Laldasa (11 page)

Now the expression was completely wary. “Oh?”

“First, he intimated that you might marry him.”

Rani Melantha stared, then she laughed. “That idiot! Of course I'll not marry him. Great Mother, he's a-a corporate toady! He's not even a Vadin, and stands very little chance of becoming one. What would possess the man to think I'd marry him?”

Jaya folded his arms across his chest and took a deep, calming breath. “Perhaps the increasingly intimate relationship you share. He's been with you day and night for the last eight months.”

The Rani glanced aside, running a gold-tipped nail over the shining glass of the vanity. “An exaggeration. But he pleases me in some ways.” She shrugged and watched the nail etch a pattern in the reflective surface.

“I hope that Prakash-sama is a better cunnidas than he is a diplomat.” He ignored his mother's angry exclamation and went on. “He implied that in marrying him you would effectively be marrying the Consortium. And, of course, as their fortune is his fortune, it would be yours, as well.”

“I'm not marrying him,” said the Rani flatly.

“I'm relieved. Being married to the Consortium could damage your health. I doubt even your sexual forces are up to that much of a workout.”

The Rani came to her feet, dark eyes blazing. “How dare you speak to me that way? If your father were alive-“

“If my father were alive, you wouldn't be bedding KNC lawyers with political aspirations.”

“That is all I'm going to take from you, Jaya Sarojin. You may leave.”

There was fire in Jaya's head; he fought it, imagining a reflecting pool with not a wind-ripple to mar it. “Not yet. Another bit of information the good Prakash-sama gave me was that you've invested heavily in KNC holdings.”

The look of a cornered animal swept across Melantha Sarojin's beautiful face, making her son feel he was once more playing the raptor, staring his victim down over a set of blood-stained talons. He didn't care. He could insult and offend and terrify every atom of her being and not care.

“Suppose that to be true,” she said finally. “What of it?”

“What of it? Your son is a member of the body adjudicating a situation that could adversely affect Consortium holdings.”

“They're not your holdings—why should you care?”

“They are holdings purchased with my mother's private funds. Isn't it conceivable I'd be partial to the KNC keeping its assets intact under those circumstances?”

The Rani's eyes evaded him. “Our lives are separate. I can't imagine the Inner Circle would see a conflict.”

“Uncle Namun should have seen a conflict. Didn't you ask his advice before you did this?”

She shook her head. “Namun doesn't know. He takes this whole conflict of interest thing as seriously as you do. He told me he's not even certain he should see us socially until this is all over. He's even spoken of missing the Mesha Festival for the first time ever. Oh, honestly, Jaya I really don't see a conflict. We're two adults-“

“You're my mother, and even if the money you used wasn't part of father's estate, it's still Sarojin money.”

Her eyes skittered aside again. The gold nails pecked at the sleeve of her gown.

Jaya felt a cold tickle of suspicion under his breastbone. “You used family money.”

She did not deny it and, thereby, confirmed it.

“Mother, how could you? For that matter, how did you, without me knowing it?”

She had the good grace to look guilty. “You extended me some funds for that winter cottage in Dagpur. I didn't buy it. Jaya, I was fully extended and there was this one holding I desperately wanted to own. A couture—one of the finest—with outlets in the best stores.”

“How much, mother? How much did you invest in your couture?”

She shrugged. “About five million.”

Jaya wanted very much to sit down. “Five million dagam,” he repeated.

The Rani nodded. “Which I fully expect to see doubled.”

“Sell it.”

“Jaya!”

“Sell all of it! Now! Every last thread of it!”

“I can't! I won't see any of my investment until summer when the new line of clothing is out.”

“And why, in the name of Rama, not?”

“That's the way the contract is structured. Duran said I would see the greatest profit if I opted for delayed returns. It gives the couture working capital he can count on through the big trade shows.”

“Duran! Of course.”

The Rani paused in mid-excuse and gave her son her full attention. “What are you implying?”

“Isn't it obvious? Your lover has steered you into investments that will only thrive if the Consortium thrives. I'm one of the people in a position to decide whether it does that or not. Long ago, when only the KNC knew the situation on Avasa was escalating, when only they knew about this damned petition to shut down AGIM, Prakash bought you into a KNC investment that you either had to hold onto for some time or sell at a huge loss. And he did it knowing that I'd be caught in this position. The only way to save your investment, Mother, is for the KNC to maintain its current control over Avasan resources. Without that monopoly, there's no way the Consortium can avoid some loss.”

“So, what's wrong with them keeping their monopoly?”

Any blood remaining in Jaya's face drained away. “I can't discuss that with you, but I am not about to vote in favor of the KNC just to save your assets. Which is what Duran Prakash was hoping I'd do.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“He made a point of bringing all this up today. Hints about conflict of interest. Hints about how much money you had sunk in Consortium business. He's pressuring me, Mother. Trying to wield influence over me through your illtimed spending spree.”

The Rani sat down slowly. “He's been using me. That's what you're saying isn't it? Using me to get to you.”

Her bemusement and deflation were so ingenuous, it was almost funny. “Oh, admirable, Mother. What wonderful insight.”

“Don't abuse me, Jaya.”

“I don't need to. You do a fine job of abusing yourself.”

She held up both hands in a gesture of defeat, but the look in her eye belied it. She shook her head, raising her eyes to his face. “I can't—by Tara—I don't believe you. Oh, he may be trying to manipulate you; I don't deny it. But I will not believe that is the only reason he's interested in me. He desires me, Jaya. You can't make me believe he doesn't.”

Jaya stared at the beautiful, perfect oval face and felt a surge of boiling anger rush to his head. “You are the most shallow, vain, pretentious woman I have ever known. No-“ He took a step toward her, forcing her back into her chair. “You've become that. I used to love you. I used to have reason to love you.”

He turned his back on her, left her cowering before her mirror.

She made a sound that was halfway between a cough and cry. “You arrogant bastard! How dare you speak to me like this?”

He stopped at the door, swinging back to face her. “You should know,” he said tartly. “You're not faithful to Father's memory. Why should I believe you were faithful to him while he lived?”

The Rani was on her feet again. “Because I tell you I was! Your Father was the center of my life. But he's dead, Jaya. Dead! And I'm still alive. I will not be married to a ghost!”

“I don't expect you to be. I wouldn't mind if you married again—even some cork-brained schemer like Duran Prakash, if you really loved him. But ever since Father died, I've watched this endless string of ‘companions' parade in and out of your rooms.”

“It has not been a parade, damn you, Jaya!” the Rani contested. “There have been a few men-“

Jaya slammed his fist against the door post. “This is my Father's house and you have the-the effrontery to bring your damned cunnidas into it.”

“Stop calling them that!”

“It would be bad enough,” Jaya continued, his voice rising to a shout, “if you entertained them in their homes. But no, you have to bring them into my father's bed!”

The Rani shrank from his fury, cowering against her vanity. It pleased him to see her cower.

When she broke the strained silence, her voice was barely audible. “You've never spoken to me like this, Jaya. He's been dead nearly five years and you've never even hinted at how you felt.”

“Oh, I've hinted, Mother, you just never noticed. And I ... I wasn't sure I had any right to tell you how I felt.”
 

Her eyes kindled again, the hauteur creeping back into them. “Well, you were right, my dear son. You don't have a right to lecture me about my behavior—to come into my quarters and vilify me.” She began to tremble with suppressed rage. “I will consider what you've said about my investments. I'll see if I can disencumber some of your precious family money. That's all I plan to disencumber. Duran Prakash, for all his idiocy, has consummate skill in the Pleasure Arts. I find that skill a source of great satisfaction. I'm not done with him yet.” Her eyes met his unwaveringly. “But I am done with you. Please leave me.”

Jaya gritted his teeth against a strong desire to scream childish insults at her. Tears, hot with equally childish disappointment, pressed for release.

“With pleasure,” he said and left, slamming the outer door hard enough to flutter the curtains around the bed.

He did not see the Rani tremble in that frail breeze, nor did he hear the sound of her weeping.

Ana reflected that the coach in which she sat and rocked was the perfect metaphor for her current state. She moved, but not of her own will, the reins were in someone else's hands and she could only fold her own in her lap, sit impotently and watch the world go by outside. Jivinta Sarojin might think the mountain of parcels in the carryall represented a sort of progress, but to Anala it represented only distraction from purpose.

“I'm sorry about the drill bits, Ana,” said Mina softly.

She pulled herself from her study of the blur beyond the window. “I'm being discourteous,” she said. “Forgive me.”

“Nonsense. You aren't being discourteous, you are being absorbed. I know the look. I've seen it on my grandson's face often enough.”

Ana smiled. “You're very kind, Jivinta. It's just so frustrating. To have to wait two days for those bits!” To have to sit here, like a lump while the situation on Avasa deteriorated, she didn't say. To be separated from my family, from news of my family.

“Perhaps Jaya could check into the delay.”

Anala uttered a crack of laughter. “Wouldn't it seem very odd for the Taj Prince of Kasi to take a sudden interest in drill bits?”

Jivinta chuckled. “A good observation. Well!” She sat back. “I'll tell you what. To take your mind off your father's machinery, we'll get Helidasa working on that dascree when we get home.”

Ana grimaced and glanced at her palm. “That would be nice. I can't wear gloves everywhere I go. Of course, I could just stay in the house.”

Mina's eyebrows arched in amusement. “My dear, it isn't even safe for you to be without gloves in the Saroj. Even a Rani is expected to give the courteous greeting to a Deva or a Dandin, and you may meet either in our halls. In fact,” she added, “there will be a reception at the Saroj on Bhaktar-eve for the Mesha Festival.”

A cold tickle of fear fluttered beneath Anala's breast bone. “But surely I won't attend.”

“Ana, you are a member of our household. The Rani assumes you to be of the Sarojin Clan. Your presence will be expected.”

“What shall I do? About my hand, I mean.”

“Don't worry,” Jivinta Mina reassured her. “Helidasa has magic you cannot imagine.”

Half an hour later, with her new wardrobe being put away by Helidasa's capable daughters, Ana came downstairs in a soft bodysuit, beyond relief to be rid of that alien bit of amber fluff she'd been wearing. It felt good to have her arms and legs covered.

Mina met her in the solarium, eyeing her with approval. “Green is a good color for you. Are you more comfortable now?”

“Yes, Jivinta. Thank you.”

“Good. Now, come along to the kitchen. Heli has a concoction she's sure will help.”

She led the way down a short corridor and through a wide, swinging door. The room was huge, spotlessly clean, and flooded with sunlight. At its center, at a tile-topped table, Helidasa stood with a variety of items spread out before her. Grinding away at something in a small mortar, she looked like one of the witches of Ana's childhood fantasy, surrounded by the odd tools of her mystic trade.

She smiled when she saw Anala and Mina, and beckoned them to join her at the table.

Anala peeked into the mortar. “What is it?”

Helidasa dumped the yellow powder into a bowl and added an amber liquid that looked like tea. “A powder made of saffron,” she said.