Laldasa (7 page)

Jaya's eyes flew from Anala's face to his mother's and back again. He was torn between mirth and chagrin—compromised with a choking cough.

The Rani Melantha crossed from the doorway behind Ana's chair and rounded the table to take a seat to her son's right, her expression quizzical.

“I'm sorry, Mother,” he said, recovering himself. “You startled us.”

“Indeed,” said the Rani pleasantly, her eyes on Ana's face. “I had not imagined anyone's eyes could get that large. Yours are most unusually pale, as well. Almost ... colorless, in fact. Have you ever considered ... cosmetic coloration? I hear it is quite safe.”

“Oh, no, Rani. This eye color has been passed down through generations of the family Sadira,” returned Anala, glibly. “It allows more light to enter the eye, thus enhancing the sight. My father's eyes are white as snow. They call him ‘the Bat.' He can see well enough in the dark to shoot the petals off the black jambu on a moonless night.”

Jaya only just managed not to laugh. Quick. He wondered at how easily the story had fallen from her lips.

“That ought to answer your arrogance,” observed Jivinta Mina dryly. She entered the room on Helidasa's arm, her ornately carved cane tapping firmly on the tiles of the floor. Taking her seat at the head of the table, she signaled Helidasa to serve.

“A moonless night?” murmured the Rani, her tawny skin flushing with rose. “Unimaginable. I'd heard Avasa was a dim world. But no moon?”

“On moonless nights, we have the Upala Ratri—the Night Jewel—to light the sky.”

“The Upala Ratri?” repeated Jaya.

“A colorful aurora caused by suspended ice crystals in the atmosphere. It's quite beautiful. When I was a child I would pretend they were angels dancing for Tara-ji.”

That was truth, Jaya thought, but could not explain why he thought so.

The Rani cast her son a bemused glance. “Your coloring,” she commented after a moment, “is quite ... striking. Is this to be blamed on the Avasan environment?”

Again, Anala failed to rise to the obvious insult. “It's due mostly to the climate in the Kedar. It's a mountainous place—thickly forested, most often snow-covered. There is little sun.”

“You were born on Avasa?”

“Yes, Rani.”

“But, Sadira ... ” She looked to Jaya. “I am not mistaken, Jaya. Isn't that a distant branch of the Saroj clan?”

“It is, Mother. It seems Ana is a remote relation.”

The Rani's lips curved in a bemused smile. “From Avasa?”

“Ana's grandmother was from Avasa. She relocated here—to Darupur—for reasons of health, and there met the man she would marry. The family returned to Avasa when Ana's great-grandfather died.” Jivinta Mina put another stitch into their fabrication.

Ana neatly tied it off. “My great-grandfather owned a number of prosperous businesses—lumber yards and paper factories. When he died, he bequeathed them to my grandmother. My grandparents refused to be absentee landlords, so they made their home in the Kedar.”

“I have considered a trip to Avasa myself, recently,” said Jivinta. “Ana says the air in the plains is quite dry and sweet. The air here is getting worse every day.” She gazed pointedly at her daughter-in-law.

The Rani wrinkled her perfect nose and glanced apologetically at Anala. “I hear it's dry and sweet only when it's not dry and dusty—and unbearably cold. You may have Avasa, my dear. I would be terrified of waking up one morning to find myself the color of cow's milk.” She touched one flawless, tawny cheek.

“I think a little less sun would do you good, daughter,” said Mina, sugaring her tea. Her eyes lifted to the Rani's face. “And I can't believe all your dyes and tints are good for your skin.”

Melantha Sarojin did not offer a retort. “How do you come to be with us, Ana? I may call you ‘Ana?'”

“Of course, Rani Sarojin. I have just finished my schooling, so Mother and Father thought a holiday would be in order.”

“Your schooling?” repeated the Rani, glancing obliquely at her son. “What sort of schooling does a young woman obtain on Avasa that would extend beyond her fourteenth year?”

“I studied forestry, land management, and environmental law.”

It came off her tongue so readily, Jaya wondered if it was true.

The Rani's expression said that she considered the idea preposterous. She did not, however, offer her opinions on the woman's place in society. “So, was your visit to the Saroj unexpected, or did my son merely neglect to tell me you were coming?”

“A whim on God's part, Rani. Nathu Rai Sarojin and I met quite by chance near the spaceport.”

The Rani's neat brows ascended with bird-like grace. “Quite a chance, I must agree, that two so distant cousins should meet accidentally in such a large city as Kasi.”

Jaya studied his plate, teasing an innocent and unresisting melon with the tip of his knife. “One might almost think Ji had arranged it,” he said wryly.

“One might almost,” agreed the Rani, studying Anala again. “But to what purpose?” The question hung, full of innuendo, until the Rani asked: “So, your family has prospered on Avasa, then?”

Jaya could well imagine her thought process: Down and out tendril of the Saroj vine arranges chance meeting between lovely leaf and the Heart of the Lotus. A move calculated, of course, to infuse new life into the poor distant tendril.

“Father tells me he is the richest man on Avasa.”

“Really?”

Jaya put his cup down with a thud and coughed, trying to get Anala's attention. What was she doing? Claiming not to be down and out was one thing, but this-

She was smiling. “You would have to understand my father, Rani. He has always said a man's wealth is in his family.”

“Not in his forests?” The Rani shook her head and emitted a musical, shallow trill of laughter. “Pardon me, Ana, but I find the idea of a Sarojin in a lumber yard ludicrous.”

“He had an opportunity to go into government ... or was it politics? I always get the two confused. I note that both are lucrative in the extreme. But my father is an honorable man and therefore felt it necessary to earn his bread in an honorable way.”

“How ... noble of him,” said the Rani and withdrew into her bowl of fruit.

oOo

“Do you really think governance is a dishonorable means of earning one's keep?” Jaya asked Anala later. They waited in the great Entrance Hall for Jivinta Mina to join Ana for their outing.

“Did I say that, mahesa?”

“Not directly, but you implied it. Also that the Vrinda Varma confuses politics and government. I assure you, it does not.”

“Forgive me then, mahesa.”

“Jaya. My name is Jaya. Not Mahesa or Nathu Rai or Master.”

“I would never call you ‘Master,'” said Anala. “Sanat-ji is my Master. My only Master ... mahesa.”

She was being deliberately antagonistic and it annoyed him. “Please, call me by my name instead of a meaningless title.”

Anala's vivid brows tilted slightly. “Your titles aren't meaningless, you know. Being a Varmana is a sacred privilege ...
 
and a responsibility—one which has nothing to do with politics.”

“You are the second person to remind me of that in as many days.” Jaya was annoyed with the direction the conversation was taking. “I am not a political, Anala. I inherited my wealth and title in the same way I inherited my seat on the Vrinda Varma. I didn't ask for either. But since I have them, I do try to give them the serious consideration they deserve.” That was so close to a lie, he was surprised he didn't choke on it.

“You sound as if you would just as soon be an indolent beggar as the Lord Prince of Kasi.”

“No, but the responsibility of my position does sometimes ... ” He raised his eyes to the Sarojin crest, mounted in gleaming splendor at the head of the hall. “ ... weigh a lot.”

“I don't see you trying to crawl out from under the weight.”

“Actually, that's what I was doing when I met you—crawling away, escaping. For a while.”

“But not permanently?”

“If I escape this,”—he gestured at the grandeur of the sunstrewn hall—“I also escape my dignity, my family honor, my responsibility to my father's household ... my Jivinta. Can you honestly see me abandoning her? Or depriving myself of her?”

Anala sobered, lowering her eyes. “No, I can't. Forgive me for making light of your honor. I misjudged you, Jaya Rai.”

Jaya Rai. He awarded himself an imaginary point.

She caught the expression on his face and said, “Well, your das call you that—your other das.”

“You aren't-“ But she was. He started again. “You are the Rani Sadira, a distant cousin to the Saroj. Do you mind me calling you ‘Ana?'”

“My family calls me ‘Ana,'” she said.

“That's nice, but that wasn't the question. Do you mind me calling you that?”

“It seems that you are family now, too.”

Exasperation tickled his temper. “Is it a function of being Rohin that you answer every question indirectly?”

She seemed to consider the question seriously. “No. I think it is a function of being uncertain.”

He felt swift guilt, then brushed it aside with the reasonable argument that there was nothing else he could have done. Had the Sarngin reached her first, she would still be in that dalali, or worse.

Jivinta Mina chose that moment to appear at the head of the hall. She moved briskly, despite her cane, and swiftly herded Ana into her coach.

The shopping expedition dispatched, Jaya found Heli and Ari's eldest son, Ravi, waiting for him in his study, his lord's chamber robes—in the blaze and blood of the Sarojin colors—draped over one arm.

Jaya grimaced. “Am I going to be late again?”

Ravi smiled. “No, Jaya Rai. But I wanted to be sure you were not. The senior Varmana were a bit disgruntled the last time you took your seat in the middle of the invocation.”

“Took my seat? Fell into it, you mean.”

Ravi laughed. “Just as the Dandin said, ‘May the blessings of Sanat-ji descend upon you.”

“Damn robes will be the death of me, Ravi.” Jaya flicked a golden sleeve with one finger.

Ravi was immediately sober. “I suspect the robes had less to do with it than the wine, Jaya Rai.”

“I was feeling father's passing rather acutely that day.“

“Understood, but it seemed to those who watched that you made light of the responsibilities that go with inheriting your father's station.” He held the robes out for his lord to put on.

Jaya discovered, again, that there was an element of pain involved in allowing friendship to supplant ownership. “Ravi, you're beginning to sound like your father.”

“If my father has told you that, then I'm happy to repeat him. He's right ... on occasion.” He fastened the closes on one crimson shoulder drape, then arranged his own matching cloak and waited.

Jaya looked at him a moment, his mind framing a sarcastic suggestion that they trade robes and position. The remark died before it reached his lips. This morning, he didn't really mean it. This morning, he was anticipating the session. Between Anala's accusation of Consortium foul play and Adivaram's veiled suggestion of coercion by some mysterious coalition, Jaya Sarojin's curiosity was kindling rapidly.

“You won't believe me, but I'm actually looking forward to the assembly today.”

Ravi blinked. Of all the things his master might have said to him, that was possibly the least expected. Jaya scored for himself another imaginary point.

“Of course I believe you, Nathu Rai,” Ravi said finally. “You wouldn't lie to me.” It was almost a question—suspecting, if not a lie, at least a jest.

Jaya chuckled, clapped a hand on Ravi's shoulder and steered him out to the waiting coach.

oOo

The Sarojin box at the Kiritan was a second floor gallery, small enough to provide intimacy and warmth, and large enough to hold a good-sized party of guests. Anala and the Jivinta Mina entered it from a beautifully carved door of the same general proportions characteristic of those in the House Sarojin.

Anala smiled wryly. In her experience, one stooped to get through most doors. The small apertures, with their curved cowling and inner membranes and baffles shunted the stinging assault of the chill vayu winds. Only in the mild equatorial climes of the Sagara or the old-growth thickets of the Kedar did unprotected doorways exist. Her own home was in the rocky passes at the tree-line and just below the high Sita Plateau, so called because its barren earth was so bleached, it always seemed to be covered with snow.

She directed a smile at the servant who seated her at the large, graceful table, then almost gasped aloud when he drew the curtains that covered one wall, opening the box to the room below.