“I’m sorry, I truly am, but I cannot change what happened. I can only stay away.”
Maida’s anger against Tinley takes a firmer shape in my mind. Paljorians are betrothed from infancy . . . which means Bedros was intended to wed Maida while he and Tinley were together.
Sosi’s eyes glow in the late-afternoon light. “You cannot run forever, Tinley. It’s unfair to your father and me and your sister. Maida wants you to help her lead.”
Tinley sniffs in derision. “She doesn’t need my help.”
“If you believe that, then you’ve been gone too long,” replies Sosi. “We all mourned Haziq. I know your heart was broken, but have you considered how the rest of us felt? We lost more than Haziq. We lost you.”
Tinley stares stonily at the wintry hills. Her manifested winds mount at our back to assist the craft up the snowy rise. The yaks pull the sleigh to a stop near the burial site. Birds of prey and arctic foxes scatter from the altar. I hop down, careful not to glance at Anoush’s remains.
“Thank you,” I say to the chieftess.
Sosi bows her head. “Let the sky lead you, the land ground you, the fire cleanse you, and the water feed you, Burner Rani.”
Tinley steps out after me. “Mother, will you look after Chare while I’m gone? She gets lonely when I’m away.”
“I will.” Sosi kisses her daughter’s forehead. “Come home soon.”
“Tell Father good-bye for me,” Tinley replies. We move from the path of the sleigh, and Sosi journeys back. Tinley treads to an outcropping and waves me over. We lie down on our bellies behind two rocks. Our white furs camouflage us from above, and we have a direct view of the altar.
Night unfolds across the horizon. The muffled splatter of snowflakes rests upon us, a quiet attack that slowly collects on our cloaks. Tinley leaves her crossbow strapped to her back and tilts an ear to the wind. I prop my elbows on the ground so I can see through the gap in the rocks and monitor the stone altar and surrounding hilltop.
“What now?” I ask.
Tinley answers, her resolve ringing through. “We wait.”
14
ASHWIN
The door squeaks open. I pay closer attention to my book, The Imperial Guard: A History of Tarachand’s Elite Forces, and ignore my intruder.
Footsteps approach. They pause.
“There you are.” Brac peers up at me seated atop the bookcase, his head cocked to the side. “Should you be up there? What if you fall?”
I slam the book shut. “Did you bring your report, Ambassador?”
“Come down and I’ll deliver it to you.”
Why must everyone have an ultimatum? I jump to the floor beside the discarded pile of my boots, tunic jacket, and belt. They came off the second I was alone in my library. “Tell me what you’ve learned about Lokesh.”
“Not much to tell.” Brac helps himself to an untouched decanter of apong. He bypasses the dusty cups and takes a swig from the bottle. After he swallows, he gives me an empty envelope addressed to Commander Lokesh. “I managed to lift this from his hut. He must be corresponding with his employer by dispatch to circumvent Pons tracking their movements.”
“We still know nothing,” I say, tossing the envelope aside.
Brac downs another pull from the bottle. “Captain Yatin secured the palace. After your impromptu exchange with Lokesh, the men were dissatisfied. They thought you should have spoken up on behalf of your loyalists. Yet another guard has turned in his khanda and left.”
“To serve the commander?”
“Does it matter?” Brac’s unruly coppery hair falls into his defiant gaze. “Yatin has our guards pulling double shifts. He thought for a time that he might have to employ the ranis to stand in. From here on out, don’t engage Lokesh. Let us manage him.”
I drop my book on a side table. “Any word from Kalinda?”
“None.” Brac puts down the apong bottle. He needs a shave, a trip to the bathhouse, and a clean change of clothes. “We must keep our focus. I suspect Lokesh is hiding something. Something he really doesn’t want us to find out. I’ll keep following him. Until the datu and navy arrive, you and every member of the imperial court must not leave the palace.”
My own city, my home, is unsafe for me. Lokesh’s lies have cultivated fast and farther than I anticipated. I press my fists into the table. “If you think so.”
“I do.” Brac squeezes my shoulder. “This is a temporary reprieve. Enjoy it.”
What is there to enjoy? I have the duties of rajah without the official title. This is not a reprieve from my responsibilities. This is detention for not silencing Lokesh when I had the opportunity. “Thank you for your report, Ambassador.”
Brac recognizes he has been discharged and bids me good night.
I drop into a lounge cushion and resume my study about the imperial guard. The words soon blur into a misshapen jumble on the page, and the quiet library closes in around me. I rub my sore eyes and look up from the text. Down the way, in the child-studies section, one of my shelves has been disturbed. From this angle, I see a line of dust where a book once was. I rise and inspect the gap in the bookcase.
Someone was in my library.
It is difficult to determine which text is missing. Based on the section it was taken from, a couple suspected intruders come to mind. One more than the others.
I clap my book shut and reshelf it on the way out.
By some mercy, I locate the nursery on my first try. The nursemaids have put the little ones to bed and turned the lamps down low. Nursemaid Sunsee travels between the rows of beds, tucking in the squirrelly children. She soon meets me near the play area.
“Your Majesty, Rehan is asleep.”
“I came to see you.”
“Oh?” she asks. “What may I do for you?”
“I’m missing a book from my library. Might you or one of the other nursemaids have borrowed it?”
“I’m certain we did not, Your Majesty. We know not to go into your library.” She brushes residual dust off my sleeve. “I’m glad it’s getting use. For all your mother’s love of stories, she wasn’t much of a reader.”
“You knew Lakia well.” After seeing my old room in the nursery, I have tried to remember Lakia as a loving young mother who read to me nightly, but I have too many contradicting recollections.
“I’ll tell you about her. Sit. Sit.” Sunsee points to the reading chair. “Your mother gained a reputation for her malice. When you were little, Kindred Lakia was quieter, less certain of herself. You remind me of her. Take that as no offense, Your Majesty. Lakia held herself to a lofty standard and was intolerant when she fell short. She was not rigid, per se, but had an idea of how things should be done.”
The nursemaid digs around in her pocket and pulls out sugared pieces of cinnamon. “These were her favorite.” She pops one in her mouth, giving me the other. I tuck the sweet against my cheek. They are the same ones found in dishes about the palace. “After you were sent away, Lakia was never the same.”
I cannot muster much sympathy. She was my mother. I was her child. “She never said good-bye. The day I left she wasn’t there.”
“She was devastated. She ordered us not to touch the nursery. The first year you were gone, she slept in your room more than her own bedchamber.” Sunsee grabs my chin and holds me in place. “Lakia had many flaws, but she loved you.”
Some part of me wants to believe this, yet I still cannot equate the rani I knew with a gentle woman who told stories and had a sweet tooth.
Sunsee gives me her last sugared treat. As she checks on the dozing children, I savor it, letting the gritty sugar dissolve to a bitter cinnamon center. Are people the same? Do we start off saccharine and eager to love, then, as life goes on, we dissolve away until all that remains is a bitter hardness?
I ruminate on this while I leave the nursery and go to the wives’ wing. Before I reach Kalinda’s door, an army of servants exit another room, lugging water buckets, and leave the door ajar. As I approach, I hear Gemi speaking within.
“Thank you, Natesa. The water helps me feel less homesick for the sea.”
“Would you like more bath oils?” Natesa asks.