Third Daughter (The Dharian Affairs, Book One) Read online

  Janak placed three fingers on three symbols along the ornately carved brass surface of the box: a clutch of wheat, the Queen’s crown, and a feather. When all three were pressed simultaneously, a clicking sounded deep within the device, and the box loosened itself, slowly unfolding before her eyes. When it came to rest, it had returned to its original position.

  “They are crafted in pairs, and this one is matched with the aetheroceiver in your mother’s office,” Janak said. “They are actually Samirian in design, replicated by our Dharian tinkers. The Samir think themselves very clever with their mechanical devices, but the technology is not so difficult to copy.”

  Janak showed her how to fold it up again, and then he pointed to the three symbols.

  “Can you remember them?” He wasn’t mocking her, and for a change, he appeared deadly earnest. She matched his serious tone with a sharp nod. The symbols were obvious, at least to a member of the royal family. The clutch of wheat was straight from the Dharian royal crest, symbolic of Dharia’s breadbasket plains, which fed the world. Several crowns adorned the box, in various sizes and orientations, but the one belonging to the Queen was clear to someone who had grown up knowing she would never wear it: a tiny pearl drop in the center gave it away amongst its many cousins. And the feather—it was her mother’s nickname for her father. A personal thing. Would the Queen have shared the significance of it with Janak? Aniri had a hard time imagining that conversation, and it brought a queasy feeling to her stomach.

  She brushed that aside with a deep breath and quickly pressed all three symbols.

  The device unfolded itself before her.

  “While the aetheroceivers speak to each other,” Janak said, turning his dark gaze up to her, the seriousness making it sharp as well, “it’s still possible another aetheroceiver could intercept the signal. Especially when the device itself was originally designed by one’s enemies.”

  Aniri didn’t think of the Samir as their enemies, but technically Janak was right, so she didn’t correct him. He pointed to two concentric spinner wheels lying flat on one side. One wheel was etched with the strange symbols of the keys, while the other contained letters.

  “It’s a code,” Aniri guessed.

  Janak turned the outer wheel, one click for each letter-symbol combination. “The code provides encryption. An additional level of security for the transmission. Your mother and I agreed on the key before we left.” He clicked the wheel to a stop. “Align the triangle with the letter A. Then the wheels act as a decoder. Here is the message I received earlier from the Queen.”

  Janak pulled a long, curled tape from a cubby within the machine. It was punched with the symbols on the keys, and below each one, in Janak’s meticulous print, were letters that spelled out a message.

  KISS WELL RECEIVED IN DHARIA WELL DONE SEND INTEL

  Aniri braced herself on the desk. The rumors were even faster than brushfire, it seemed. Hours later, her mother no doubt expected Aniri would have a full report on her true mission. Instead she had spent the last couple of hours in a swoon in her bed. It was rather monstrously embarrassing. Aniri straightened from the desk.

  “Please send a reply,” Aniri said. “Ask my mother if the prince has previously traveled to Dharia.”

  Janak frowned, but didn’t question it. He took out a small notebook tucked into a pocket at the back of the aetheroceiver. He jotted a message in it:

  DID PRINCE TRAVEL PREVIOUS TO DHARIA

  He carefully consulted his encryption wheel, assigning the appropriate symbols to each number. Then he wound the side crank of the aetheroceiver several dozen times, setting in motion a whir of clicks inside the device. When it was thrumming, he carefully tapped each key in sequence, sending the message.

  Then he turned to Aniri. “You seem to have made some strides in gaining the prince’s good graces, your most royal highness,” Janak said drily. Aniri glared at him. “Perhaps you can put that advantage to work.”

  The aetheroceiver began to spit out more of the curling tape, a return message. He pulled it out, quickly consulting his decrypter and making careful marks on the tape.

  YES WHY

  Janak looked to her.

  “Just checking one of the prince’s stories,” Aniri said. “I’m not sure how truthful he is being. But I think you are right, Janak. I need to have a more intimate conversation with the prince if we hope to make any progress on finding this flying machine.” She gestured to the aetheroceiver. “Please tell my mother we will report back soon.”

  While Janak scribbled and transcribed the message, Aniri searched the desk for parchment and found a quill pen as well, but no ink. The pen had a large crystal barrel with some apparent clockwork inside. It seemed designed to twist, and when she did, it hissed. A tiny drop of ink appeared at the nib, so she hastened to write her note. When she was done, she untwisted the pen to stop whatever pressure was pushing out the ink. She folded the paper and gave it to Priya, who had been reading over her shoulder the entire time.

  “Please deliver this to the prince.”

  While Priya scurried off with her note, Aniri turned to Janak. “The prince spoke about the four generals in charge of the military in the different provinces. He seems to think they are key to solidifying his hold on the crown.”

  “The military is always the key to holding power.” That, of course, was how Janak would see things. But the Queen’s court was driven far more by political intrigue than a jostling of military might.

  “A good Queen rules by the consent of her governed.” Aniri was surprised to find herself quoting her mother. “However, maybe Jungali is so riven by internal strife that military power reigns stronger than love of Queen and country.” Although the prince certainly seemed as concerned with the temper of his people as her mother often was. “If the flying machine exists, it seems logical it would fall under the purview of one of the generals to maintain and operate.”

  “Indeed,” Janak said. “Which means that general would have the most knowledge of its inner workings as well as how it could best be used in an attack on Dharia.”

  “I’m not entirely convinced the Jungali mean to go to war with us,” Aniri said. “Perhaps the generals are infighting to gain control of the provinces for themselves. General Garesh seems to pose a particular threat, and he apparently has little love for royalty. Maybe he means to put Jungali under military rule. We need to learn more about him.”

  “I don’t care for the idea of you having any more contact with General Garesh,” Janak said. “He is certain to be more dangerous than our young prince. And more likely to want to kill you than kiss you.”

  “Perhaps I should bring a dagger. For any unwanted advances,” Aniri said coolly. Not that she cared to be alone with General Garesh any more than Janak wanted.

  Janak pushed back the aetheroceiver and laced his fingers. “Your supremely royal highness may not recognize it, but my job here is simple: I am to return you alive to her majesty’s court. It is my first, and only, duty as raksaka. One I imagine will be challenging enough, given your suitability—or should I say lack of suitability—for this mission, either in training or temper.”

  Heat rose fast in her cheeks. Aniri opened her mouth to object, but Janak raised a hand to cut her off.

  “The Queen did not consult me on the wisdom of sending you here. And if you fail in your mission, that is… not of tremendous concern to me. However, I will not fail in mine. The Queen has tasked me with keeping you alive, a direct order from the crown that I will follow or die trying. Therefore, I will not allow you to take unnecessary risks with your life, no matter the outcome otherwise.”

  Janak’s words stoked the heat in her face to near combustion. She said nothing for a moment, trying to find words that would not prove her to be exactly as Janak accused: reckless. Childish. Ill tempered. Finally, she managed, “You can think what you wish of me, Janak, but I’m in no hurry to put myself in needless danger.”

  “Your supreme eminence and I ha
ve a difference of opinion on the meaning of the word needless.”

  Aniri felt her temperature drop a little. At least he was taking her seriously. She folded her arms. “My mother must have also instructed you to help with my mission.”

  Janak leaned back in his chair and folded his arms as well. “The Queen only instructed me to protect your life.”

  “Well, I am instructing you to help me in my mission.”

  They stared at each other.

  She knew Janak well enough to realize a battle of wills was lost before she started. She had to strike where he lived, the one thing he cared about above life itself: the crown. Her mother. Aniri took a deep breath. “This isn’t just about me, Janak, and whether I fail in my duty or not. If this flying weapon exists, the Queendom is in danger. The Queen will be in danger. You need to assist me where you can, for her safety as well.”

  His dark eyes flashed but the rest of his face was impassive.

  Aniri gritted her teeth. A compromise, then. “Perhaps I don’t need to meet with the generals.” She gestured to the aetheroceiver. “If the flying machine exists, someone must be communicating with the prince about it. An undertaking such as building a flying warship cannot take place in complete secrecy—it must leave a trace of itself, if only in the prince’s most personal sanctum. The answer may be hidden in a communique or a secretly held file. What I need is access to such a place, somewhere he would allow in only his most trusted advisors.”

  “And you think he counts you as one of those?” Janak’s eyebrows rose. “Because of one kiss?”

  “Yes,” Aniri said stiffly. “Because he needed it, and I allowed it. I’ve gained some measure of trust from him already. But if I’m to glean anything more from him, I will need to spend time alone with him. Without a raksaka shadowing my every move.”

  Janak narrowed his eyes. “I suppose the young prince is not the type to murder you by his own hand in his private sanctum.”

  “Janak,” Aniri said, throwing her hands out in frustration. “The prince is the least likely Jungali to want me dead. He believes I am the key to his holding the crown.”

  Janak hesitated, studying her, then tilted his head in silent agreement. Which was all the approval she supposed she would get. Hopefully, when she survived a private audience with the prince, Janak wouldn’t think of her as quite such a foolish girl anymore.

  As to whether she could actually fulfill her mission here, gaining the prince’s trust enough to discover his closest held military secrets… unfortunately, Janak’s words rang far too close to the truth about that. She was trained in fencing, climbing, and avoiding the court as much as could be allowed the Third Daughter of the Queen. She was possibly the least likely person to succeed in a mission of espionage that required navigating the politics of a country she barely knew.

  But she had no choice. Her future depended on it.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Prince Malik.”

  Aniri had worn one of her more bedazzling dresses, in case that might lull the prince into thinking she was making an entirely social call. While a servant laid out tea service, Aniri cast a casual glance around Malik’s private office. It was adorned with personal items. Perhaps they had stories behind them, like her mother’s relics. Discussing them might prompt the prince to lay down his guard while she looked for evidence of the flying machine. Malik dismissed the servant with a flick of his finger, and the door close quickly behind him.

  They were alone.

  “I’m simply relieved you are feeling better, Aniri,” Prince Malik said. “The guilt of rushing you in front of the crowd right after your arrival was weighing heavy on me.”

  “I’m sure the thin air would have affected me either way. But I am glad that it’s passed.”

  “And please…” He came around the edge of his desk, then leaned back against it, his long legs stretching near where she sat in an ornate stuffed chair. “You needn’t call me Prince Malik, especially when we’re in private.”

  “Malik, then, if that’s your preference.” She smiled her most winning smile up at him.

  He returned it, then shook his head. “I forgot about your custom. Malik is my family name. My given name is Ashoka.”

  “Oh,” Aniri said, put off balance for a moment. “Forgive me, Prince, um, Ashoka.”

  “Well that does sound awkward, doesn’t it? How about just Ash? That’s what my friends call me.”

  “Are we friends?”

  “No.” His face fell into a mock severity. “We are secret lovers, mad for each other. Haven’t you heard?” Then he grinned again.

  “So the rumors are working, then?”

  “Splendidly.”

  She adjusted her seating and leaned back to gamely inspect the prince. He was out of his formal all-black attire and back into clothing similar to his travel wear. His linen shirt was open at the neck, and his pants billowed slightly before tucking into his boots. He wore the golden loop earrings again, and she tried hard not to stare, still unused to the sight of jewelry on men. She noticed for the first time a woven leather bracelet on his wrist, and it reminded her of the braided one her father had given her, only of more sturdy construction. She’d left hers in her room. It was the kind of thing she wore for good luck when climbing down walls to see Devesh, not meeting with foreign princes in order to spy on them. Although spying seemed the more dangerous of the two activities at the moment. She pushed aside thoughts of Dev before they leaked out onto her face.

  “Do you think General Garesh is more convinced of the genuineness of our marriage now?” Aniri asked. “Or is he still suspicious of me?”

  Prince Malik—no Ash, Aniri reminded herself—folded his arms. She should endeavor to use the familiarity now that the prince had offered it.

  “I’m sure he sees through it,” the prince said, “but it doesn’t matter. He will bend to the people’s will, along with the other generals, just as I must. Our communities, our families, are too tightly woven, filling the walls of our mountain capitals too snugly for an autocratic approach to governing. But surely your Queen understands this as well. I hear the people of Dharia are very content under her rule.”

  It irked Aniri to talk about her mother; plus she needed to steer the conversation back to the general. “Most of the people love my mother, it’s true. But while everyone at court pretends to adore her, there are many who would just as soon slip a dagger in her back.” Aniri had left her dagger in her room, even when Janak pressed her to take it. Coming armed to a social call was hardly the way to win the prince’s confidence. “But surely it’s the same here. Are the generals all equal in their attempts to dislodge you from the throne?”

  “No,” Prince Malik said. “Of them all, General Garesh would most especially like to see my head on a pike.”

  The image from her dream, with her head on a pike, surged forward and caused her to shudder involuntarily. She shifted in her seat to mask it, uncrossing and crossing her legs under her layers of silk skirt. Finally, when she recovered, she said, “Does General Garesh strive to take your place as king?”

  “He would prefer there were no monarchy at all.”

  “He prefers a military rule?”

  “Yes. Or at least one based on merit, not bloodlines. It doesn’t help that the monarchy sprang from Bajir, and there are a hundred years of bad blood between Bajir and Sik provinces. Sik is the poorest of the regions—it is truly a harsh existence there, and they have the weakest attachment to the crown. I’m sure he wishes I had passed on with my mother.” Prince Malik sighed. “Our past is sometimes a weight around our necks, dragging us back into the dark times of anarchy. I would like to take us forward with trade and peace agreements, but Garesh sees no advantage to that. He’s a fiercely proud Jungali. He believes our provinces deserve a greater standing in the world and the only way forward is through military strength. The tribal ways still appeal to many Jungali. Garesh is not alone in believing military might is the solution to every problem.
“

  “Maybe Garesh is the one behind the rumors of the flying machine.”

  The prince’s eyes turned cold, and he pushed up from the desk. “There is no flying machine, Aniri.”

  She winced, cursing herself inwardly for approaching the subject so directly. “Of course. My mother reassured me of that before I left.” Artful spying was obviously not her strength. The prince had turned his back on her, retreating behind his desk again. She rose up from her seat, holding her hands wide. “It’s simply that everyone in Bajir now believes we are in love, a rumor that didn’t take much prompting. I was only saying perhaps Garesh could just as easily spread rumors of a flying machine, if that would serve to destroy your attempts for peace.”

  The prince picked up a frame on his desk, which Aniri couldn’t see the face of, sighed and replaced it. “You are probably right. Garesh is certainly doing everything he can to bring a quick end to my reign.”

  Aniri trailed her fingers along the prince’s heavy, dark wood desk as she came around the end, taking time to examine his personal effects. There was a tiny shashee carved from obsidian and clad in brass armor, with even its horns tipped in metal. A royal symbol of the Jungali provinces? Or homage to the mountain goddess Devpahar? The beast looked more ready for war than the contemplation of peaceful wisdom.

  Next to the beast lay a dagger. The sheath was highly ornamental, but the grip looked plain and well worn. She touched the weapon gently. The jewels encrusted on it sparkled, then went dim as she passed. She glanced over her shoulder. What she had thought was merely a window at the far end of the room was in fact a door to a stone balcony with an expansive view. The prince’s office must be on the side of the estate with the sheer cliff she had seen coming in. Which made it highly inaccessible, no doubt on purpose.

  Turning back to Prince Malik, she said, “This is a beautiful weapon. Is there some significance to it?”

  The prince glanced at the knife. “It was my brother, Toshan’s.” He met her halfway and stopped her from coming completely around the desk. He unsheathed the dagger. It gleamed at the edge, recently sharpened, but the blade itself was aged. “Tosh had it when he fell from a third story window. There was blood on the knife, and I don’t believe it was his. I think he was using it to defend himself from a Sik marauder. I had asked him to accompany a trade mission to Dharia, but they only made it as far as the trading station at the border when the Sik gang attacked. They ransacked the station and disappeared into the hills. The murderers were never caught.” The prince sheathed the blade and set it in its place again.