The Star-Touched Queen (6 page)

A scratching sound startled me out of my thoughts. I lunged for the rock when a voice cut across the room—

“Mayavati, come to the door.”

I tensed, my arm still raised. A heavy feeling settled in my gut. I had heard that voice a hundred times, listened for it from my spying place and imagined it saying kinder words. Father.

The door gave way with a sigh and my father’s silhouette loomed into the room, a blot against the darkness. He stood alone, no familiar retinue of guards flanking his side. At once, I bolted upright. He wasn’t one to flout tradition and yet he’d gone to the trouble of visiting me in secret. For a half-moment, I wondered whether some unknowable power had answered my wishes and freed me. But experience told me otherwise. Father was far too cunning for sentiment.

“I have come with a gift,” he said, extending a hand toward me. “One to free you from this marriage.”

From the folds of his robe, he withdrew a small violet flask. I took the flask and removed the stopper, careful not to spill its contents before taking a whiff. All the blood slipped from my face. I knew that scent. My breath came in a rasp and a dead chill swam under my skin. It was mandrake soaked in milk—poison.

“No matter who you marry, they will wage war against us. My spies have heard it, my councilors suspect it and my instincts know it,” said the Raja, his voice calm and even. “The best chances for the realm are to bring the war to us, instead of letting it play out on the outskirts of our borders. Their attendance at your
swayamvara
is critical in bringing them here. Your death will nullify the bonds of guest hospitality and we may dispatch the rebels on the spot. Your sacrifice would ensure the safety of all our people.”

I shook my head, my mouth bone dry. I was no bride. I was bait. The walls stretched above me. An invisible thread running from my head to my feet yanked me, threatening to topple me onto the ground. I inhaled a shuddering breath, but it felt clammy in my lungs.

I hoped that by letting you see, you might forgive what I must take from you.

He wasn’t just taking away my independence. Or home.

When I spoke, my voice was hollow, scraped—

“You want me dead.”

6

THE WEDDING

Seconds collided into hours, decades, centuries. Eternity itself moved through me, stretching the moments after I’d spoken. In a whirl, I saw my life compressed, folded and distilled into the vial of mandrake poison in my hands.

Clearing his throat, my father clasped his hands behind his back.

“It is not a question of want,” he said. “It is a matter of need. If this is what it will take to keep the realm safe for our people, then I have no choice.”

Our people
. My stomach knotted. Only the thump of my heart told me I was alive. Not yet a corpse. I glanced at the frail vial. If I wanted, I could throw it in his face, pour it on the ground or smash the vial altogether. But of course I couldn’t. The vial was Bharata’s hope distorted, and I held it in my hand.

“You must understand that your contribution to the realm will exceed that of any of your siblings and any of my councilors. What I am asking of you—”

“What you’re asking requires no great sacrifice on my part,” I said, my voice shaking. “I am expendable.”

“We must show strength,” said the Raja. “If any of your rejected suitors believed that your choice was politically motivated, we would be destroyed. Our kingdom would be gone. They know your sisters are betrothed and that you remain a maiden. They also know that we cannot lay siege to their kingdoms if they married a princess of Bharata. The only way to protect ourselves is to have no marriage at all.”

His shoulders fell. I looked sharply at him, wild hope pulling at my heart.
Maybe he is changing his mind
.

A half-breath passed before his arm tensed and then his hands fell limply to his sides. A death warrant. Panic rasped in my lungs. My whole body gathered like one frenzied breath. Before he could step back, I lunged forward, grabbing his wrist—

“Please,” I said. “Give me a different draught, something that will make it seem like I have died. But not this. There must be another way.”

He pulled back his hand. This time when he spoke, there was no hint of doubt, no sign of succor or mercy, or remorse.

“Do you think I have not thoroughly reviewed every option?” his voice thundered. “They would verify your death with their own physicians. The moment they see through our deception, Bharata would be doomed. Would you rather die by your own hand or by the enemy? Trust me, daughter. One is worse than the other.”

I set my jaw, my eyes narrowing to slits. “I will not die for you.”

He smiled and in that moment I knew I had lost.

“I am no fool. I would not expect you to die for me. But for your sister?” He paused and my heart turned cold. Gauri. “Would you condemn her life so quickly? Or those of your people?”

His words hung in the air, coiling around me like a noose. This time when the Raja stepped back, I made no move toward him. And when he turned to face me—his eyes shadowed and face drawn—no hope glimmered in my heart.

“If you wanted me to know your plan all along, why bother with sending a tutor for me? Why not get rid of all the distractions?”

“Your mind is playing tricks on you, Mayavati,” said my father curtly. “There was no tutor assigned to you yesterday. I know because I made sure of it. Take the potion during the ceremony. I have faith in your judgment, daughter.”

With that, he left. A heavy thudding sound rang in my ears. Of course there had been no tutor. I had truly lost my mind. I circled the room, my eyes darting over walls and corners. Escape was impossible. My doors were bolted. My windows barred with iron. Light entered the room slowly, like a predator stalking me, cornering me with the truth that there was no escape left but one—death.

*   *   *

The sound of water sloshing up beaten copper basins and the muffled chime of heavy jewels woke me. Fragrant myrrh, rose oil and the starch of brocade silks drifted through the gap in my door. One by one the attendants filled the room, their heads bowed and arms laden.

The moment I saw them, fury shot through me. Fury that I had thought better of my father … that escape was out of reach. But most of all fury at myself, for thinking that I was meant for more than this. Fury at my dreams for promising a life
lived
.

Quickly and quietly, the attendants scrubbed me with turmeric. If they saw my red-rimmed eyes or mussed hair, they made no comment. They bathed my limbs in milk and nettle, applied henna in intricate designs of mango blossoms and flowers, threaded golden ornaments through my waist-length hair. I bit my lip when they plunged amethyst earrings through my lobes and cuffed my wrists with bangles. They looked just like shackles.

When I stood, the attendants tightly wound a sari around my body. It was red, like the wedding saris worn by all the half-sisters before me. A bitter smile crossed my face. Red was supposed to ward off death on happy occasions.

In quick, methodical succession, the guards emptied my room of its things. Too soon, all that remained was my empty bed and the small nightstand. Over and over, my eyes returned to the small purple vial now tucked in the space between my wrist and bangles. It was cool against my skin.

I walked around the room—memorizing corners, touching edges. Above and around me, gossamer curtains wavered, bright green tiles twinkled and the golden concentric circles of the ceiling gleamed.

The door quaked.

“Princess, we must leave,” called the guards.

I wished I could sink into the ground or disappear into the ether like my assailant. Now the door was opening, shadows leaking inside and, still, I was here. I cast a glance at the pillar of Narasimha in my room, wishing it would spring free and protect me. But in the end, it stayed silent as stone.

“Come, Princess,” said a guard, leading me by the elbow in a less-than-gentle grip.

A final fragment of sunshine spilled across my foot before the door closed with a resounding thud. Silence pressed against me, pushing me forward.

As I walked, none of the harem women moved to embrace me. None whispered the customary blessings of fertility and love into my ears. From the shadows, Mother Shastri watched me coldly. Their daughters stood in the shadow of another pillar, their expressions unreadable. Only Gauri ran to me, led by a reluctant Mother Dhina.

“When are you coming back?” she asked, beaming.

I paused, on the verge of embracing Gauri, when I felt the vial of poison pressing against my wrist, staying my hand. An image flashed in my mind—foreign soldiers breaking through the harem walls. Stealing Gauri. Or worse.

Numbly, I unclasped my mother’s necklace and slipped it into Gauri’s palm.

“I don’t know. But will you look after this for me until I return?”

Gauri took the necklace reverently and nodded. I straightened my back, resolution knotting my stomach. I would do as Father asked. Not for him, but for Gauri. For Bharata. Before I walked away, Mother Dhina caught my arm. Her face was tight, kohl pooled in the puffy skin around her eyes. She looked like she was fighting the urge to speak. But in the end, her words won out:

“Keep some secrets to yourself, girl,” she said quietly.

Not to worry
, I wanted to say.
Soon, only the ground will know my secrets.

*   *   *

After that, time moved far too quickly. All too soon, I was crossing from the grounds to the Raja’s welcoming hall. Any time I wanted to wait, to pause, to touch anything, the guards pulled me forward. Even the sun had renounced me, disappearing behind the clouds and withholding its warmth. A numb furor sucked the air.

Marigolds and roses adorned the entrance to the Raja’s welcoming hall, and bright petals carpeted the path. Inside, the din of men’s voices and the cloying smell of betel nut hit me instantly. Through my veil, I could see the suitors and their attendants. Some stood short, others stretched tall. Some wore crowns of horns, others diadems of gold. All fifteen wore garlands of red carnations.

In front of each suitor lay a clawed basin filled with fire. Behind them, the pillars of the Raja’s hall bloomed into coronets of marble and vines of emerald. I glanced at the ceiling, palms sweating at the sight of the narrow rafters. How many times had I spied from that very spot?

Officially speaking, this was my first time inside the hall. Though it looked small from above, down here the chamber swelled in size.

The court notary handed me a garland of white blossoms. Whoever I chose to place the white garland upon would be my husband, if only for a moment.

“Noble visitors,” the Raja said in his booming voice, “I give you my daughter, the Princess Mayavati. May her choices in life be filled with honor and grace.”

As he spoke, anger flickered on the suitors’ faces and their personal guards clutched their weapons. The Raja’s words from last night rang true. No matter which of the fifteen I chose, the others would see the rejection as an affront. I glanced at my father. My strand of sapphires was gone from his neck. I was already dead to him.

One by one, the court archivist read the suitors’ names, and one by one, each prince or Raja threw a handful of rice into the fire before him.

“The Prince of Karusha,” announced the court archivist.

An old man with a silvery mustache stepped forward.

“The Raja of Gandhara.”

A boy who looked hardly thirteen years of age stepped nervously into the middle of the two rows and bowed.

“The Emperor of Odra.”

A middle-aged man with a henna-stained beard inclined his head.

The archivist continued rattling off the names of foreign princes and rajas until I counted exactly fifteen. My breath gathered and I held it for as long as I could, not wanting to waste a single exhale.

“Now the time has arrived for the Princess Mayavati to make her choice,” said the archivist, rolling up the parchment. “As tradition dictates, she shall make this choice alone.”

The archivist blew a small horn and I bit back a cry. Sweat beaded along my temples, mingling with the tinny scent of incense and henna. As the suitors and their guards filed out of the room, the Raja gave a tight nod in my direction.

Soon I was alone. Already, the fire in the basins had begun to shrink. I had mere minutes left. Slats of sunshine broke through the gauzy curtains. I walked, dream-like, to stand in the streak of light.

What would the suitors think when they saw my body sprawled on the floor? I imagined their expressions turning from horror to dread, their eyes wild when they realized the deception. Would they fight where I lay? Trample my body like the instrument it was? Or would someone move me aside, my duty done, my life spent?

The horoscope loomed in my thoughts. Perhaps it had been right all this time. A marriage that partnered me with death. My wedding, sham though it was,
would
bring more than just my end. I breathed deeply and a calm spiraled through me.

This was my final taste: a helix of air, smacking of burnt things and bright leaves. I pulled the vial from my bangles, fingers shaking.

This was my last sight: purling fire and windows that soared out of reach. I raised the vial to my lips. My chest was tight, silk clinging damply to my back, my legs.

This was my last sound: the cadence of a heart still beating.

“May Gauri live a long life,” I mouthed.

The poison trickled thickly from the rim and I tilted my head back, eyes on the verge of shutting—

And then: a shatter.

My eyes opened to empty hands clutching nothing.

Spilled poison seeped into the rug and shards of glass glinted on the floor, but all of that was obscured by the shadow of a stranger.

“There’s no need for that,” said the stranger.

He wiped his hands on the front of his charcoal
kurta
, his face partially obscured by a sable hood studded with small diamonds. All I could see was his tapered jaw, the serpentine curve of his smile and the straight bridge of his nose. Like the suitors, he wore a garland of red flowers. And yet, all of that I could have forgotten.