“Jhalkari told me what happened,” Sundari said. She put her arm around me and steered me back to the queen’s room. It was empty, the only sound coming from the trickling fountain. She took a seat on a long yellow cushion next to the door and indicated that I should do the same. I crossed my legs and waited for her to speak.
“Kahini will never care about what’s fair,” she said. “She will keep needling you. Small holes, until she finds the spot where the needle can make a great wound. The less you say around her, the better. We must always remember she’s a great favorite of the raja’s. However, Kahini thought she was punishing you, but what she’s done instead is give you a push toward a better life. This is an opportunity.”
“She’s stolen my chance to see my family!”
“Don’t think of it that way. For the next three days,” Sundari advised, “prove your worth to the rani. You will have her undivided attention. Kahini has been so eager to see you suffer that she’s overlooked something very important. I’ve heard you speaking with the rani, and I know you can be entertaining. You’re very fortunate. Your father did you a great service by teaching you English.”
I did not feel fortunate at that moment, and I said so.
“Use these days to your advantage,” Sundari insisted. “It’s the last thing Kahini will expect.”
The rani summoned me at noon. I followed the servant she sent until we reached a pair of soldiers posted outside a pair of heavy wooden doors. One of them had gold earrings, and as we drew closer, I recognized him as Arjun. He smiled when he saw me, and for some reason, my heart beat faster in my chest.
The old woman pressed her hands together in namaste, but when Arjun made the gesture in return, it was me he was watching, his face full of concern. “I thought you would be going home to celebrate Durga Puja,” he said.
I tried to keep the resentment from my voice. “Not this time.”
He nodded, and something told me he had already heard the story about what Kahini had done. “The rani is waiting for you inside. She wants someone to read to her in English. It’s certainly becoming a popular language. They say that we’ll all be speaking English if things continue the way they are.”
“And what way is that?”
“Well, I can tell you this—the British certainly aren’t praying for the rani to deliver a son.”
I frowned. “They have far more soldiers than we do. If they wanted Jhansi, they could easily take it.”
Arjun gave a half smile. “That’s not the British way,” he explained. “In order to justify acts of aggression to their people, they need to look as if they have a good reason. And what better reason than a kingdom without an heir?”
The rani’s servant shifted from foot to foot, but I ignored her. This time, I wanted to know the truth. I was tired of being an ignorant village girl.
“Is that why they haven’t reissued new hats and new cartridges? Because they’re hoping the sepoys will rebel?”
“Yes. And when they do, they can take over Jhansi under the guise of crushing a rebellion.”
The guard next to Arjun shook his head sadly, and a chill went up my spine like cold fingers on warm skin. What would that mean for the rani? What would that mean for any of us? Then I realized why the guard was shaking his head. “The rani doesn’t believe this, does she?”
“No. The British can be very . . . convincing. Particularly Major Ellis and another captain named Skene.”
I glanced at the tightly sealed doors of the library and wondered what I should do.
“Are you ready?” The rani’s servant sounded nervous. “Her Highness has been waiting. . . .”
“Yes. Take me inside.”
Arjun and the second guard opened the door, and for a moment, I was too overwhelmed to move.
“It had the same effect on me the first time I saw it.” Arjun grinned.
It was the most beautiful room in all of Jhansi. The doors swung shut behind me, stirring up the scents of leather and dust. From ceiling to floor, the entire chamber was filled with books, each of them bound in leather, brocade, and extraordinary silks. At the farthest end, beneath a high arched window, the rani was settled comfortably on a wide leather cushion.
“Sita,” she said, as if she was welcoming a very old friend. “This is your first time inside the library, isn’t it?”
I made the gesture of namaste with my palms, and bowed as I approached her. “Yes, Your Highness. And this—well, this is magnificent.”
She followed my gaze up the high walls of the chamber to the carved wooden images of Saraswati at the top. The goddess of the arts was one of Father’s favorite images to create. I thought of him now, celebrating Durga Puja without me, and blinked back tears.
“It always stirs my emotions as well,” she said. “I’m sure that Sundari told you, but I appreciate your dedication. When Diwali comes next month, you must take the entire week to be with your family.”
“Your Highness—”