Sword of the Deceiver (3 page)

“Great King,” said Prince Samudra, seemingly unperturbed by having to state his errand aloud. “As well you know, when a new emperor ascends the Pearl Throne it is right and proper that all who receive the Throne’s protection celebrate the continuation of peace and harmony by sending gifts and ambassadors.” He spoke Sindishi without a trace of accent, which somehow eased Natharie’s feelings toward him. She also noted that in his well-mannered speech, he said not one word about the horse, or the soldiers. This one was a diplomat as well as a prince.

Again, Father nodded. “And this we did. When Emperor Chandra took his father’s place, four years ago.”

The Hastinapuran prince’s face tightened for a moment, and Natharie thought he might be suppressing a sigh. She found herself wondering how many times he had knelt like this, and made this same demand of other kings. Sindhu was one of twenty “protectorates,” taken by the old emperor. Were all of them visited by the horse and the prince?

“Your gifts were received with great thanks,” answered Samudra solemnly. “But as the great king knows, not all the proper ceremonies were able to be completed at that time.”

The big priest’s fingers were tapping now, showing how difficult it became for him to hold his impatience at bay. Natharie felt a cold knot form beneath her heart.

“And they are to be completed now?” Father asked.

The prince nodded once. “Even so.”

Father considered this for a long, uncomfortable moment. The priest’s frown deepened, although the prince remained calm.

At last, Father said, “I am delighted that the emperor is so secure in his place that he is now able to turn his mind from the affairs of state to the affairs of Heaven by which blessing each of us has our place on the wheel.” Father kept his voice carefully bland. “We are happy to house and feed the pilgrims of the Pearl Throne as they cross Sindhu and, of course, they will be under the king’s protection. I will speak to my generals about proper escort.”

Natharie’s fingers threatened to curl into fists.
He’s going to make them say it. He’s going to make them demand the tribute
.

“I am honored to receive the great king’s assistance,” answered Prince Samudra, inclining his head once more. “I fear that we may have to trespass on your hospitality for a little while longer. There are several matters which require discussion.”

Now it was Father who frowned, in apparent confusion. “Can that be done? It is my understanding of the ceremony that you must follow the horse wherever and whenever the Mothers lead him.”

That hit hard. The big priest was now the same scarlet color as his robes, and the prince, for a fleeting second, looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Great King,” said Prince Samudra quietly. “You and I both know what is happening. I ask your tolerance and forbearance.”

“Yes, we do know what is happening,” Father answered. “You are saying that our offerings and embassage of four years ago were inadequate.”

The prince took the accusation without flinching, and met the king’s eyes. “I would never say that, Great King. You know this.”

Father leaned forward, looking down on the kneeling man. “I thought I did, Prince Samudra.” He spoke softly, but his voice was pitched to carry through the hall. “But if the purpose of this so-called sacrifice is not to wheedle more tribute out of your protectorates, what is it for?”

Which was the end. The big priest shot to his feet. The golden scarf around his thick neck slithered to the floor with the violence of his motion. “Barbarian!” he shouted. “How
dare
you profane the holy mysteries! You worship a vain human who dared deny the Mothers! You sit on your gilded …”

“Divakesh!” The prince also stood swiftly. “Silence!”

It was too much for little Bailo. A whimper escaped him and he cringed backward into his nurse’s arms. All Natharie’s other siblings took the opportunity to huddle together. Natharie made herself sit still. She was the oldest. She must remain still, as still as Mother was, as still as Father on the throne. Even while the court gasped and muttered, they would be absolutely correct. Behind them and on either side, the guards had shifted their grip on their spears and their swords.

If the priest noticed any of these things, the only effect was to increase his rage. “I will not be silent!” His voice shook from fury. “You will tell this petty chief that his children belong to the Mothers as does any other thing They see fit to require of him! You will tell him …”

“Priest,” said the prince, and this time his voice was low as the first rumble of the earthquake. “You will leave the hall at once. You will not reenter it unless I send for you and then you will only do so in proper respect for the great king.”

They stood there, each daring the other with his own pride, authority, and history. Natharie risked a glance at her father, and she saw a tiny smile on his face. In that moment, she understood. Father had not been speaking to the prince at all, but always to the priest. He saw the weak link and he pressed against it until it broke.

The priest turned on his heels and marched toward the door. Before the tension could break, Radana startled them all afresh, by leaping from her place with the other concubines and scuttling forward to claim the golden scarf the priest had let fall.

“My lord?” She knelt in front of him as humble as any servant, holding the scarf up for him to take.

It was a wonderful move. It broke the terrible tension his outburst had brought. Natharie was sure she heard one of the serving women snicker.

The priest, who could not turn any more red, snatched the scarf away and left the hall. Radana bowed deeply to the king and queen and returned to her place with the other concubines, a smile of smug satisfaction on her face.

For all this, it was now the prince who was shamed and he who must act humble. Which he did, bowing deeply. This time, his forehead touched the mat.

“Great King, I am truly sorry for this outburst. Divakesh is diligent in his piety and it is my fault for not instructing him more carefully on the ways of the Awakened lands. It will not happen again, I promise you.”

Father sat back, looking haughtily down his nose. “That is the man who will perform the sacrifice when it is time?”

“Yes, Great King.” The prince sounded plainly puzzled.

“The horse then belongs to the Mothers and he will … send it to them at the appointed time?”

“Yes.”

Now Father spoke with cold precision. “Given this, what did your man mean when he said my children belong to the Mothers?”

Murmurs flitted through the air. Natharie heard again the sound of shifting weight, the faint jingling of scaled armor as the soldiers readied themselves in her defense, in the defense of all. At the same time, fear bit hard into her. The priest did not mean they were to be killed. He could not. Did the Mothers drink human blood? Ima, Bailo’s nurse, held him close, murmuring comfort. Natharie was ashamed of herself for thinking his nurse should sit him up straight. They could not afford to show less than perfect dignity now.

Prince Samudra took in a long breath and let it out slowly. “Great King, the priest Divakesh spoke hastily and without thought. I beg you not give any consideration to his words.”

But Father would not be placated. “He spoke of my children, Prince Samudra, of my son and heir. I must consider his words, and I must have them explained.”

Prince Samudra hesitated. His eyes flickered toward the princes and princesses where they knelt. For a single heartbeat, his gaze met Natharie’s once more, and to her surprise, she saw pain there, behind the anger and the carefully crafted mask of patience.

Then it was gone and the prince’s attention was fully on the king again. “It is our hope, Great King, that you will agree that some members of your family will come with us to reside in the Palace of the Pearl Throne to strengthen the ties that bind our lands together.”

Hostages
.

“Some members?” said the king slowly. “Your man spoke of all my children, the whole of the royal line of Sindhu.”

For the first time, Prince Samudra’s patience seemed to slip and his voice took on a brittle edge. “Again, I beg Your Majesty to overlook those intemperate words. We have much to learn from each other, your people and mine. It is my sincere hope that knowledge and friendship can be increased by this exchange.”

“Exchange? What will the Pearl Throne leave here when I have sent my children to the Mothers?”

“You know full well, Great King,” said the prince quietly.

He meant that sovereignty would be left. Father would be allowed to hold the throne and the name of king, if he gave up what was demanded. If he gave up Malai to the quiet prince, the white sorceress, and the hard-handed priest.

Natharie knew at that moment what she must do. The realization made her weak as water, but she understood it was the right thing, the only thing she could do to save her brothers and sisters, to keep Kitum, Malai, and little, frightened Bailo and all the others free. There was a treaty, there were promises, but she was more free than her married sisters and she could not, she would not let this burden fall to Malai.

She lifted herself up, and on her knees she approached the throne. The room watched her move in in stunned silence. She felt the weight of their varied gazes like cold stones against her back as she made her obeisance and held it.

“Great King, Great Father, I offer myself to this office.”

Keep your places, my brothers and sisters. Awakened One, let them see and let them hold their tongues. Let me be the only one
.

Father held his peace, one heartbeat, two, three, four. “My daughter makes a tremendous offer,” he said quietly, and Natharie heard the words rasp and catch in his throat. “I do not believe any other princess of her blood has ever done such a thing before. What do you say to it, Prince Samudra?”

The sound of shifting cloth told Natharie the prince bowed. “In the name of the Mothers and the Pearl Throne, I do accept this offer.”

And it was done. Natharie lifted her head and met her parents’ eyes. Father looked sad, but Mother’s eyes were wild. She looked as if she would jump to her feet and shout denial just as the priest had, but she did not move. She could not move. Natharie had cast the dice, and only the Awakened One now could see how they would land.

The audience did not end with Natharie’s announcement, nor for a long time afterward. There remained a great deal of talk: about amounts of additional goods, about times for delivery, about how and where these things would be done. Natharie could not make herself hear much of it. She did manage to understand that there were two weeks left in the horse’s year of wandering. After that, the horse and its masters would go to Chirag where a fleet of imperial barges waited at the mouth of the sacred river. The company would then travel back to Hastinapura on those boats, stopping on the way to gather their promised tribute.

That meant she had about three weeks. In three weeks, she was going to Hastinapura, and she would never return.

She made herself look at Malai and Bailo. How small and solemn they looked. Then she met her mother’s eyes, and even across the distance between them, she saw the matchless anger there. She cringed inwardly, but then she realized that anger was not for her. It was for the Hastinapurans arrayed before her.

What will you do, Mother?
wondered Natharie.
What could you do? The only other option is war and death. You know that even better than I do
.

At last the final bows were made, and servants were assigned to show the Hastinapurans to their chambers for the night. Prince Samudra politely excused himself so that he might see to his horse and his priest. Natharie watched all this distantly. She heard her brothers and sisters murmuring her name, but she did not turn toward them. She just drifted away to her own room, aware that someone walked beside her, but not sure who it was. She knelt on the scarlet pillow before the open balcony. A soft voice dismissed the servants. The green of the garden spread before her, deep and rich on the other side of the gossamer curtains. The sun was setting and the copper sky was lit in colors of burning copper and molten gold. It was beautiful and terrifying in its majesty.

That morning she had woken believing she was about to become a woman, and next a queen. What was she to become now?

A figure knelt on the bare wood beside her and laid a long spear onto the floor. They sat together in silence, just breathing, Princess Natharie and the guardswoman Anun.

Natharie’s extended childhood had caused something of a dilemma as far as correct behavior was concerned. No one quite knew what to do with her. Her studies had continued, and the temple libraries were opened to her. Her mother and the rest of the palace were inclined to allow her more freedom than a woman her age would have had, as compensation for the lack of adult standing, husband, and a place of her own. Yet they were also inclined to want her under close supervision, lest her lack of husband and place lead her to dangerous adventures that would leave them all shamed. As a result of these twin needs, she had spent much time with the women who guarded the females of the court. She had heard their stories, and learned something of their arts. Anun had always seemed to think it both humorous and wicked that a princess might be allowed to learn to fight with the long stick or to wrestle, and so took to teaching Natharie as a kind of a sly game. She was Natharie’s favorite tutor and became closer to her than any of the women who called themselves her aunties.

“Anun,” said Natharie quietly, without taking her eyes from the burning sky. “What have I done?”

The guardswoman blew out her cheeks. “You volunteered for a hard posting, little princess,” she said. “You were brave. You should be proud of yourself.”

Despite the evening’s oppressive heat, Natharie shivered. “I don’t feel proud.”

“No one ever does when they take on such a duty, but I am proud of you.”

It was a plain statement of fact, and yet it cleared away some of the fog that had settled on Natharie’s mind. She could think and remember a little more clearly; what she remembered was the fury burning in her mother’s eyes. “What do you think Mother feels?”

Anun’s hand twitched where it rested on her thigh. “I think she will tell you herself when she is calm again.”

Natharie closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, as if it were Mother beside her now.

“So am I, little princess. So am I.”

The sound of cloth slipping across wood whispered through the room. Anun turned before Natharie did. A servant girl knelt in the doorway.

“Great Princess, I am sent to say that the Prince Samudra of Hastinapura has obtained permission from the great king your father to request an audience with you.”

It took Natharie a moment to understand this. Prince Samudra had asked Father to speak with her? What could he have to say?

Then she remembered she was a grown woman and more obliged than before to uphold dignity and courtesy in this house.

“You will tell the great prince Samudra that I will receive him, and you’ll see that tea is sent to us.” She glanced at Anun. “You’ll stay with me?”

Anun bowed over her hands, and then picked up her spear and stationed herself by the door.

The waiting women returned immediately. They bustled about, rolling away the sleeping mat, letting down the curtains over the dressing alcoves, and laying out tapestries over the sitting platforms, turning the room into one suitable for receiving a royal guest. They were done a heartbeat before the tread of sandals was heard in the hall and Prince Samudra was announced.

As he was presenting himself to her, it was for him to bow first, which he did, kneeling and inclining his head over folded hands. Behind him, his sorceress entered and knelt, pressing her forehead to the floor. Natharie pulled back in surprise and discomfort before she remembered herself and returned the bow. The woman straightened, but remained kneeling discreetly by the door. She dressed plainly, in white blouse and skirt and a translucent white veil to cover her hair, which had been divided into dozens of tiny braids and then pulled into an elaborate knot behind her ears and bound with red cords.

Prince Samudra also straightened. He had changed from his dusty armor into loose silks of ivory and purple. His hair was black and thick and would have hung down to his shoulders if it were not tied in a neat queue. His face was lean and fine to the point of delicacy and his deep keen eyes were set wide apart on either side of an aquiline nose. If they both stood, Natharie was certain she would be the taller. His hands, however, were hardened from, she suspected, long hours holding reins and sword, and he moved with the assurance of an experienced soldier.

“Your presence honors me,” murmured Natharie politely. She tried to focus her attention on the man, but her gaze kept drifting to the sorceress. She had only ever seen one other of her kind, the nun Sathi. Sathi was old before Natharie was young, her was head shaven, and she wore only the loose robes of her order, which rendered her appearance almost sexless.

“It is you who do me honor,” Prince Samudra answered. “And Hastinapura. I came to thank you for your great generosity.”

Natharie meant to say “you are welcome,” but the words would not come to her. She only met the prince’s eyes. His pain was hidden behind walls of propriety and dignity, but it was there, and anger too. It came to her that in this time, sacrifice was being made of more lives than she had guessed.

Behind him, the sorceress sat still, her eyes humbly lowered, looking like any other courtier during an audience. Why was she there at all? What was her function? The myriad possible answers to that question sent a shiver up Natharie’s spine. Hastinapuran sorcerers were not bound by holy vows as were the Awakened.

“If Hamsa makes you uncomfortable, I can have her wait elsewhere.”

The words jerked Natharie’s attention fully back to Prince Samudra.

“Forgive me. I am only a bit distracted.” Fortunately, her waiting women’s timing was as good as ever, and the lacquered tea tray was set down at that moment. Natharie was able to busy herself with the ritual of pouring the steaming drink, adding the jasmine petals, and making sure the dish of sweetmeats was in easy reach of her guest.

Should she offer something to the sorceress? The woman waited like a servant. What was her rank? Her place?

Why is she here?

Prince Samudra accepted his cup of tea, bowed over it, and sipped with an approving slurp. Natharie just held her cup in her hand, letting it warm her fingers, and struggled to hold the polite mask in place.

“I know this change will be difficult for you.” Prince Samudra began again. “It is my hope you will permit me to extend my friendship as well as my protection to you. The Teacher tells that right conduct is, first of all, kind, and I hope you will find kindness in us.”

That startled Natharie so that her tea sloshed in its cup. “You know Anidita’s teachings?”

“Some. It was my honor to speak at length with the father abbot of Lohit’s monastery.”

“You have been to Lohit?”
And met the father abbot? What did your sorceress back there think of that?

“Quite recently, to prevent a war. I met the young king, Pairoj, there. He is a man of great honor and courage.”

Do you know what was promised between me and him, Prince Samudra?
she wondered, but in a moment, she had her answer. “Your sacrifice humbles me,” he said. “What you have done will be understood and respected by the Throne.”

Natharie swallowed, but the question that surfaced in her would not be banished. “And by your priest, Divakesh.”

Prince Samudra’s mouth twitched. He set his moss-green cup down carefully, as if he was afraid his rough soldier’s hand would shatter it. “It is a hard thing not to be able to choose one’s companions for a long journey. I ask you to excuse Divakesh’s fervor in serving the Mothers. It leads him to indiscretion.”

Then why send him on a mission of discretion?
There were two immediate answers. His indiscretion had thrown him out of favor in the Palace of the Pearl Throne, or they wished to send this single-minded devotee into a land of unbelievers to show that more than one thing would change now that the new emperor was in place.

Natharie looked at Samudra for a long moment, seeing his strangely delicate face and form. This was a handsome man, and a strong one. Had he been anyone else, had this been any other time, she would have been glad to sit with him, she realized with a shock. Sit with him, talk with him, and perhaps even flirt a little, had not Divakesh and a river of blood stood between them.

“What do the Mothers say of the teachings of the Awakened One?” She bit her tongue, but it was too late. The question was out.

Samudra smiled a little, but it was an expression of relief rather than of true amusement. “The Mothers, like the Great Teacher, say many things. One of the things they say is that the path of devotion has many branches, but they all lead alike to Heaven when the heart is true.”

It was far from the answer Natharie expected. In her confusion she looked again at the sorceress. The woman sat so still and calm, but now with her eyebrows raised, breaking the illusion that she did not hear the conversation taking place so nearby. “And what does your sorceress say of the teachings?”

The prince sighed. “If Hamsa could fulfill her duties from the comfortable confines of the monastery, I think she would be very glad.” Now his small smile was sad. “But I am sure you are tired. We will not stay to trouble you further. I will only say thank you once more.” He bowed again and then rose from his place.

Natharie bowed and watched him as he took his leave. His sorceress — what had he called her? Hamsa? — made her obeisance silently and followed him. Natharie stared after them, her head empty of thought, and her only feeling that of confusion. She felt this must be a trap, but she could not tell what kind. No answer came, no reassurance. She could not even find any words to exchange with Anun standing at her guard’s post.

In the end there was nothing to do but accept the ministrations of her women readying her for bed. She curled up on her sleeping mat, eyes open and unsleeping. Mother would surely come to her soon. Mother would know what to say, and what to do. She could be a child again for this one night, and Mother would tell her what all this meant.

But Mother did not come that night. The Hastinapurans left with the dawn and with very little ceremony. During the days that followed Natharie wept, and then laughed with her sisters. She listened to lectures and legends from her brothers about the nature of the Palace of the Pearl Throne, and the women’s quarters within it. Kitum gave an especially long, solemn history, which Natharie finally ended by scolding him for presuming to teach his now fully-adult older sister. The shouting and shoving that followed left them all breathless, teary and giggling. Father walked with her in the gardens in the evening. Anun insisted she continue long-stick practice, saying Natharie did not know who she was going to need to fight off in the Hastinapuran court. Radana and the other aunties fussed and petted her, shedding many delicate tears until she shouted at all of them and stalked away, only to return later with a correct but unfelt apology.

She spent much time in the temple, kneeling at the feet of the Awakened One, telling her beads and saying the
surras
over and over to keep down the fear that nibbled constantly at the back of her mind.

And still Mother did not come to her. Natharie strove for patience and understanding, but the anger at this absence became harder and harder to push away. It pressed close against her, making it difficult to breathe and to think as the time remaining for her to live at her home spooled up before her.

Despite the fact that she avoided her daughter, Queen Sitara was not idle during those weeks, and Natharie knew it. Even the first morning, she had begun to work for delay. Mother had tried to insist that for Natharie to travel during the dust would be to expose her many times to the breath of illness, which might at the least be lethal, and at worst disfiguring.

Mother’s voice practically dripped poison as she spoke those words. Not one of the red-robed priests seemed to hear it. Prince Samudra, though, heard it plainly, and his face had hardened for all his words remained respectful.