Flames of Desire

by Vanessa Royall

  Selena’s response was a hard, but cautious, admonition.“I would beware of plots, if I were you.”

  Rupal laughed, like ice tinkling in a pewter mug.

  “No, it is you who should beware.”

  If her intention was to upset Selena, she succeeded. But she also put Selena on guard.

  “Davi,” she confided to him later that evening, “I am afraid something is going to happen. What do you think? Is the child in danger?”

  He bowed his head sadly. “A true master of the power would be able to tell you,” he said. “But I am incapable of full love, and thus cannot sense all that is important. Only with those who do possess love can I speak, and even then only a little …”

  “But, Davi, you can love. Fully. And you will. That other thing is nothing …”

  “… but I do sense much tumult, hostile colors,” he said. “When the aura about the palace is dull and red, wavering like fire, then I know hate is at its zenith.”

  She told him of Rupal’s warning.

  “Do not worry,” he said. “If something occurs to you or the child, I will rally the Sherpas to your aid immediately. They live to impale trespassers on their spears.”

  “And if Ku-Fel trespasses?”

  His eyes darkened. “Then I shall do what I can.”

  He was resolute enough, in spite of his perpetual fear, so she asked him again, as she had once before, to tell the maharajah it was Ku-Fel who had demanded, over and over, assurances that the child had been born dead. To Selena, such an obsession was evidence of culpability, or, at least, of complicity.

  “He would not believe me,” Davi said, and Selena knew that, for the present anyway, he was right.

  She fought sleep that night, Rupal’s face before her, Rupal’s words: No, it is you who should beware, ringing in her brain. Davi was outside, as usual, and he said he would remain with her, but she could not sense him. Probably because of her own turmoil and fear for the child. The word had passed that tonight, once again, Rupal the concubine would share the maharajah’s bed, and there was something oppressive and disconcerting about the fact. For all his power and headstrong ways, Selena already knew how impressionable the master could be. And, although she had grown more confident in her own persuasive skills, she suspected that Rupal could do better. Rupal was no foreigner, either, attached to a baby’s cradle by virtue of hair color.

  Were Rupal and Ku-Fel acting together now? In spite of their long-standing animosity?

  Selena could only guess. Which, she thought bitterly, was more than the master allowed himself.

  She checked the little girl, who slept peacefully, her mouth slightly open, her large eyes closed against all that was to be, open on a world of dreams. Which is just as well. Selena touched the child’s face in a gentle goodnight, and went to her own pallet, resting there uneasily for a time, seeking Davi. She had an impulse to open the doors and check for him at his hiding place, but thought the better of it. He was probably asleep.

  Now, at last, she drifted off, came back, drifted off again, down the long blue corridor, and at its end the beckoning door to peace. She crossed the threshold, and the palace was gone from her, and the earth, too: all but her slow-beating heart and the solace of forgetfulness. But the palace itself was far from slumber. In the maharajah’s chamber, Rupal smiled wickedly to herself, arched her body and writhed, and the master moaned in ecstasy, lost in his own kind of forgetfulness, oblivious to all but the sensations she was giving him, one upon the other. In the harem, the wives and concubines were settling in for the night, pleased in an impersonal and almost unconscious way that Ku-Fel was not with them, to supervise and berate and order them around. In the barracks, some of the Sherpas were nervous, discussing the “soul of the dead one,” or Gayle’s child, and other warriors laughed and mocked their fear.

  And in the discipline chamber, where the punishment cells had been vacated on her order, Ku-Fel slitted her eyes against the heat of the fire, and thrust into it the iron rod with its ancient symbol which meant “damned.” In the wild parts of Rajasthan, her home region, it was believed that such a mark upon the flesh of a living person could prevent rebirth, cease the endless cycle of karmas, and end an existence once and for all. She did not entirely believe this herself, but it was a good story, and the threat of it was often more bitter to the victim than the pain of the brand itself.

  Selena awoke to darkness and the guttural hiss of the Sherpas. Almost instantly, a rough, foul-smelling hand was over her mouth, and she was seized and lifted by a warrior of savage strength. Twisting her head from side to side, she saw another right behind the one who held her, and a third bending over the cradle where the baby slept. No, she tried to scream, and her heart thundered almost loudly enough to be heard where Davi slept.

  Two of the brutes yanked her toward the doorway, their teeth glittering in the darkness, and one of them grunted an order or command. Selena did not understand what it was, but just as they rushed her down the corridor, she heard the child cry out, and keep on crying, the sound following her all the way down to the concealed entrance to the punishment cells.

  Ku-Fel’s gold teeth greeted her, and the long elephant-hide whip dangled from her hand. She nodded to the Sherpas. With one smooth motion, powerful arms turned her upside down, and ropes bit into her ankles as they tied her to the bar. Her sleeping gown fell away, down over her face, and she could see only a dimly lit circle of floor.

  “Cut away the garment,” Ku-Fel growled. “I want her to see the blows coming.”

  It was roughly done, and the tip of the knife cut her skin at the back of her neck.

  She could no longer hear the child.

  The smell of the fire that heated the branding iron filled the room.

  Selena looked up and fixed her eyes on Ku-Fel, resolving not to show fear. At least not yet.

  “You had Gayle killed, didn’t you?”

  “You’ll never know, you pretty little whore.”

  “And you ordered the child killed, too, didn’t you? But as long as you knew it was still alive, you couldn’t make a move. Not against Davi, nor against Rupal. Either of whom might use it against you.”

  “You Westerners are the questioning kind. Too questioning,” she barked, and laced the big whip viciously through the air. The blow caught Selena across the abdomen, a combination of incredible, cracking, stinging pain and heavy force. The air went out of her, and she almost lost consciousness, retching, coughing, too winded to cry out.

  “You were the one who killed the child,” Ku-Fel was explaining, as Selena tried to concentrate in the roaring world of pain. Standing around, the Sherpas were chortling and discussing—she assumed—her physical attributes. And what alterations four strong horses might make in them. “I learned of your perfidy and decided to take appropriate action before notifying the master.”

  Selena tried to clear her head.

  “You were jealous of the child,” Ku-Fel was saying, rehearsing the story she would tell the maharajah, “you were so tired of caring for the poor little thing that you did away with …”

  “No!” Selena cried, and then she thought she understood what had happened, and how she had played a part in the larger conflict at court. The Sherpas who waited now to see her suffer were loyal to Ku-Fel. She had brought them with her from Rajasthan on the occasion of her marriage, and she had used them ever since. She had used them against Gayle, whom she had hated, during the maharajah’s absence. And now they were helping her against Selena, because Selena had not been the instrument that Ku-Fel had intended her to be. Chosen to delight the master and to take his mind off the memory of Gayle, Selena had not only been unpredictable in the constant struggle with Rupal, she had found out about—and then sought out—the child. So Ku-Fel was taking one last desperate gamble to reestablish her unchallenged supremacy. She would kill the child and, in the morning, present a whipped, tortured Selena to the master, half out of her mind with pain, and willing to confess anything.


  The maharajah would be made to see everything clearly, at last.

  The second blow struck Selena high on the backs of her legs. She screamed at the top of her lungs and her body quivered on the bar. Her cry echoed in the tiny room, and then died out. It was very quiet. With her eyes closed, Selena waited for the sound of the whip cutting through the air. But it did not come. She opened her eyes.

  The master stood in the doorway, holding the child. On his face was a look of horror and sudden understanding. Davi stood next to him. And behind them were more Sherpas than Selena could count.

  “It was the child who saved you,” Davi explained later. “The child and the superstitions of a dull mind. You see, this must have been one of the Sherpas who was terrified when he first saw the child, because he saw in her the spirit of her mother. So he must have been guilty of participating in Gayle’s death, or at least he must have known it had taken place. When the child awoke and began to cry, he could not kill it as he had been instructed to do. The crying was so loud and so persistent that the maharajah came running to see what was the matter, and Rupal, flying after him, pleading for him to come back to her. It was something to be seen.”

  “How did you see it?” she asked, remembering that she had not felt his presence.

  “From the floor,” he said. “They tied me and gagged me when I was found there.”

  “Why didn’t they kill you?”

  “Ku-Fel told them not to. She said she wished to deal with me personally, later. That there were certain questions she wished to put to me. Probably about my taking the child, and who knew of it. But now there will be questions for all of us.”

  Selena had explained to the maharajah, three times, the procedures of a Western court. He had modified a few of them, preferring himself as judge, jury, and prosecutor. Seated upon a throne of gold in his official room, and surrounded by servants and guards, he summoned the witnesses before him. Ku-Fel, haughty and unabashed. Rupal, self-contained, with now and then a bitter smile. Selena, who did not understand why she was a member of the group. And Davi, who was afraid.

  “It will be me who is accused of all,” he mourned to Selena. “Ku-Fel and Rupal will see to that. And I am afraid for you, as well.”

  She had learned to trust Davi’s premonitions. The master had understood a little of the form of a trial, but almost nothing of its substance.

  “Did you order Gayle’s death?” he asked Rupal.

  “No, master,” she said.

  “And did you?” he asked Ku-Fel.

  “No.”

  He looked at Selena in disgust and lifted his hands, palms upward. So now what?

  “If I may speak,” Selena said.

  The master nodded.

  “The point of this exercise,” she told him, “is to establish what did happen. May I ask certain questions?”

  He nodded.

  “Davi, do not be afraid. Answer truthfully and completely. Who told you to save the child?”

  “No one. I did it by myself.”

  “How did you know it needed to be saved?”

  “I believed that it would be killed.”

  “You had certain information?” the maharajah prompted.

  “No, master. I sensed it.”

  Selena saw Ku-Fel grin, and Rupal relaxed noticeably. The maharajah himself, recalling Davi’s silent uncanny rapport with Shan-da, nonetheless looked amused and disbelieving. Selena snapped him back to attention with a question to Ku-Fel.

  “Why did you have your Sherpas abduct me and try to kill the child?”

  “The child is not dead,” the big woman shot back. “I never had any intention of harming it. And you were to be punished. Such is my right as harem mistress.”

  True. The maharajah was nodding!

  “Punished for what?” she demanded.

  “Insolence of many forms. It is my right.”

  Rupal was trying hard to suppress a smile of triumph. And Selena understood that, in the master’s mind, the apparent satisfaction of rituals and protocols could be used against her, even though she was trying to discover the truth about the death of a woman he had loved, mother to a child he loved—if anything—even more.

  Her next question was ill-conceived and delivered in mild panic.

  “Did you,” she asked Rupal, “order or conspire in the killing of Gayle? Or in the attempt to kill the child?”

  “No,” the sultry beauty answered coolly, “and you were not even here at the time it happened. What right has she …” addressing the master now “…to put us to shame like this? I have pleased you well, and Ku-Fel has served you loyally through many years …”

  Selena grasped it. They were acting together again. Their shifting needs had drawn them into yet another tenuous alliance. It might not last long after they had disposed of this Scottish upstart, but that would be long enough. Selena was losing, and she knew it. Her questions were being evaded; they knew more tricks than she. Davi would not be taken seriously in anything he said, but what if …

  What if the power could be put to work?

  It was her only chance.

  “Master,” she asked, “may I speak to Davi?”

  He looked curious, as if about to witness a new twist, some form of entertainment. He nodded.

  Davi looked at her, but instead of returning his glance, she closed her eyes and concentrated. Open your mind, she pleaded, open your mind or it is lost for both of us.

  A long moment passed, and then she heard, or sensed: It is already lost.

  No! You must help me.

  I cannot.

  Yes. Yes, you can. I love you, and you, me. Together we are one, and one is enough. Now listen to what I say, and open your mind to all when I so bid you.

  No more did she speak as a nervous interrogator, paling before deceit and evasion. No, she stood straight now, alone in her mind upon the Coldstream battlements again, and pronounced her words as a Scottish princess should.

  “You,” she declared, addressing Rupal, “and you,” pointing to Ku-Fel, “did conspire to kill Gayle, and succeeded in so doing.” Not giving them a chance to answer, she went on. “And, Ku-Fel, when you knew that the child had not been killed, as you had ordered, you became fearful, lest Rupal had succeeded in taking her. The child, alive, would win the master’s favor. Nor was Rupal certain—were you?—what had become of the baby. So your conspiracy broke down, and once again lapsed into the perpetual hostility of the court. But if you could kill me and kill Davi, too, and make it look as if we had been responsible for most of the trouble, truth could be forever shrouded.

  “And the master,” she added challengingly, sarcastically, “is one who loves the truth, who wishes to know everything.”

  “I do!” he flared.

  “Then if you do, Davi will give us the truth.”

  He looked puzzled.

  “Now, Davi, are you prepared to listen to the answers Ku-Fel and Rupal are about to give and judge their veracity?”

  He looked doubtful.

  I will be with you, she told him. Love.

  He was fighting his fear, trying to understand. “Yes,” he said, quavering.

  Selena asked the questions: Did you, Rupal, conspire with Ku-Fel to kill Gayle, and use your Sherpas to do it? Did you, Ku-Fel, order the child destroyed? And did both of you, last night, plan to kill the baby and blame me?

  After each question, both of the women answered resoundingly. No!

  Davi’s eyes were closed. Beads of sweat poured from his black face, a shower of tiny pearls. He was taut with effort. When she finished her queries, he opened his eyes.

  “what is the truth?” she asked him.

  They will kill me.

  “Then we will still be together,” she answered him aloud. He saw that she meant it.

  “Master, these women are lying,” he told the maharajah, meeting his eyes. “They are lying in all things. It is as Selena has described.”

  Ku-Fel let out a roar of vengeance. Rupal was more restrai
ned, but no less uncertain. “I am not about to be called a liar by a Dravidian poseur,” she huffed.

  The maharajah himself was smiling. “Really, Selena. You expect me to believe one of the lowest caste? It is not how things are done.”

  “You said you wished to know the truth.”

  “I do, but some possess it, and some do not. Davi does not.”

  “He does.” She explained about the power, in which previously, he had expressed disbelief.

  “You have told me that before. I’m sorry, Selena, but…”

  “Wait. He can also see into your mind …”

  No, no, Davi was saying. I am not strong enough.

  You must.

  “… and that will prove he has seen inside the souls of these …” she pointed, and enjoyed saying the word “… these killers.”

  The master debated with himself for a moment. If he tried this trick, he might be a dupe. On the other hand, it was amusing.

  “All right,” he said, “I shall hold a word in my mind.”

  I cannot, Davi was pleading. He is the master.

  “I will be with you,” she said aloud, as the maharajah thought of a word and concentrated. “Go ahead.”

  Davi reached out for her, and Selena took his hand, an act which repulsed Rupal and Ku-Fel.

  “I am holding a word in my mind,” the master said, “that no one could possibly guess. It is …” and here his voice deepened with sincerity and conviction “… very personal to me.”

  Silence came over the room. The maharajah looked directly at Davi, who met his eyes. His hand was trembling in Selena’s grasp. After a time the master spoke.

  “Well, what is the word, Dravidian? You’ve had your chance.”

  Davi looked at Selena and she saw tears in his eyes, felt the pressure of his hand. It was going to be … all right!

  “Greenlaw,” David said.

  Selena pleaded for merciful executions, bat the maharajah demurred violently. Not only had his pride been stung to the quick, he knew now, finally, the extent to which the struggle between Rupal and Ku-Fel, with all its bizarre twists and incredible turnings, had visited disaster upon his palace. “No, they shall not have death for what they have done,” he raved. “I shall torment them to the edge of endurance, and then give diem something by which to remember me for the rest of their lives.” First he had Rupal subjected to the water torture, until she howled maniacally and called upon demons. She was stretched out between two pillars, tied by her ankles and wrists, with her head lower than her feet. Then the end of a long strip of rough cloth was jammed into her mouth. A gleeful Sherpa pinched her nose closed, while quart after quart of water was poured into her mouth. Gasping for air, Rupal found nothing but water. It was like drowning, over and over and over again. Just before the hapless woman would lapse into unconsciousness, the Sherpa would release his grip on her nose, permitting her to breathe. Slowly, the cloth which she had swallowed would be pulled out of her throat, with the blood and the mucus of her insides thick upon it. When Rupal had all but lost her sanity due to anguish and despair, the maharajah had her cast into a leper colony far out in the countryside, from which she could never return.