The orange of the sunset and the orange of distant fires mingled in the window of Srithi’s chamber, lighting the interior with ghastly, smoky forms. Srithi knelt on a cushion near the window, rocking baby Gapthi gently and rising to her knees every now and again to peer out at the chaos then turn away muttering. Mandhi stood near her, arms folded under her breasts, looking out the window with a scowl.
The riot had not been intended.
The first news of the violence in the streets had startled her, but the news of Thudra’s loyalists coming through the gate was a shock. She had intended for Ghauna to spread the news of Navran’s past to the saghada, and for the priests to demand that he abdicate at the acclamation. But evidently the word had spread beyond just the saghada, and now the city burned for it. Veshta had barred the doors to the estate, and Mandhi had stayed since then in the upper chamber with Srithi, watching the city gradually blacken and bleed. Even if it came to the worst, there was hope, though. The tunnels through the Ruin still held.
“We’ll get out one way or another,” Mandhi whispered.
“You can’t be sure,” Srithi said. She stroked Gapthi’s face and cooed. She seemed to be soothing herself as much as the child. “Ruyam could already be in the city. And what if the baby comes?”
“I’m sure he could, but still—”
Panicked shouting filled the alley beneath their window. Mandhi backed away from the open space, wary of a stone or torch that might fly though. There was pounding at the door of the estate. Srithi winced and put her hands over her ears. “Mandhi! They’ve found us.”
“Quiet. No one is looking for us.” But one of the voices outside was Navran’s, and Mandhi’s pulse galloped.
They heard the heavy creak of the estate door opening then closing again. The bar across it fell with a shudder. Srithi let out her breath and began twisting the ends of her hair. “At least they got it closed. Why would they open it? Go see who it is.”
“Sure.” But as soon as Mandhi stepped onto the balcony of the upper story, the visitors spilled into the inner courtyard lit with golden torchlight: Navran first, smeared with blood and ashes and dragging a sword limply in one hand, followed by Sadja and three soldiers from Sadja’s militia. A shiver of outrage passed through her at seeing them, for the inner courtyard of Veshta’s estate was holy, and the unclean polluted it by entering. But a step behind them came Veshta, shouting for Habdana and Kidri to bring water and food, and Mandhi swallowed her displeasure.
Navran sat on the lip of the pool at the center of the courtyard. The sword dropped from his hand. He looked around with a dazed expression, the torchlight making the blood on his face seem black. He looked up at Mandhi. Their eyes met.
He knew.
She drew back from the railing, hoping to hide the tremor in her hands. His eyes were as cold as iron, his expression direct. He had pieced it together, and he had survived and reached her. She was undone.
She slipped back into Srithi’s chamber and curled up on the cushion next to her friend. Srithi felt Mandhi’s shaking and put her hand over Mandhi’s, bending to kiss Mandhi’s fingers. She probably thought that Mandhi was merely concerned for the ruined city.
“Who was it?” she asked.
“Navran and Sadja,” Mandhi whispered. “And a few others. No one I knew.”
“Navran and Sadja!” Srithi’s voice rose into a squeal. “Then they’re alive.”
Mandhi’s response was monotone. “Yes. They’re alive.” Would he kill her? Could she throw herself on his mercy?
“By the unborn Power,” Srithi said. “Maybe there’s still hope.”
Mandhi said nothing, but she hid her face in Srithi’s shoulder.
A few minutes later a servant appeared at the door of Srithi’s chamber. “Mandhi,” the boy said. “Navran wishes to speak with you.”
Mandhi rose slowly to her feet. The first rush of panic had passed, and she didn’t feel the tremor in her limbs or the urge to scream. “I’ll come,” she said. “Srithi, you stay here. I’ll talk to him in private.”
Navran was alone in his chamber, standing with his back to the window and his hands folded at his waist. A lonely lamp lit his face in red, making the wrinkles around his eyes seem like cords of black pitch. Mandhi let the curtain fall shut behind her, cutting off the rest of the household. The room tumbled into silence, spiced with the faint whispers of distant shouts that drifted through the window.
“You did this,” he said.
She raised her chin and answered imperiously. “What did I do?”
His shoulders sagged, and he put his hands to his temples. “Rioters in the east and the south. Thudra’s loyalists. Uluriya chanting Death to the false Heir. They threw open the east gate. We almost had it closed, but… Ruyam sent a message.”
“And which of these is my fault?”
He looked straight at her. “You told them I am not Cauratha’s son.”
His expression was fixed and determined, and his fists were clenched at his side. There was no hint of uncertainty in his posture. Denial would get her nowhere. So she said, “I am carrying Taleg’s son.”
“Should that pardon you?”
“You should understand. Cauratha’s line is carried through me. You are an unfortunate misunderstanding. And you trampled on the traditions of the Heirs, risking not only yourself but all of the Uluriya for your misplaced confidence. So yes, I plotted to displace you, by spreading the truth of your heritage. If the Uluriya have rejected you because of it, you can hardly blame me.”
He looked out the window and sighed. “And now? If we barricade the estate we can survive the night. But tomorrow the city is lost.”
“The secret route from the city. Veshta knows the way, and I checked the tunnels myself a few days ago. They’re clear all the way to the exit, a little cave in the rocks beneath the wall. Everyone in this household can escape.”
“And the rest of the Uluriya in Virnas?”
“Their deaths are on your head. You were the one who goaded Ruyam into a siege. In any case, the Uluriya are not limited to Virnas. Ruyam will never get us all. And the Heir—my son, I mean—will escape in secret and live in secret, as the Heirs have always done.”
He began to pace across the room. He paused at the window and watched the fires for a few minutes. When he turned to her his face was full of anger. He opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed to reconsider his words, and a moment later he sighed and resumed his pacing. “You’re right,” he said at last.
Of course I am “About what?”
He gestured out the window. “These deaths are on my own head. I played the game, and I lost.”
“Am I supposed to take consolation in your admission?”
He sighed and shook his head. “Jahaparna.”
“What?”
“Do you play jaha?”
“Jaha? Is that what’s on your mind right now?”
“In jaha, when one player has three towers, he offers his opponent jahaparna. It’s almost impossible to win once your opponent has three towers. You always take the jahaparna, unless you are very bold or very stubborn.” He sighed. “I am very stubborn… but maybe not as stubborn as that.”
Mandhi folded her arms and watched him. His intent was clear enough, but she let him write it on palm leaves for himself. For a long moment he stood with his hand over his eyes and breathed deeply.
“Ruyam has offered jahaparna,” he said. “I give him myself, in exchange for the peace of the city. I am the Heir. He’ll take me, and you will escape beneath his notice.”
It was an honorable offer, and she felt a moment of vertigo at the thought of Navran being honorable. Perhaps I have misjudged him. But the memory of Taleg dying in the street strangled her remorse. If Ruyam took Navran, she and her child would escape in peace and save the lives of many hundreds of Uluriya besides. It was a fair trade.
“If you’re offering this,” she said slowly, “I can pacify the city. Ghauna, a saghada of the East Quarter, carried the truth about you to the Uluriya. If we can send a message through him—”
“With a guard. We’ll send someone.”
“He’ll carry the word and get the Uluriya, at least, to lay down their weapons.”
Navran nodded. “At dawn we send an envoy to Ruyam.” Navran pulled Manjur’s ring off of his finger. He held it up to the light, burning red in the reflected glare of the fires, sighed heavily, and clenched it in his fist. Then he gave it to Mandhi. “Take it. I never deserved to wear it.”
“No, you didn’t,” she said.
She put it onto her own hand above the ring that she had received as the Heir’s daughter. A little thrill of wonder passed through her. Manjur’s ring. She had seen it on her father’s hand countless times, but it had never been hers to wear. Even now, she wore it in proxy for her unborn son—but still she wore it. She had won. “This is the best thing you’ve ever done for the Uluriya.”
“Bring someone who can write,” he said. He turned his head, and in the shifting light from the window she saw that tears ran silently down his face. “I will dictate the terms.”