Deven helps me down. I prop against the horse, waiting for my shaky legs to adjust to being connected with the ground again. “We will rest here awhile,” he says.
Yatin lifts Natesa down from his saddle. “For how long?” she asks. “We will kill the horses if we continue running them this way.”
I scoff under my breath. Natesa cares not for the horses’ well-being but only for her own comfort.
“As long as you are beyond the palace walls, you are in danger,” Deven answers.
Natesa squares herself to him. “How far away is Vanhi?”
“Not far on horseback,” he says.
She huffs, and Deven’s tone cools. “Farther on foot.”
Her eyes widen to outraged circles. “You wouldn’t dare.”
I do believe that he would, but I leave them to settle their quarrel. I wander to the pool where the horses drink, and I scoop up water and wash my arms and legs. Our descent has dropped us into warmer, stagnant air, and the dust itches.
Shadows disturb the glassy pond. The elderly shepherd approaches with a weathered old woman guiding his mule. Both wear threadbare clothes, and their skin hangs from their bones as it does when one has gone many moons hungry. This serious-faced couple bows to me.
“My wife and I welcome you, Viraji,” says the shepherd.
I catch Deven watching us from the corner of his eye. He must have told them who I am, that this filthy, smelly creature is their intended queen.
The shepherd’s wife passes me a basket. “For you. May you win a place in the rajah’s home as well as in his heart.”
I bow in appreciation, though winning Rajah Tarek’s heart will never be my ambition.
The shepherd lays a large cloth bundle at my feet. “You may rest here as long as you need, Viraji.” His accent is strange. His r’s roll an unusually long time. “May Anu guide you and Ki protect you.”
He nods farewell at the captain, and then he and his wife lead their mule away.
The basket they gave me contains a jar of honey and fresh flatbread. I untie the cloth bundle to find more food, along with jugs of water. At the bottom, they left two sets of women’s clothes: fitted tunics, headscarves, and loose trousers. They even gave me a flask of apong—a strong liquor—and a bar of soap.
This must be the entirety of their reserve. This is too much to accept from anyone, let alone these poor shepherds. I raise my arm to call them back.
“Don’t.” Deven presses a light hand to my lower back. “You will insult them. Few people this far from Vanhi meet a future rani.”
I look down at the wares. “You shouldn’t have told them who I am.”
“I didn’t. They saw the rajah ride through days ago and supposed who we were. The gifts were their idea.”
I meet Deven’s insistent eyes.
“They are honored to serve you,” he says. “Honor them by accepting their gift.”
I will—we are in no state to refuse—but their sacrifice will not go unrewarded. “I want them to have my carriage. They can salvage what’s left of it to keep or trade. The gold leafing must be valuable. Please give them directions for how to find it.”
Deven is silent so long that I expect him to argue. Then he bows and whispers, “Yes, Viraji.”
“Food!” Natesa hurries over. “Clean clothes!” I wait for her to complain about the coarse cotton garments, but she admires them.
“The shepherd and his wife gave us permission to stay as long as we need,” says Deven. “We will take turns bathing in the pool and sleep here tonight.”
Natesa snatches up the bar of soap. “I’m first.”
I do not bother arguing. The promise of cleanliness and rest is enough.
We dine near a campfire, our clean faces reflecting the shining light. Our meal of bread and honey is cold, simple fare, but no one complains. Yatin returns to camp, and I pass him his portions. Deven sent him away on an assignment earlier. Neither said where he was going, but I assume that it involved the bhutas.
Manas broods, tearing out grass and tossing the soft blades into the fire. “We should have stayed and faced our attackers.”
“We were outnumbered,” Yatin replies.
“We should have tried. One of them was a Galer.”
“What’s a Galer?” Natesa asks.
“A bhuta who conjures ill winds,” Manas says. Pain burns deep in his eyes. “A Galer killed my family. I returned home from fishing, and our entire village was gone, smashed to the ground by a wind tunnel.”
Out of respect for those who perished, I wait a beat in silence and then ask, “What else can bhutas—”
“Not tonight.” Deven gazes into the orange heart of the fire. “We can discuss our enemies tomorrow. Tonight is for those we mourn.” He is the first to speak of his lost men, though we have all been thinking of them.
Sheep bleat peacefully in the darkened greenery. Under the eye of the moon, Yatin tells a story in honor of those we lost. The story is “Enki’s Path,” the water-goddess’s tale of adventure, and one that I know well. Enki strives to walk a straight and narrow path of obedience to her parents, a quest that leads her through mountains infested with crafty demons and serpentine dragons.
Yatin reaches the part where Enki tricks a dragon into his own demise, and I drift off. When I awake, the fire has burned low in the night and our camp is silent. Deven’s jacket hangs over me, still stained with blood.
I sit up and see him at the perimeter of camp. He has taken off his tunic, revealing a slash across his shoulder. In one hand, he holds the flask of apong, and in the other, a threaded needle. I creep to his side and grimace at the deep cut. “You should have told me you were injured.”
“You know now.”
My nose scrunches at his spicy breath. “You’ve been drinking.”
“Only a little. The apong makes the pain bearable.”
I inspect his jagged gash more closely and cluck my tongue. “It’s infected.”
“I was cleaning it.” He motions at a dirty cloth beside him.
“Not with that you aren’t. Stay here.” He begins to rise with me, and I scowl. “Stay or I will shout and wake the flock.”
He chuckles under his breath. “Spoken like a true rani.”
Deven’s handsomeness shines when he smiles, but I do not appreciate his joviality. He could fall ill from an infection. I wet my new veil with clean water from a cask and return to him.
“You’ve ruined your gift,” he says.
“Better the veil than your arm.” I clean his wound and then splash apong on it.
Deven growls between gritted teeth. “Must you?”
“The spirits will purify it.”
I rethread the needle with clean thread. I have watched Healer Baka sew stitches, but I have never done so myself. I doubt that Deven would let me near him if he knew this, so I dig the needle through his torn skin with a staid expression. He flinches but does not gripe.
Silence lengthens between us. We are close, our faces nearly touching.
His quiet voice reaches out to me. “Thank you. You have many talents, Viraji. They will serve you well in the palace. The rajah’s wives are a cunning, vicious lot, but you will claim your place among them.”