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

  “Yes.”

  “Afterward, can you meet me…” He glanced at Janak. “…in the place we first met?”

  They had met in the Queen’s training hall, where Aniri had accepted the handsome new fencing instructor’s offer of lessons even though she had fenced for years. The hall would afford them some privacy, whereas at the Queen’s tea, she could hardly look at Devesh without arousing suspicions.

  “I will meet you there,” Aniri said softly. But an ache already stabbed her chest: a fear that somehow it might be her last time with him.

  He stepped back. “Very well. Gods be with you, my lady.” He bowed deeply in farewell and turned to slip away into the darkness. The shadows swallowed him along with possibly her last chance of a carefree life. She stared after him, her stomach wrenching into knots tighter than the rope she’d fashioned to steal away to him. When Aniri had composed her face, she turned and marched to Janak, the slick rocks by the riverside cutting into her slippered feet.

  She stared up at the impassive face of her guard. Why her mother insisted Janak, of all the raksaka, attend her was beyond her understanding. It mattered little to Aniri that he had attained the highest rank among the raksaka, that he had served the Queen in many duties both at home and abroad, or that he was the Queen’s most trusted advisor. He had failed in the one duty that mattered to Aniri: protecting her father from the common robbers who’d killed him. And now Janak stood there, holding in his hands dangerous knowledge about the only man she had ever loved half as much.

  “You will not speak of Devesh to anyone. If you do, I will see that you serve the rest of your life guarding the royal stables.”

  “Trust me, your most royal eminence,” Janak said coolly. “If I could convince the Queen you were anything less than a reckless menace to yourself, I would gladly fulfill my duty elsewhere. The stables would be a welcome change of scenery.”

  She glared at him, not sure if her threat carried any weight at all. Finally, she brushed past him, marching toward the palace without a look back. He shadowed her all the way as though he expected her to bolt for freedom and disappear into the dark after Devesh.

  She only wished that were possible.

  Aniri closed the door in Janak’s face, leaving him standing outside the Queen’s office. His ever-stoic expression broke in surprise as the heavy, wooden door swung shut. He was no doubt still lurking there, but he could wait to hear secondhand about her humiliation in this arranged marriage to a barbarian. Besides, she needed a moment alone to quell the pounding in her chest. While the chambermaid fetched her mother, Aniri could think of no better place to collect her thoughts than the Queen’s office.

  This was where mementos of her father were sequestered away.

  Her mother’s carved desk dominated the small room, in between the adjacent bedroom door and a gilded bookcase along the opposite wall. Aniri drifted toward the shelving. Paintings of her father sat between the treasures he brought back from his travels. She picked up a rough seashell that glinted green and purple secrets in its coiled form. It was from the isles off the west coast of Dharia and still smelled of the ocean. Listen closely, Aniri, and you’ll hear Devruna’s promise of calm seas for your travels. She had believed her father, with the wide-eyed innocence only a child can, and heard the goddess’s words in the shell’s soft noise.

  Now, the only words she heard were his, but they eased the tightness in her chest anyway. She put the shell back in its place by a tiny statue of Devruna riding a tentacled sea creature. Next was a nubbled glass vase, heavy with sand as black as midnight, yet it sparkled in the flickering gaslamp light. The sand was from Chira, where volcanic mountains spilled ink-like lava and created shores of glittering blackness—a strangely devilish idea that entranced Aniri.

  Her father would have taken her to all these places had he lived.

  Her fingers trailed across the smooth shelf to an ink sketch of him reclined under a tree. He was probably no older than Devesh when the drawing was made. His face was serious as he scribbled something with an ornate feather quill. Aniri recognized it as a gift from her mother: she said he blew like a feather wherever the wind took him. His travels kept him away for weeks at a time, but he always lavished tales and treasures on his three little girls when he returned. Aniri burned with envy when her sisters were old enough to take those trips with him. She was robbed of her turn by the murderers who stole her father’s life in a countryside Samirian inn.

  The Queen had moved on quickly after his death. The abundance of courtesans in her court seemed to satisfy whatever needs she had for male companionship. Aniri tried not to think of it because whenever she did, she had a difficult time keeping her tongue. At least her mother hadn’t chosen another man to be king, one who might try to play father to her as well.

  If Aniri had been Queen, she would have scoured Samir until she found and hung the common thieves who killed her king. Her mother never summoned a single guard. She never went to Samir to claim the body, just let them send him back in a casket. Aniri was only ten at the time, but her memory of the bells tolling her father’s death was as clear as the winter sky that day.

  The carved wooden door to her mother’s bedroom swung open, and the Queen strode out, looking as polished as she would for tea. Her black hair was pinned into cascading curls, and a delicate gold hairpiece draped a single ruby on her forehead. Her deep purple dress was very Samirian in fashion with its gold-stitched corset and starched silk skirt, but the Queen’s strict dress code required everyone at court to make some concession to traditional fashion, and she made no exception for herself. Her nod to the elaborate draped dresses of the past was a regal sweep of embroidered gold fabric over one arm. It floated in a pool that traveled behind her and somehow made her more imposing. Aniri was certain she did it on purpose, simply because everything her mother did was deliberate and well thought out.

  And her people loved her for it.

  The Queen stopped in front of her, coolly taking in her black silk pajamas pricked by the forest along with her scuffed and dirty silk slippers. Good thing she hadn’t worn the climbing shoes; they would only have earned her more scorn in her mother’s eyes. Years of discipline prevented her from smiling with that thought.

  “Aniri, dear.” The Queen’s voice was disappointed, but softer than Aniri expected. Her mother pulled something from Aniri’s hair; a briar came free, even as a strand of hair tried to hold it. “Has Janak told you why I summoned you?”

  Aniri nodded.

  The Queen frowned. “I had hoped to meet you in your chambers this eve to discuss this matter. But when I found you were gone...” She took a deep breath, as if summoning her patience from some deep well—and she had to reach all the way to the bottom, in Aniri’s case. “I had a feeling Janak might know where you had gone. I’m glad he returned you safely.”

  This wasn’t the tongue lashing Aniri had expected, which for some reason raised her hackles. Perhaps because she knew what was coming next: the complete loss of her future. “I was perfectly safe the entire time, Mother.”

  She smiled. “Safe doesn’t always mean what we think it does.”

  Aniri raised her eyebrows. Her mother didn’t usually speak in riddles.

  The Queen sighed again and drifted to her desk. Her long-fingered hands tapped the communiques there. Finally, she faced Aniri again, her arms folded to bring the sweep of golden cloth to the front, an imperious shield.

  “Aniri, I know how much it meant to you, the coming of your birthday.”

  Meant. Past tense. Aniri’s chest caved in a little. She waited for the rest.

  “This attack at the border...” Her mother paused. “The people are troubled by it and impatient for a security I have difficulty providing them under the circumstances.”

  “Because the Jungali have developed some kind of new weapon,” Aniri said flatly. She really couldn’t care less about the politics, although Janak was probably right. She should have been paying closer attention. At lea
st then she wouldn’t have allowed herself to fall for a Samirian courtesan who could never be hers.

  “Perhaps.” Her mother took Aniri’s measure with her gaze. “Or they could be simply saber-rattling. The Jungali have many internal factions, and it’s difficult to know how much is bluster for their own people and how much is a true threat to Dharia. But our people would be reassured if we secured a peace treaty with the Jungali, and Prince Malik seems sincere in his offer.”

  For once, Aniri wished the Queen would simply be her mother. To think of her daughter first, before the country. But that would never happen, and it was foolish to wish for it. As foolish as falling in love with a courtesan.

  Aniri’s stomach hollowed out, as if she hung over a deep precipice with nothing but silk threads keeping her from plunging to her death. “Have you already accepted his offer?”

  “No.” Her mother watched her again, definitely measuring her response.

  Aniri tried to keep her shock and relief to herself, but it proved impossible. “What?”

  “Aniri, I am not going to arrange this marriage for you.”

  “I... I don’t understand.” Her heart was hammering now, threatening to drown out the soft raspings of silk on silk as her mother strode over to take Aniri gently by the shoulders.

  She pushed back Aniri’s hair, tucking the coarse and wind-blown strands behind her ear. “You are so like your father. I know that to lock you into a marriage, even for the best intent of our country, would be like caging a wild bird. You would beat yourself bloody against the bars.”

  Aniri just stared into her mother’s soft brown eyes. Who was this woman?

  A soft smile graced her mother’s face. “Don’t you wonder why your father always traveled far and wide?”

  “I... um... no.” My father. Why were they talking about him? Aniri’s mind spun. “Because he liked to see new things?”

  “He did, but it was more than that. He needed to be free, to travel, to be away from the rigors of the court. And for all the peace in the Queendom, I couldn’t deny him that, no matter how much I feared for his safety every time he left the palace grounds.”

  Aniri was confused by this turn, but hope quickly surged from the hollowness in her stomach. “So, you’re saying I do not have to accept Prince Malik’s offer?”

  “That is precisely what I am saying.” The Queen dropped her hands from Aniri’s shoulders. “However, I would like you to at least consider it. Sleep on it. Give some thought to whether you can give your future to your country. Whether it’s in your heart to do your duty. Or not.”

  And like that, the hope dropped off a cliff. “And if I say no?”

  “There is no punishment.” But the sigh in her voice told Aniri what she already knew: this would be the last in a long line of disappointments Aniri had presented to the Queen. Her disgrace would be final—and public. The court would know the Third Daughter of the Queen had refused her duty when it called. Her mother would lose favor with her people; they would lose faith in her strong, calm ability to run their country. But her mother would take that burden on herself rather than force Aniri into a marriage she didn’t want.

  Guilt dragged hard on Aniri’s shoulders.

  “Prince Malik will be here tomorrow,” the Queen said. “I would like you to receive his formal offer and give it serious thought. Your wishes in this will be final.”

  Aniri nodded. The word final haunted her all the way back to her room.

  The Queen’s afternoon high tea wasn’t an affair for the weak of heart.

  Or the sensitive in flesh.

  Priya pulled painfully on Aniri’s hair in an attempt to twist it into something elegant. She fished out another briar, like the one the Queen had found the night before, and made an indelicate sound as she flung it at the mirrored table in front of them. Priya herself was already dressed, her maroon-and-black corset mostly covered by the iron-gray sweep of fabric over her shoulder. She had tucked golden hairpins in at the waist, pulling them out one at a time to tame Aniri’s hair.

  In the mirror, Priya’s scowl of concentration made her creamy brown skin flush with effort, but her dark eyes were bright and shiny. By contrast, Aniri’s eyes were the dull black of a raksaka’s uniform, and her normally bronzed skin had turned an unhealthy pallor. The night had been filled with tumbled dreams of barbarian princes stabbing each other, then hoisting her head on a pike in a macabre and screeching dance. Even awake, her mind crowded with visions of balancing precariously on snowy mountain cliff, awaiting a thousand foot fall to her death.

  “I’m going to have no hair left,” Aniri said to Priya, “if you keep pulling at it.”

  Priya dragged a bristled brush upward through her hair. “My lady, if you look anything less than magnificent, I’ll never live it down.”

  “It’s just tea.”

  Priya paused to give a properly horrified look in the mirror. “Just tea? In the Queen’s court?” She shook her head and returned to pinning Aniri’s hair in place. “Is my lady feeling well?”

  When Aniri didn’t answer, Priya scowled more darkly, then laid Aniri’s hair jewels in place and set to work pinning the elaborate gold filigree. It was studded with emeralds that accented Aniri’s copper and sea-green dress. Her sleeves were richly embroidered, which meant they weighed her down like two daggers strapped to her arms. Aniri was short and slight to begin with, but the glittering green swirls must have been made of jewels because the entire outfit anchored her like it was made of stone.

  Priya had selected the dress, saying it softened the angular muscle lines she had acquired through her fencing and climbing. The dress was no doubt perfect for the occasion. Plus Priya had a keen sense about fashion, which allowed Aniri to ignore it as much as possible.

  “I’ve heard the adorable new diplomat and fencing instructor from Samir will be in attendance,” Priya said, as if this was simply idle gossip.

  “Did you?”

  “Perhaps he can brighten my lady’s spirits.”

  Aniri hoped so. She needed the comfort of Devesh’s arms and lips to help her make the right decision about this arranged marriage. He would tell her she was right to follow her heart—she was sure of it. He might even have words to soothe the guilt that raged whenever she pictured herself refusing the one duty she had been born into.

  Aniri peered at Priya’s kind face. Priya must know about Devesh. Not much in the court got past her. In that moment, Aniri very nearly told her handmaiden everything, but she waited a beat too long to speak.

  Priya gave her a sly glance in the mirror. “If my lady is not interested in the new Samirian diplomat, I know many ladies of the court who will be. I might even try a hand at him myself.”

  Aniri smiled. “Priya, you are wicked.” She decided it was indulgent to burden Priya with her worries. She would have to figure this out herself. Priya stabbed in a final pin, making Aniri wince. “I also think you secretly train in the fencing room with those pins.”

  “Yes, my lady, I do.” Priya pulled another pin from her waist and flourished it in the air. “Have you seen the fencing instructors? They are quite handsome, and strong, and very… sweaty in their earnest practice.”

  Aniri nearly laughed, but her sour mood returned when Priya stepped back, her primping complete. Aniri studied herself in the mirror. The girl who had run into the forest in her night clothes was completely erased, and a princess glowered back at her.

  “Perhaps you could go to tea in my place, Priya.”

  “Oh no, my lady.” Priya gave her a mocking half-curtsey. “My bravery is nowhere near equal to that task.”

  Aniri wasn’t sure hers was either.

  When they arrived, the Grand Chamber was already bustling with a hundred ladies and lords in their finest Dharian fashions, sprinkled with a few attendees in more austere Samirian attire. It was a garden of jewels and brass glinting amongst deep burgundies, lush greens, and purples the color of ripe plums and long sunsets. It even smelled like an orchard, with
citrus teas and cut fruit perfuming the air.

  The Queen arranged her high tea around a large U-shaped table set with broad cushions, elaborate silver tea services handcrafted in Samir, and bites to eat which were so tiny it took dozens to fill a platter. A few of the guests picked at the delicacies with dessert forks, but most were engaged in an intricate social dance, some sitting, others moving between the seated players, whispering and watching to see who was talking to whom and sitting where and for how long.

  A quartet of strings played quietly in the music alcove. It wasn’t a dirge, but Aniri moved through the room at a pace that would match one. Priya trailed behind her. Aniri searched the seated guests until she found Devesh. He sat to the left of the Samirian ambassador, wearing his diplomat uniform and smiling at something she said. His gaze met Aniri’s for just a fraction of a second, long enough for her to know he noted her entry, but not long enough to be an unseemly glance that could spark rumors. Her heart squeezed. She wished she could could simply abandon her decision altogether. Let her mother realize her choice when she found her Third Daughter had run off with a Samirian diplomat to his country.

  She beat back her fantasies and took a deep breath, keeping to the perimeter and walking slowly toward the head table. Priya fell behind, caught by one of the male courtesans who floated around the table and charmed the ladies of the court. Priya would watch for a sign from her in case Aniri needed something. Like an excuse to flee the Queen’s tea after an obligatory amount of time in attendance.

  Given she was late, her attendance time would probably have to be longer than usual.

  The Queen was in her place at the head table, with Janak serving his ornamental purpose as royal guard behind her. His ever-keen eyes assessed everyone who came near the Queen, even the servants darting to refresh teacups. Aniri’s sisters, Nahali and Seledri, had already taken their positions alongside the Queen, two bookends of perfect styling to accompany their mother. Long gone were the barefoot days of running across the palace grounds with nothing but catching butterflies and chasing servant children to worry their minds.