raj’s kingdom far to the northeast is barely large enough to be given such a title. I have no idea why it’s called the Kingdom of Dhani. Maybe it was filled with wealth at one time, but now it’s a den of poverty and shadowy dealings. Rumors say that Raj is a barbarian, living on the fringes of the desert lands and associating with outlaws.” She leaned forward. “Personally, I think he is an outlaw. Some of the tales I’ve heard would give you nightmares.”
Priya refused to believe that was the end of it. There had to be something they could do. “I know our isle is small, but it’s home. I refuse to accept that there’s no hope. Even outlaws and barbarians can be rallied to save the land they call home.”
The queen smiled. “You’re a determined young woman. I can see courage in your eyes. There may be a way, but the path will be perilous.”
There was no choice; they could face the peril and possibly survive, or do nothing and surely die. “Please, tell me.”
“There’ve been rumors of a rebel group called The Fist. They’re said to reside in the deserts northeast of here. They lead a nomadic life, so they’re not easily tracked. The stories say that they fight for the just causes of the people. Although I don’t know whether to believe the tales, for if they were true, surely they would have invaded the capital by now and freed us from my husband.”
Priya stared at her in surprise. “The villages near my home have heard nothing but wonderful tales of the capital, and if they have heard nothing, then I doubt this rebel faction will have either.”
The Prince snorted. “Mother, it’s beauteous out in the capital, the tourists love it, and those who do succeed in scratching the surface, whether by deliberation or by chance, are removed.” He shrugged. “Father may be eccentric, but he provides shelter, food, and clothes for all his subjects; even a fool would not risk losing those comforts.”
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