Sword of the Deceiver (16 page)

Radana laid herself down on her sleeping platform, and when sleep did not come, she composed herself to wait, folding her hands and breathing softly, evenly. Much of a concubine’s life was spent in waiting, so she found it no hardship. Eventually, the night waned and the slanting sunbeams of morning crept into Radana’s room. She rose and stretched and washed her face in the moss-green basin of fresh water that had been left ready for her. The guards held their poses and their posts without seeming to waver. They were tired now, and thirsty. They would be relieved soon, and their replacements would stand there through the long, hot day. By evening, they would be ready to fall at once upon whatever food might be brought to them.

Now her hope must be that the privileges of rank would still be observed.

They were. The room’s inner doors opened, and Radana’s maid was allowed to enter, followed closely by one of the female guards. The maid set a lacquered tray of bowls in front of her mistress and bowed. Her eyes said she longed to speak, but she had been warned. Radana touched her servant’s head. The maid removed the bowls from the tray one at a time, placing them on the low table. She made obeisance once more. As she straightened, Radana stopped her with a touch. She took two gold bracelets off her arms, slipped them onto the maid’s wrists, and then embraced her tightly. Radana pulled back, still holding her maid’s hand, wiping her eye as if wiping away a tear. The maid looked over her shoulder at the guards on the terrace. Radana nodded her head, patting the maid’s hand in reassurance.

Her maid gave Radana a final bow, and left, the packet of poison tucked securely in her hand.

Radana sighed at her meal, and when the doors closed, she began to eat heartily. She would need all her strength for the long journey ahead.

In the Shifting Lands that are the Land of Death and Spirit, a small man stood at the edge of the ocean, his walking stick held loosely in his hand, and waited
.

Slowly, the ocean began to churn. The waves left their ordered rows and splashed into chaos, their constant roar breaking and choking. The green waters boiled and a great stench arose, covering the shore like a fog
.

The man waited
.

The roiling waters darkened and steam billowed up to turn the sky white. A mighty howl poured out of the sea as if from the heart of the earth itself. The waters parted and from their depths rose a crowd of demons: foul monsters with red scales on their skins and tongues that wagged down to their knees. Black claws clutched deadly spears and black bows. Their quivers held arrows of snow and fire. Their leader, who was crowned in gold and had five gold rings in each of his ears, swung a curved sword over his head and roared out his battle cry
.

Wading through the raging waters as if they were no more than a field of grass, the demons charged toward the small man, who did not move. The demons saw how still he stood and they laughed, making the air around them shudder
.

The demons’ leader set his misshapen, taloned foot on the shore. In answer, the man pursed his lips and blew out one silent puff of air
.

Demons fell flat backward, like reeds under the monsoons blast. As they cried in horror, the waters swallowed them whole
.

The man stood on the shore while the waves washed away the demon’s single footprint, and he waited
.

“Princess Natharie, will you please repeat your speech?” Master Gauda sat cross-legged on the floor of the performance alcove. He was a broad and well-fleshed man, as eunuchs frequently were, but his bulk was muscle hardened by long hours spent practicing the physical aspects of his craft. His light, resonant voice was as trained as his body. It rolled out over the heads of the young women and girls appointed, like Natharie, to learn the mysteries of Hastinapuran drama.

“Speak slowly this time, Princess,” Gauda went on. “Remember to think on the measure of the phrase. This is poetry, not a screed from a drunken astrologer. The rest of you” — he glowered at the semicircle of students who sat before the practice stage — “watch her movements. Confidence is the essence of presence, even more so than precision.” He clapped his hands once. “Begin.”

Natharie suppressed a sigh, and did as she was instructed. She would accomplish nothing if she threw down the flimsy, false spear she carried and cried out to the drama master that he was a fool and a master of meaningless show.

If nothing else, it passes the time
. It had been twenty days since she arrived in the women’s quarters. Twenty days to learn the boundaries of the “small domain,” and to learn how small they truly were. Since her first day, she had seen Queen Bandhura or Queen Prishi only through clouds of attendants. Her appointment to the drama master meant she spent most of her time here in the performance alcove, or in the library learning the pieces he set for her. This schedule severely limited her opportunities to watch and learn anything that might be useful to her own people, and Natharie was beginning to chafe against the constraints of her new life. The thought that she would grow used to it in time offered no consolation at all.

Natharie pushed these distractions aside, drew herself up straight, planting her feet shoulders’ width apart to imitate a masculine stance. She lifted her hand (Let it soar, strong. You are an eagle here, not a sparrow.), and began. “Will war come down upon us? War is thunder and it is lightning.” She tried to make the unfamiliar words ring. Her Hastinapuran was good, but she had learned the court tongue and this was the poetic dialect. It was ancient, and even more slurred and slick than its modern counterpart. How was she supposed to be precise when the language itself sloshed together and dropped its own consonants? “War is the rain and the great wave.”
Spread your hands wide. You’re talking about the sea
. “War is the time when we will prove what men we are, worthy to look upon …”

Just then, Prince Samudra stepped around the chamber’s filigree archway. At the sight of him, Natharie’s concentration broke and the phrase died in her mouth. Master Gauda opened his mouth to rebuke Natharie for faltering, but then his sharp eye caught the reason for her break. He dropped at once into the proper obeisance, as did all the other students. Natharie was the last to kneel.

“I hope you will pardon this interruption, Master Gauda,” said Samudra politely.

“Your presence is never an interruption, my prince,” Gauda replied at once. “How may we serve?”

“I was hoping to steal away your student.”

At this, Gauda demurred.
We must, after all, play the scene correctly
, thought Natharie impatiently. “She needs her practice, my prince. It would not do for such natural talent to grow complacent.” Natharie warmed to the compliment. Whatever her feelings for the place she was in, she had come over the past weeks to understand that Master Gauda truly was accomplished at his craft, and that he did not give praise where he did not feel there was merit.

“I will bring her back within the hour, I swear it.” The prince was looking at her. Natharie could feel it. She kept her own gaze directed at the floor, modest and correct. They were still on stage, after all, all of them.

“I would never deny my prince anything I can provide.” From the corner of her eye, Natharie saw Master Gauda bow once more. “You are excused, Natharie.”

Natharie bowed over her hands to the drama master and stepped off the low stage. Hands folded and head bowed, she walked beside the prince. She was coming to know the corridors, and had little need to lift her gaze to check her way. The prince preferred the terrace garden to any other place in the women’s quarters to sit and talk. They had done so almost daily since she had come. Not that they ever spoke of anything important. They talked of the poetry she was learning, a little of the past, and how that past differed in the histories and in the epics.

“You will forgive me for tearing you from your lessons?” he asked. Parrot words. He repeated them each time they walked this route.

“Of course, Great Prince.” She searched for something new to say. “But I do not know that Master Gauda will.”

“He is dedicated to the art. It is what makes him great.” There was some thought behind those words, and memory. Good. It would make the conversation falter less.

“How did he come to be here?” she asked. It would not hurt to know more about her tutor.

“My father saw him perform as a boy, and he was so impressed, he offered him a place in the small domain.” The terrace garden opened before them, as far as such a confined place could open. Children had been sitting at lessons here and were hustled away by their tutors and nurses. The prince gestured to the stone bench, and Natharie sat down. At least here there was sunlight and the smell of growing things. She had been able to sit here and see the rains. Now that their season had come, they had poured down for weeks without stinting, washing away all the dust of the world, spilling out the silver that would again bring the green.

“I see,” she said, because she needed to say something. The air here was cool, damp, and fresh. There was no rain now. It was one of the few days during the time of the rains when it remained dry, if not fair. The winds blew outside, scudding the clouds across the sky, piling them into mountains. It was as if the world were being allowed to breathe for a moment, but it would not last. If she correctly read her small glimpse of sky, the rains would begin again with nightfall.

“You are still mystified as to why any would be glad to enter here.” The prince’s words startled her out of her abstraction and Natharie felt herself blush for a moment. She was falling behind on her part.

Restlessness and homesickness made her dare a little honesty. “I am perhaps more naive than I care to admit. People make many choices that mystify me.”

Samudra gave her a half-smile. “Should I perhaps say that as I have traveled the world so widely I will explain all such mysteries to you?”

Natharie looked long and silently at the prince. His delicate face was drawn, as if he had not been sleeping well, and his bright eyes were dim and distracted. What care weighed on him? Then, she noticed Hamsa was not following him today. In fact, Natharie could not remember if she had seen the sorceress on any of these little walks. Since they were in the women’s quarters, Hamsa probably did not have to be near to protect or advise her master.

It was this thought that made Natharie understand what she saw in the prince’s face. Prince Samudra was lonely.

“I begin to believe there are many things you would like to explain to me,” she said softly.

“That, Great Princess, is a deep truth.” He sighed, shook himself, and tried to assume a pleasant expression. “Tell me, Princess Natharie, if you were in your parents’ home, how would you pass your time?”

You want me to draw you out of yourself, Great Prince
. “I might sail a boat on the lake or river. I might swim. I might spar with one of the women guards open-hand or with the long staff. Perhaps I would go out shooting. I have a good eye with a bow. I might ride horse or elephant, with or without a groom. If it were a special occasion, I might be called upon to supervise the disposition of a banquet and prepare with my own hands five different kinds of sweet worthy to present to kings. Then I would sit with the lords of the land and speak of law and history, in their own languages. Were there merchants visiting the palace, I might help value silk, jewels, and spices, and do some of the bartering.”

The stunned look on his face gave her a moment’s odd satisfaction. “You were permitted to …”

“I was kept in childhood for ten years longer than was customary while … certain political matters were settled.” Now it was her turn to give him a mirthless smile. “As I was not a woman with my own house and children, I had to be kept occupied.” A crowd of memories took her, sights and scents, the cool, secure presence of Anun, of her family, of sunshine and the river, so much life and activity. She pushed them down with difficulty. She must now keep her pride and countenance.

“I did not realize,” said Samudra.

“No.” She thought about how he had watched her with those warm, lonely eyes, always looking but never coming near. Did she want him near? She had him now. Why did she try to drive him away again?

Natharie realized it was because she did not know for certain what he did want, and that somewhere, deep within her, she wanted those eyes to see not just a pitiful hostage. She wanted him to see the whole of her, and to keep looking.

But for now, Samudra looked around the garden. Perhaps for this moment he saw it as the prison she did. “You have good reason to be angry with me,” he murmured. “With us.”

He did understand. At least he tried, and Natharie was sure the attempt was genuine. She opened her mouth to say she had come of her own will, or something similar, but the words were never spoken. Cloth rustled and the many voices of the main chamber beyond went silent, causing both her and the prince to look up.

“Brother of my heart!” Queen Bandhura and her flock of women crossed into the garden, her face full of glad surprise that did not shine in her eyes. Natharie knelt at once. “How lovely that you are here.” The queen took Samudra’s hands and beamed at him. “And I see you take it upon yourself to help entertain our Princess Sacrifice.” She gestured for Natharie to stand.

“Princess Sacrifice?” repeated Samudra.

“It is how she has come to be called, since her arrival.” Queen Ban-dhura’s smile grew even wider to show what a merry joke she thought it was.

Samudra’s demeanor, however, remained perfectly sober. “I am not certain I care for that nickname.”

“What could be the harm?” The queen settled onto the nearest bench, arranging her skirts, even as her ladies arranged themselves around her. “I’m sure our princess does not take it amiss.” She turned her brilliant smile to Natharie.

“You do not think it flirts too closely with blasphemy?” Samudra folded his hand.

“Why, Brother, you have never cared for such matters.” Bandhura was watching him more closely, no doubt searching for what he hid behind his placid expression.

“Indeed,” the queen continued. “The high priest has considered, I believe, that you also flirted too closely with blasphemy.”

“I know this.” To Natharie’s surprise, the prince humbly hung his head. “I am trying to mend my ways.”

“You shock me, Brother!” exclaimed the queen.
And you are not the only one
, thought Natharie, who was at least as surprised as the queen pretended to be.

“When did you come to believe you needed to change?” Bandhura asked. “You have always been so certain of yourself.”

“Since I returned I have seen how many things have changed.”
You’re very ready with that answer, Great Prince
, thought Natharie.
How long have you had it in mind?
“I came to understand that the dance continues, and I was a fool to try to hold still. Now, forgive me, Sister,” he bowed his head, “I swore to Master Gauda, I would return Natharie to her lessons, to which I believe you set her.” He made the salute of trust and then bowed formally to Natharie, who returned the gesture. As they both straightened, their eyes met for a single heartbeat.

You’re lying
, she thought toward him.
You’re using me as part of that lie. What are you doing, Prince Samudra?

But he gave her no hint of an answer, returning her to the study of the ancient dramas, and letting her wonder what new drama she was being used to ornament.

Reluctantly, Samudra left Natharie to Master Gauda and walked down the corridors to his own room. Hamsa was, as always, waiting for him. His sorceress looked affronted, but he could not help that. She’d been right all along. Her presence was just one more reminder to Natharie how distant this place was from those she knew, and he did not wish the princess to feel uncomfortable or awkward with him. He wanted … he was barely prepared to admit what he wanted from her, especially when he was using her so shamelessly.