Sword of the Deceiver (23 page)

“You have my permission.”

Tarish made the salute of trust, mustered his dignity, and beat a decorous retreat from the garden, leaving Samudra standing in the silver moonlight, a lace of black shadows over his face and form. Natharie kept kneeling, with no idea what might happen next, only trying not to be afraid.

“Please, get up.”

Natharie did. She watched him. The prince held himself stiffly, looking both more awkward than Tarish, and more dangerous than the boy could ever hope to.

“I apologize for my lateness. I was … arranging an important meeting.”

Natharie suddenly felt very tired. She hoped bitterly that Tarish would not decide on the prudent course and fail to write. She needed the letters, and the rumor of a liaison. It would deflect all other rumors. With all these thoughts and hopes, she did not have room to think up a neutral answer. “Why should you apologize to me?”

Samudra seemed to consider this, and had no answer, except to sigh. “I came to see how you were,” he said at last.

“And what did you see?”
No sense and no mercy. Collect yourself, Natharie. You think you need that boy? How much more do you need this man?

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Young Tarish overreaches himself.”

Natharie’s heart beat hard once. She found she could not stand anymore, and abruptly sat down on the curving seat. The leaves of a fern tickled her wrist. “Then it is true. You do consider me yours.”
Be quiet, be quiet, Natharie. You are still on the stage. Remember your part, remember your lines. Put your feelings to work
.

Samudra was a long time in answering, and when it came, the answer was soft. “No. You are not mine. You belong to no one here.”

Anger, useless at worst, dangerous at best, flooded her heart. All she could remember now was Divakesh standing before her. His threats rang in her ears. “You seem to be the only one who believes this.”

“Except for yourself,” said Samudra immediately.

“For the moment.” She thought on Divakesh’s anger. So many threats lay under his words. She had learned enough to dissemble for the boy, if not the prince; when would she be able to dissemble for the priest? How long before she would want to? He was the one who threatened her family, her land, all she held sacred.

Stop. Remember where you are now, this moment
.

Samudra took one step closer. “No one will take the freedom of your heart,” he said softly, urgently.

There were many things she had thought to say. She had meant to ask whether he now considered her impure for allowing a man to look on her in lust, as happened in so many of the Hastinapuran epics. She wanted to ask if he intended to tell his mother to keep an even closer eye on her. But those words, meant to be coy and hard, dried up in her heart as she looked at his face. He had come forward and stood in a patch of moonlight, and despite the tracery from the lattice, she could see him plainly, and she saw his honesty and his old pain, and one other thing.

Desire. He looked on her and he wanted her. She had seen the look in other men’s eyes in other times and other places, but never on one who had the power to put action to their desires. New fear shook her, and she took refuge in a more familiar anger.

“Tell your priest Divakesh that no one owns me.”

His face went still. The desire, the loneliness drained from his eyes, replaced by a kind of angry disbelief. “Is this what I am to you?” he asked hoarsely. “Divakesh’s ambassador?”

Natharie swallowed, and the line of old pain on her throat warmed. Why did she connect this man so closely to Divakesh? Why could she not stop thinking of the high priest every time she saw the prince?

She knew the answer. It was not because she believed the prince his servant, but because she knew the prince hated him too. She had known it from that first day when he had rebuked the man publicly, from all the times she had sat and talked with him, and from the pain she saw on his face now, at her words.

“No,” she said softly, honestly. But as she looked at the strange hope this single word sparked in the prince’s demeanor, a new question rose in her heart.
What is this man to me?
She could not believe he was only a tool, a way to make herself useful to her homeland. She welcomed him in a different way but she had resisted putting a name to the feelings that warmed her when they walked, when they spoke, or when they sat in a comprehending silence. She was afraid of what name might come to her. That fear made her angry, and that anger made her put him close beside Divakesh in her thoughts. “I spoke hastily. I ask your understanding.”

“I know what Divakesh said to you,” he murmured. “I am sorry. I also ask for understanding. What Divakesh teaches … it is not what I was taught.”

“But he is the head priest of your house.”

“I know, but how that came to be I do not know.” He sighed. “When I was a boy, my teacher in the laws and lessons of the Mothers was a man named Ayan. He said that the dance held many patterns within it, and that no thing could be without its opposite, including worship of the Mothers. Because the worship, the teachings of others posed questions, of the right way to live, the right way to conduct oneself, and without questions, how could there truly be answers?”

It was so close to some of the
surras
Natharie had grown up with, she found new reason to stare. She swallowed.

“So what will you do about it?” she asked, keeping to the topic she herself had chosen with difficulty.

“There is little I can do. My … the emperor says Divakesh will stay where he is.”

Natharie lapsed back into silence. She stared out the window. She could see the river’s glint, a little, like a star in the distance.

“It is hard to find you must dance steps you cannot control,” said Samudra softly. “I know this very well, and I am sorry.”

“We speak of the wheel where I come from. It turns for us all, and we must follow.”

“I know. We also speak of the wheel as well as the dance.”

What is one of the strongest fetters? Ignorance
.

Conscience pricked at Natharie, and she found she could give no answer to him but an honest one. “You have been kind since I was brought here, and I thank you. Forgive me that I cannot return your kindness.”

At these words she saw his face tighten as the inner pain gave way to nothing less than naked sorrow. If pride permitted, she was certain, he would weep. That realization startled her so much, she reached out instinctively, resting her fingertips against his wrist.

“What wounds you so?”

His skin was warm, and even touching him so lightly she could feel the strength of his arm. The warmth that rippled through her then was not the matronly concern she had felt a moment ago at his hurt. This was the warmth that came from companionship after isolation, the warmth of weeks of polite conversation denying to herself that this man with his delicate face who she had wanted for her enemy was handsome, kind, honest, brave, and lonesome as well.

“I am trapped, Natharie,” he whispered, looking down at her hand where she touched him. “Tomorrow I must betray …” He stopped. “Tomorrow I must do the one thing I did not believe I would ever do.” He brushed her fingers with his own, almost disbelievingly. What did he feel? She felt heat and gentleness and desire. She wanted this touch in this moment and she wanted more. The sudden strength of that desire frightened her and repelled her, but at the same time she did not want it to leave her.

“I am sorry,” she said, and she was. He had an honorable heart. He did not deserve this pain. Did he?

“It is my hope …” His whisper was faint. He continued to stare at their hands as if mesmerized, as if by moving he would make this dream of a touch vanish forever. “It is my hope that when this thing is done, I will be … able to be a better friend to you. Perhaps even I will be able to send you home.”

Natharie said nothing for a long moment. She could not look at his sad face, so she looked out to the night. A moment before, her heart would have burst with rejoicing. Now, with all this strange and sudden feeling swirling through her, she almost felt she did not deserve to return home. Her punishment — her reward — for not moving her hand when she had ample opportunity to do so, for savoring this lightest touch of his fingertips, was to stay here with him forever.

Low over the horizon, she saw a single star hanging separate from the multitude of its brethren higher above. It was so clear, so pure. It shone over all the world, whether any was there to see it or not. It was bound to follow its course through the heavens, unfaltering across all the ages of the world, and yet, and yet, it still found its way to shine, to guide the wise, and to give its portents to those with eyes to see.

“You have always been a good friend to me, Samudra,” she said, and she meant her words.

Samudra bowed over his folded hands. “Thank you, Natharie.”

He left her then, and Natharie stayed where she was for quite some time, looking at her star and trying to understand the slow changes beginning within her, and she thought about desire.

She was unmarried, and had officially been a child for a long span of years, but she was not ignorant, nor was her body unfeeling. She knew full well what the tightness inside her meant, and why her eye might linger here and there when a man walked into the room. She knew why she smiled and she blushed and she made sure her feet and hands were clean and that she was dressed just so when she went out walking.

Lord Tarish had looked at her with his wide, boyish eyes, and his handsome face. There had been a moment there when she thought, why not give Tarish what he wants, at least a little? Why not find out what that touch is and what it does? She would never be married now, not to a true husband. Why should she not take what she wanted and what she could use? Others meant to make use of her here, why shouldn’t she make use of herself first? There was much to be gained from the careful application of such touches, for the rustlings in the dark. She had not grown up next to a suite of concubines without noticing this much. If it would give her a hand over her captors, why not?

She had thought,
Because it would change me. It would make me into something I am not, and am not ready to become
.

But now she knew that was not the deepest reason. She did not go to Tarish because she did not desire the boy and did not wish to play at desiring him. She wanted the prince, with his dark eyes and his measured words, his pride and honor. She had found so much to hate and fear in this place. Was it truly possible she had found something to love?

No thing can exist without its opposite. It was one of the teachings of Anidita. And, it seemed, of the Mothers.

She could reason herself out of this. She could sit here until she once again came to understand that Samudra was her enemy and she was nothing more than prize and prisoner to him. But having found relief from the coldness that had surrounded her for so many days, she found she did not want to return to it. This warmth might be false, as false as the armor she wore and the smile she had given Tarish, but for tonight at least she would be fully the actress and play a part with herself. Tonight, she would believe she was in love and beloved.

Natharie sat beneath the light of the stars, closed her eyes, and let herself believe.

“You made a conquest last night,” murmured Ekkadi.

The maid was laying out Natharie’s breakfast as she spoke. The sun had not been up for more than two hours and the story of Natharie’s appearance before the emperor was already winging its way through the small domain, with some startling additions. The common rooms were full of life and chatter as was usual for the mornings, but this time a large number of the women and older girls were casting knowing glances in her direction.

My fault for eating alone
. This morning, she had shunned company, taking a seat in one of the small side alcoves. She did not feel capable of gossip this morning, nor did she want comments on how distracted she seemed. She needed time to order her thoughts, and her heart.

Natharie picked up a piece of flat bread and tore it in two. She looked at it in her hands. Suddenly, her mouth was dry and her stomach did not seem willing to receive food. It was not the gossip that disturbed her. She knew it for the vapor that it was. It was her own feelings that robbed her of appetite, for the warmth and despair of the night’s dreams of love had not left her with the sunrise. “I would not call what happened last night conquest.”

“Everyone else does.” Ekkadi grinned and plucked half the bread out of Natharie’s hand. She used it to scoop up a sauce of mango and tamarind, and folded it quickly into her own mouth. As she chewed, she eyed Natharie owlishly. “And I know what I saw. It is good work, Mistress. You have not one, but two men at your feet.” She leaned closer and whispered. “Did Tarish make any promises? Did the prince see him kiss you?”

“No one kissed me.” She set the bread down. “No one did anything.”
Yet
.

“Disappointed?” Ekkadi’s grin grew saucy enough that she ducked her head to hide it. “Patience, mistress. You’ll be rich, and then you’ll be married. If you continue this way, it won’t take long.” She set the last dish into place, made obeisance, and hurried away.

Natharie stared at the food laid out before her.
Eat something
, she instructed herself.
Master Gauda is not going to care you had a late night. You need your strength to face today
.

As if summoned by her thought, the drama master appeared in the archway of the viewing rooms. He crossed the busy chamber and came to stand over her.

Natharie dropped the bread and made to stand up. Master Gauda waved at her to keep her seat and knelt comfortably beside her. Ekkadi made her obeisance and withdrew to a discreet distance, settling down with a small cluster of other maids, doubtless to catch up on any gossip she’d missed in the past hour.

“You performed well last night, Natharie,” said Master Gauda, smoothing his coat skirts fussily across his thighs. “I am pleased.”

“Thank you, Master Gauda.” She was grateful for those words, whether she should have been or not.

“There are some of the classical movements that you are still stumbling over,” he went on. “But we will be training those today.”

“Yes, Master Gauda.” There was something he was not saying. She could feel it, and her unease returned. “Will you eat something?” She spread her hands toward the nearly untouched breakfast.

Master Gauda picked up a pastry, examined it critically for a moment, and bit it in two. “There is one point in the drama I think you should be more clear on, however,” he said.

Natharie waited.

Master Gauda looked at the remaining half of his pastry. “Be careful of Ekkadi,” he murmured, and popped the morsel into his mouth.

For a moment, Natharie was not certain she had heard him correctly, but he looked at her so steadily with his perfectly made-up eyes that doubt vanished.

To keep herself from glancing toward her maid, Natharie held up a dish of sugared fruits for the drama master. “She is … ambitious, I know that.”

“She is cunning, and sharp enough to cut you.” He picked up a slice of candied orange, examined it for perfection, and ate that as well. “You are dancing a complex dance here, Natharie of Sindhu, and of all the ones who might use you, she is the one I most fear.” He spoke casually, his voice low, but conversational, his face bland, his attention seemingly on the next orange slice.

Natharie bowed her head, setting the dish down, turning it slightly. “Master Gauda,” she breathed. “Forgive me for this question, but, why would you care?”

The old eunuch smiled softly and leaned toward her, his finger raised to emphasize his point. “Because it is only the empty heart that is alone.”

Natharie’s fingers tightened on the edge of the dish until she was afraid she might shatter it. Master Gauda stood and brushed his brocaded coat straight once more. “I will expect you shortly, Natharie. We have much to do today.”

He left her there, and she didn’t know what to feel. Part of her was elated, part of her was only stunned. Master Gauda followed the Awakened One? Was it possible? With Divakesh so set on wiping out the teachings?

She was not given the leisure to contemplate any of these things. Ekkadi came hurrying up to bow before her. “Mistress, the first of all queens summons you.”

Now what
? Natharie thought, forgetting for an exasperated moment that she had hoped to bring herself back to Bandhura’s attention.
Collect yourself
. Natharie took a quick sip of tea to moisten her mouth. Then she followed Ekkadi to the queen’s suite.

Queen Bandhura — resplendent in her luxurious green and gold skirts and translucent emerald veil — was just settling herself before her own wide spread of breakfast dishes: fresh fruit, saffron rice, warm bread, pastries of nuts and honey. The rich scents did nothing but send Natharie’s stomach roiling.

Collect yourself
, she thought again sternly, and she made obeisance to the queen.

“Good morning, Natharie,” said the queen. “Come, sit here.” She patted the pillow beside her.

Natharie sat where she was bid, and noticed that no other lady sat beside the queen. There were only serving women here, and they were kneeling as far away as the room allowed, save for the one who poured Natharie a cup of red nectar and handed it to her.

“Thank you, Majesty.” Natharie took a sip. Pomegranate juice, sweet and fragrant.

“I was most anxious to speak with you this morning. It seems you have made quite a conquest.”

Natharie dropped her gaze modestly. “So I have been told, Majesty. My lord Tarish is …”

The queen laughed, gently mocking both the words and the modesty. “Is a boy, and you know it well. No, no. I refer to the brother of my heart.”

Natharie swallowed hard, and the queen laughed again, far less gently this time.

“Oh, I know, I have been calling you his new favorite since he came, but I was not certain. He is a soldier, after all, and such as he are light and quick with women, when they choose women at all.” The queen leaned back on her pillows, and plucked a slice of orange out of a dish. She ate it in silence, watching Natharie. Awkwardness began to give way to anger, and Natharie welcomed it. Anger banished fear and gave her the will to act.

“I have brought you here to make you an offer, Princess Natharie.”

Natharie’s head jerked up. It was the first time the queen had used her title. Bandhura’s face had lost its teasing merriment and was now calm and serious.

“You hate your life here. You hate your confinement. I can give you some measure of freedom.”

“Why would Your Majesty allow such …” Natharie searched for the appropriate word. “Immodesty?”

“Because you are the first who has deeply attracted the Prince Samudra,” the queen answered frankly. “It is of concern to me what he says and what he does.” Bandura’s eyes were hard. Her voice and attitude were open, but those eyes were closed. She was not telling all. “I want you to tell me what he says when he is with you, and perhaps from time to time I will give you a question or two to put to him in the course of your conversation. In return, I will send you on this errand or that. I fear it will have to be in disguise. Master Gauda and your clever maid will be able to help you there. You will be able to learn the city, and pass the occasional letter to your people at the docks.”

Natharie felt the blood drain from her cheeks. The queen laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Oh! Look at the child! She’s gone white. Of course you are spying for your father.” The queen selected another slice of orange. “And I am prepared to help you do so, if you help me.”

Despite her shock, Natharie’s wits did not quite desert her. “Why would you trust me?”

The queen smiled. She peeled the orange section with quick, clever fingers and laid the peel on a separate brass dish. “Because you are spying for your father, and because I know this, I can have you killed at any time without giving cause for war.” Her voice was completely matter-of-fact, even cheerful. Natharie’s heart froze, and then started beating frantically.

“But you do not need to fear me,” the queen went on, “as long as you serve me well.” She looked at Natharie owlishly. “Indeed, in time, you would make an excellent wife for my lonely and wayward brother.”

You do not need to fear me
. The words echoed through Natharie’s mind.
Oh, yes I do, because you care nothing for me and will abandon me as soon as it suits you
. Natharie sat in silence. It was not that she needed to think. There was nothing to think about, but she needed to get her voice under control. When she was sure she could speak without stammering, she bowed over her folded hands. “Of course, I will do my best to serve the great queen.”
Which queen, I will not say
.

Bandhura nodded. “You are of a sound and sensible mind.” She sat up, studying Natharie with her hard eyes. “But are you clever? You’ll need to be. Well.” The queen shrugged. “We’ll find that out soon enough. But come, my dear, you’ve eaten nothing. I must go see to the mother of my heart. I’m sure she’ll wish to join us. Ekkadi, see that your mistress eats something.”

Queen Bandhura got up to leave and Natharie made her obeisance. When the queen was gone, Ekkadi came at once to Natharie’s side. Natharie grabbed her maid’s hand hard and squeezed it. Neither of them made any sound, and Natharie stayed as she was until she could make herself loosen her grip.

“Ekkadi, what’s going on?” she breathed. “There’s another game under this one.”

“Not necessarily. This once, it could be as it seems.” The maid leaned forward and smoothed Natharie’s hair and veil. “It could be they just want the prince watched before they decide whether to kill him.”

She’s sharp enough to cut you
, Master Gauda had said. He was right. “Whether or when?”

Ekkadi sat back on her heels. “That I don’t know yet, Mistress.”

“Can they actually mean to make me his wife?” All the warmth that had come with his touch, with the thoughts of distant, secret love drained away before the idea of a marriage arranged by Queen Bandhura for her own purposes.

Ekkadi considered this carefully. The greed in her eyes was tempered by her stubbornly practical turn of mind. “It could be. It would be a way of humiliating the prince as well as keeping a spy permanently with him.”

“Yes, it would, wouldn’t it?” murmured Natharie, ducking her head. Anger flared again, for herself and for Samudra. This time she was unsurprised at her own feelings. The prince had honor, the prince knew justice and sympathy. Whatever else he might be, these things made him better than the queen who would use him and bring him low if she needed to. “
Aiy-ah
. Every day this gets worse.”

“Take those words back, mistress, before it truly does,” said Ekkadi sharply.

Although she should not give way to such superstition, Natharie suddenly felt the Mothers’ eyes looking sharply at her.

“It is too late,” she answered.

“Yes.” Ekkadi was flat on her face kissing the floor in her obeisance a bare instant before Queen Bandhura glided back into the chamber.

“There. We have at last gotten my mother into her bath.” For a moment, Natharie saw a flicker of distaste in Queen Bandhura’s eyes and she stowed away that sight very carefully.

“Now.” The queen sat down again, again arranging her skirts neatly, which seemed always to be her first order of business. “At the time of the midday meal, the brother of my heart has arranged to meet an old priest near the queen’s fountain. You will find a way to listen to them. You will tell me all you hear and all you see.”

Natharie stared. She had told herself a thousand times that she would never again leave this place, that she must become resigned to her crowded, ivory cage. The fact that she was suddenly being ordered outside was difficult to comprehend.

“You must learn to stop goggling, Princess Natharie,” said Queen Bandhura sternly.

“Majesty.” Natharie struggled to pull her wits together. “How am I to get into the gardens?”

“That is clearly part of your task, my child. You may go now.”

A test. I am being tested to find out if I am a worthy servant
. Natharie made the expected obeisance and took her leave, Ekkadi trailing behind her. She said nothing as she walked slowly down the corridor and she could feel Ekkadi’s impatience thrumming in the air.

Games, games, games. Games of religion, of conquest, of empire and blood. She knew such games. They were as much a part of the history and life of Sindhu as they were of Hastinapura. Natharie had come prepared to play. She had not, however, in her most frightened imaginings thought she would be playing for the queen and against the man for whom love was blossoming in her battered soul.

If all stayed as it was, she would truly be Queen Bandhura’s pawn. That would not do, not for the tenth part of an hour, let alone for a lifetime as Samudra’s wife and jailer.

She thought of the look of distaste on Bandhura’s face when she spoke of Queen Prishi. Then she thought how the old, sick queen had played the game too, and survived for such a long time. There was something under the veil of her eyes. Did she know she was hated? Did she still have allies? Would she welcome one more?

Queen Bandhura wanted Natharie to be her spy and scapegoat. What might Queen Prishi want?