Sisters
The nap left Prem feeling groggy, with both ears stopped up and fighting off an irrepressible urge to yawn. She left the old dungeons and headed upstairs, making for the royal apartments, a private enclave on the uppermost floor of the palace. The ceilings were painted in bright red and gold, the colors of the national emblem and the royal seal. Golden lion busts and starbursts hung on the walls, sharing space with displays of spiraled sabers and crossed spears. Prem had spent much of her life out of the lap of luxury, and now she looked at the fine silk curtains and crystal chandeliers with distaste. She tried not to resent her sisters for living in such an environment all their lives, being pampered and waited on for whatever they wanted. There was a freedom in not having such luxuries while growing up, even though other parts of her life hadn’t been so pleasant.
The others would likely be waiting on a private balcony overlooking the royal gardens. It sat at the end of a long hallway lined with a crimson carpet, while the golden light of the late-day sun shone through tall windows. Prem found the balcony doors shut and a pair of red-coated Royal Guards standing in front of them—tall, imposing men with square jaws, pistols and sheathed swords in their belts, and thick arms folded behind their backs. The two men shared a look as Prem approached and without a word, they pulled open the heavy doors and Prem stepped inside before it shut behind her.
“Prem! Where have you been?” Priya spoke, and Prem heard equal parts worry and annoyance in her younger sister’s voice. It was still hard to imagine the youngest Marantha sister as Jaira’s new monarch; Prem thought it too strange, too new, too impossible to have actually happened. Sometimes Prem still expected their parents to walk in at any moment. It was like being caught in another dream or nightmare, one that she couldn’t wake up from.
“Sorry.” Prem coughed and checked her nails, making sure she’d scraped all the dirt away, hoping she looked acceptable in clean clothes and with her hair in a tight horsetail, if only because the others would say something if any part of her appearance seemed out of place. “I’m here now.”
The shaded balcony hung over the Garden of a Hundred Pools, a sheltered swath of green, growing things amidst shining blue ponds and fountains in the shadow of the palace and its ivory towers. Water lilies floated in the pools amidst fragrant red gingers, white spider lilies and ylang-ylangs with yellow flowers. Posh carpets of blue and violet thread lined the white marble floor, and fine tapestries hung from the walls. Prem could hear the cries of industry, roaring car engines and squawking horns outside the walls, but they were muted and far away.
Prem’s three sisters were seated at a long table covered in the old broadsheet copies that she recognized from Gomati’s room. Preet sat at one end, still dressed in her uniform, smoking from her favorite hookah, a contraption of brass and blown blue glass filled with bubbling water; smoke came from from tobacco burning over hot coals. She held a long metal tube attached to a hose, brought it to her mouth and after taking a long draw, she exhaled a steady stream of sweet-smelling, dark smoke.
Prem felt all of them staring at her, intimidating her, waiting and watching every move she made. She took a moment to catch her breath and compose her thoughts, calm the panicked pulsing in her chest. “Are those the papers we found?”
Preet shrugged. “The Deputy said so. Even hand-delivered them himself.”
“I thought you didn’t want to involve the two of them.” Prem furrowed her brow at the Seneschal, pointed at the other two sisters.
Again, Preet shrugged. “I didn’t then. Now, I do.”
Prem rolled her eyes. “Fine. Did he give us all of the papers?”
Now Preet snorted a laugh; Prem felt her hackles rise. “I assume so. How should I know? I didn’t interrogate him. He went to the trouble of calling me in the first place, so I assume he brought as much as he could. Just because I said not to trust the man didn’t mean I’m calling him a liar.”
“I’ll withhold my judgment on that for now.”
“Always so suspicious, Prem,” Pranay said. She was a scholar and Priya’s personal mantrik, or magician. Pranay had given up the throne to pursue her studies and train at the prestigious Darbor Tower in her youth, only returning to court after their parents’ death. The oldest and palest of the four sisters, Pranay looked so much like their mother in her plain white dress, with black hair so long it lay coiled beneath her cushioned seat like a sleeping serpent. She bore an old ink stain on her left index finger and small, brass-rimmed spectacles perched precariously near the end of her nose. Her only embellishment was a plain gold ring on the little finger of her left hand. Pranay didn’t look at all like someone might expect royalty to look, and seemed much older, far beyond her years.
“I usually am, yes,” Prem said, not wanting to expand on Pranay’s objection any further. Instead, she changed the subject: “What about the clippings we found? Is there anything useful in them?”
“Does anything useful ever come from the papers?” Preet said, directing her question at the ceiling as she rolled her eyes. Preet had no stomach for policemen, reporters or politicians. Upon announcing her intention to follow Pranay’s example of abdication and continue her martial training with the Royal Guard, she announced that she’d sooner blow up the palace than spend a single day as its monarch—it was all the Press could talk about for weeks. Their father was not pleased.
“It’s not much more than a lot of old memories.” Pranay sifted through several of the press clippings, and then tossed one in particular aside with a show of disgust. “Gods, the absolute trash they publish some days.”
“What is it?” Priya was, by far, the prettiest of the four: smooth cheeks that matched Prem’s coloring, with a touch of rouge and painted lips for vanity’s sake. She was brown-eyed like the other siblings, all three of them in contrast to the shining-blue of Prem’s own. In every other way, Prem and Priya might’ve been twins if not for Priya’s constant need to preen and dress up.
Priya wore neither crown nor headdress, but left her long hair hanging loose in curls over her shoulders. Her sari was blue with gold edging and a plunging neckline, and a matching loose veil draped around her shoulders. Priya looked like a monarch should: dressed in rich cloth and ornate fabrics, and it made Prem thankful that she didn’t have to wear such foppery. Priya also had a small, gold ring in her left nostril, proof that she was of marrying age—out of the four of them, only Priya wore one.
Of all her sisters, Priya seemed the most changed to Prem. Once the elder sisters stepped aside, and with Prem absent and under Vati’s sway, the burden of maintaining the monarchy fell upon Priya’s shoulders by default. She had a presence about her, a bearing that Prem couldn’t explain. It jarred her to see it, made her unsure of what to think about this new, transformed sibling she now served. In some ways Priya remained a naïve, starry-eyed child, but that veneer was cracked, showing glimpses of something else underneath.
The new Rani set down a porcelain tea cup painted with pink lotus petals in a matching saucer, picked up the scrap of paper Pranay had tossed away, scanned it. “Oh,” she said, before setting the paper back down as far away as she could reach.
“Why, what is it?” Preet asked after blowing out another long, fluttering trail of smoke.
Prem turned the paper around, reading the dark, dry printed words through streaks of dried blood. “Heartbroken Royal Widow Leaps Into the Flames, Conflagrates Herself Upon Funeral Pyre of Beloved Monarch and Husband.” She stopped, scanned the stony faces of her sisters, then forced herself to continue reading aloud: “‘Bulletin, Bhai Mandwa—The future of the Jairan monarchy is now in doubt after the Rani Asha performs anorhana, the traditional act of committing herself to her husband’s funeral fire, completing the ancient Rite of Ascension after the death of the Raj Oam, to join with him in the next life hereafter. The departed royals leave no sons, and three surviving daughters.’”
“Things were never ‘in doubt,’” Preet said with another snort, wiggling her fingers in exaggerated quotes. “The whole Parliament and their pets in the Press just expected Priya to step down like the rest of us did, so they all got their turbans tied on too tight when she didn’t.”
“They always like to make sure I know that they’re keeping an eye on me,” Priya said.
“Who, Press or Parliament?” Prem said.
“Take your pick,” Priya answered with a shrug.
“So very considerate,” Preet said with a snort. “If I had my way—”
The balcony doors opened, startling the sisters as one: Prem felt a tremor in her chest as she turned, while the other three straightened in their chairs. Preet’s mouth gaped a tiny bit, while Priya’s hands froze about her teacup. Pranay folded both hands in her lap.
In walked the Prime Minister, head of Jaira’s Parliament and its government, her back and neck straight, gaze proud and unflinching. Kunaia Rao was an older, severe, stern woman who’d been beautiful once, but no amount of creams and tonics could hide the wrinkles that were finally starting to show themselves at the corners of those hard, penetrating eyes. She wore a dark gray sari heavy with gold brocade, with a matching turban wrapped tight on a head of thick hair that likely only stayed black because it came out of a bottle. A red dot painted in-between her eyebrows called a bin was a sign of supposed spiritual wisdom and piety.
For just an instant, Kunaia and Prem met each other’s gaze. The Prime Minister was a powerful woman, inheritress to one of the richest families and most powerful political dynasties in the entire country. From the way the Prime Minister sized up and dismissed her with a sniff, Prem hardly seemed worth noticing by comparison.
Kunaia looked at Priya, face visibly softening. “Majesty! Are you alright? I came as soon as I heard the news.” Prem stepped to one side since the Prime Minister looked ready to shove her away if she didn’t move fast enough. At the door, a mixed crowd of almost a dozen burly men stood, Guardsmen in red coats and policemen in blue. The Police outnumbered the Guard almost two to one, and none of them looked particularly friendly or happy at each other’s presence.
“Prime Minister! So good of you to come.” Priya smiled, clasping her hands tight around her teacup. “I am well, thank you. Has something happened?” She took a silent sip of her drink, eyes wide and curious.
“’Happened,’ Majesty? Happened?” Kunaia looked aghast, her mouth opened wide. “How can you be so calm at a time like this?”
Priya leaned to one side, waving a hand to the men standing at the door. “That’ll be all for now. Thank you!”
To Prem it looked like none of the men were altogether happy at the Rani’s dismissal, but they closed the heavy doors, sealing the five women inside together. Prem took a spot behind Preet’s chair, curling her fingers in the thick cushion, staying quiet and as unobtrusive as possible.
“Honestly, Prime Minister.” Priya’s good nature didn’t completely vanish, but something prickly was in her voice, just under the surface. “Am I to expect a visit of this sort every time the slightest crisis pops up?”
“A certain level of ceremony is expected in these matters, my dear,” Kunaia said, slapping the back of one hand into the other for effect. “A degree of firmness, of gravity. One mustn’t simply be permitted to threaten the sitting ruler of this nation without consequence! Your father understood that if his life was ever in danger that the Government ought to be aware of it. Don’t you agree?”
“Of course I—” Priya began.
“Then,” Kunaia added for effect, “I should expect no less from you, Majesty, with all respect that is due.” The Prime Minister sniffed, scratched at one wrist.
“I don’t recall Father ever rushing off to tell you people much of anything,” Preet said around the curved end of the pipe in her mouth.
Kunaia looked alongside at Preet, turned up her nose with a harsh sniff. “Perhaps you weren’t as aware of these things when your father was alive,” she said. “I seem to recall your particular disdain for the political process.”
“Among other things.” Preet said. She took a deep pull from the hookah and blew a long, thin plume of smoke up over Kunaia’s head.
“Rani, something must be done about this matter,” the Prime Minister said, either missing or ignoring Preet’s veiled insult.
Priya sighed, toying with the edge of the veil dangling from her shoulders, like she was unsure whether to cover her head or not. It was expected that a monarch was always to be seen in public with his or her head covered as a sign of humility, in spite of their high station. “What would you have me do? I only became aware of the threat this morning.”
“We discussed a situation similar to this one prior to your coronation, Majesty, as you may recall.” Given her tone, Prem thought Kunaia didn’t expect Priya to recall anything of the kind. “A combined show of force here between the Royal Guard and the Parliamentary Forces is the perfect solution. I’m sure you agree.”
“Ah, and with all respect to you, Prime Minister, I must again decline the offer,” Priya said, putting down her cup. “Respectfully, of course. The Ooncha Mahal is already full enough to begin with, and I’m sure the Seneschal is more than capable of protecting this place and everyone in it.” The young Rani stood, passing by the silent Pranay and approached Kunaia. “I’m also sure the Parliamentary Police have more than enough to deal with.”
The look on Kunaia’s face was a curious mix of annoyance and disappointment. “Your father would’ve seen the wisdom in my plan, my dear.”
“I’m quite sure he would have,” Priya agreed. It set Prem’s teeth on-edge.
“Well, if you’re quite sure—”
“I am,” Priya said.
“—then I’m also sure you understand that my greatest concern, as well as the concerns of my colleagues in the Cabinet and the Parliament, is only for your well-being, Majesty. I must also insist on offering the assistance of the Parliamentary Police in hunting down this dangerous criminal. Surely their wealth of experience will prove vital going forward. May I announce that we are in accord on that, at least?” Kunaia’s smile was wide and even looked affectionate, but Prem could see the old woman’s eyes from over Priya’s shoulder, as cool and flat as painted glass.
“If you think it wise, then of course, Prime Minister,” Priya said, clasping one of the older woman’s hands in hers. “And thank you for coming to see me. I expect you’ll keep me abridged of the details once we know more.”
“Of course, Majesty, I shall try.” Kunaia’s smile slipped ever so slightly as she squeezed Priya’s hand. The older woman looked at the other three for a moment, assessing and dismissing them again, just as before. “Take care of yourselves. We’ll speak again soon—of that, I’m certain.” With that, the Prime Minister walked for the doors, barking the command “Open!” On cue, the doors opened, and without looking back Kunaia Rao departed, walking down the hall towards the stairs, her crowd of policemen behind her.
Preet put down her hookah, walked quickly to the entryway and spoke in short, hushed tones with the Guards standing outside of it. Then she shut the doors again, turned and growled under her breath. “I should set them all to scrubbing toilets for a month.”
“No, don’t do that,” Priya said, sounding very tired as she took her seat again. “It’s not their fault the Prime Minister came to put on a show.”
“The nerve!” The Seneschal took her seat again, picked up her hookah pipe and began blowing more smoke through her flared nostrils. “The…absolute gall of her, barging in here and wanting to sic her trained bluebacks on us. And all her talk about ‘concern’ for Pri’s ‘well-being.’ It’s almost as if I can see the very same quote in the evening papers tonight. Not to mention how that old hag likely expects the Guard to do all of the hunting for this assassin, just so her blue coat-wearing lapdogs can snatch him up once he’s found and take all the credit.” Preet was on a roll, curling her hand into a fist, slamming it atop the arm of her chair. “And talking about Father that way, like she ever cared about what he thought of anything! Gods’ breath, the woman makes me physically ill.”
The four sisters became quiet after the tirade, not looking at one another. Pranay busied herself with scanning more pieces of newsprint, which she’d likely read already; Preet leaned back in her seat, staring at the ceiling, fingering her hookah; Priya looked down into her cup of tea, not drinking anymore of it, but swirling the liquid around and around in slow, lazy circles. Prem was unsure what to say, feel, or even think—the raw, unwelcome reality of their orphan-hood still weighed heavily on all of them.
“I miss him,” Preet said. “And Mother, too.” She gave a sniff, but still didn’t look at anyone.
“We all do,” Pranay said. She kept her voice neutral, even and quiet.
“Father and Mother’s ashes are hardly cold, but that fork-toothed nagina has the nerve to come slithering in here and start demanding things—”
“Preet.” Priya spoke softly, chiding the elder sister before taking a long, slow breath. “They wouldn’t want us losing our temper. Not even at Kunaia.” Priya sniffed as well, rolling both lips between her teeth before she cleared her throat. “Especially not at Kunaia. She’s not worth—” The Rani coughed again “—not worth the wasted energy.”
Prem walked back to the empty side of the table, scanned the chaotic piles of print and old pictures. Sunset wouldn’t arrive for another hour. “I think we need to talk,” she said to no one in particular. She didn’t really want to talk, but there wasn’t any way to avoid it, so Prem took control of the conversation, intent on directing things where she wanted them to go. The shaded balcony was the only place where the sisters could speak without being overheard—Prem had made sure of that.
“About what, Prem?” Priya looked up while pouring herself another cup of tea.
“All of this,” Prem said, waving a hand at the table’s contents.
The Rani sat a little straighter in her chair. “Preet said that you knew something about the man the police are searching for.”
“I do,” Prem grabbed a fourth chair and sat on the empty side of the table. “The killer’s name, his real name, is Gomati. We met before…before I came home.” Prem didn’t like talking about her long absence with the others—it pained her, aching like a bandaged wound she didn’t want to think about. But peeking under the surface wouldn’t sting too much, so long as she took care in how much she revealed. “I don’t expect his reputation to have changed much. Gomati and I met each other during the last gang war, but I don’t know if he’d even remember me now. We were barely associates. We were not friends.”
“What’s he like?” Preet said.
“Gomati’s a bastard who enjoys what he does; I heard he was a killer even before he let a Kushin possess him. He likes money, the company of pretty women, and he had a reputation for enjoying too much fortified wine.”
“A lecher, a murderer, and a drunk,” Pranay said. “He sounds positively charming.”
“Gomati did most of his wet-work for the Temple of the Red Eye, a cult involved with the worship of Morda: death, suffering, pain, that sort of thing. Gomati took jobs for the temple for years, but last I heard they had a falling out.”
“What happened?” Priya said.
“Who knows?” Prem set her hands on the table in front of her. “He was already old when I met him. Sometimes it’s proof of experience, but everyone has to retire eventually. Perhaps he slipped up and made a mistake, or maybe the temple priests wanted someone willing to do the same work without having to pay Gomati’s going rate.”
“Sounds like a crisis of faith if I ever heard one,” Preet said.
“But why would he be interested in us?” Pranay asked, motioning at the table and its contents. “Collecting all of this would’ve taken years of work. Did he know who you were when you met him?”
Prem shook her head.
“Was he plotting some kind of revenge?” Preet added.
“Revenge?” Priya blinked. “Revenge for what?”
“How should I know? Maybe he hates paying taxes.” Preet spread her hands. “I didn’t meet him, Prem did.”
Prem shook her head again. “Gomati wasn’t a political killer; he cared about money, not whether Father and Parliament were on the outs or not. I don’t think he knew about me, either. I didn’t talk about that sort of thing with anyone.” That was a lie, but Prem was used to lying, and none of them questioned her further.
Then it was quiet again. A peacock called from out in the gardens. The fountains made constant hissing, gurgling whispers as water splashed and danced. Outside the palace gates, the sounds of traffic continued unabated. “I could reach out to my contacts in the Police,” Preet said. “Maybe this Gomati fellow is someone they’ve had interactions with before. That might make tracking him down easier…perhaps?” The Seneschal raised one eyebrow at Prem.
Prem, once more, shook her head. “I doubt it. He’s an assassin, and a seasoned one at that; he’ll have plenty of places to hide, and he’ll also know how to evade the Parliamentary Police without getting caught.” Just mentioning the Police made something in Prem tense up, but if anywhere in that city could be considered safe from them, it was the palace—or so she’d hoped before Kunaia’s unexpected interruption.
“What about you, then?” Preet asked. “You keep saying you were an assassin too, right?”
The casual, even flippant tone Preet used made Prem start gnawing at the inside of her cheek. “What of it?”
“Couldn’t you find him yourself? Do one of your magic tricks—just poof yourself to wherever he is and find out what we need to know.” Prem went cold at how Preet discussed Vati’s magic so dismissively, ignorant of what it meant, of where that power came from. Preet didn’t know what her words meant. She could never understand.
“Preet, that’s enough,” Pranay said with a frown.
“What?” The Seneschal sighed and rolled her eyes again. “It’s what we’re all thinking anyway. If Prem says she knows all about these things, why not prove it and save us a lot of wasted time and trouble?”
“No, absolutely not,” Priya said. “Prem just came home—gods above, we thought she was dead not three months ago!” Her voice rose in volume, and it sounded to Prem like she heard a touch of anger in it, as well. “I’m not going to throw her back into that…that place all over again.”
“Still, I’ll bet she could do it,” Preet insisted, pointing at Prem with her hookah’s mouthpiece. “Couldn’t you, Prem?”
Prem nodded after a moment, with some reluctance, not caring if it showed. “Probably… It would take a little time to figure out where to go, who to talk to… If someone wants one of us dead, they aren’t going to hang up an advertisement looking for volunteers.”
“Who do we know that could even finance a plot to kill a Rani?” Pranay said; to Prem’s ears, Pranay’s tone sounded dryer than usual. “It’d have to cost a fortune.”
“You could suspect anyone with enough money to afford a hit like that,” Preet said. “Like—oh, I don’t know—Kunaia Rao, maybe?”
Priya raised one hand to her forehead. “Preet, honestly now—”
“You know it’s true. We all know it’s true!” Preet pointed at the closed doors, like Kunaia was still standing just on the other side of them. “Father wouldn’t marry her over Mother, so that automatically makes the four of us demonic bitch-spawn to her. She’s had it out for us since before we were born.”
“Give it a rest, Preet,” Priya said with a scowl. “You’ve always hated Kunaia, just like you say she’s always hated us. The Prime Minister’s opinionated, insufferable and impossible to get along with, but she’s not a traitor.”
“‘Even the wise fear the cruel,’” Pranay said, borrowing one of their mother’s proverbs. Rani Asha never went a day without some proverb or nugget of wisdom to quell her daughters’ bickering. The memory of her mother made Prem’s heart burn in her chest, and she tightened her jaw until the ache passed.
“I don’t know what that has to do with anything,” Preet said, grumbling under her breath. “If Kunaia’s wise, then I’ll be a demon’s left testicle.”
The reaction on Pranay’s face made Priya laugh. It was a sweet, innocent sound and Prem was glad to hear it.
“I still say Prem’s our best bet to find out where Gomati might be hiding,” Preet said.
Priya’s good humor quickly disappeared. She set her cup down hard in its saucer, rattling the fragile porcelain. “Preet, there have to be plenty of other ways—”
“Hold on,” Prem said, cutting the youngest sister short. She fought the temptation to scowl herself; Priya’s need to protect her irritated Prem even more than Preet’s goading did. “Gomati is involved, we know that. I could talk to someone at the Red-Eye Temple, see if anyone knows anything about him, or persuade someone to tell me where he is.”
“That’s the ticket!” Preet said, an excited grin on her face. “Mind if I go with you? I could go for a little ‘persuading’ right now.” She rubbed her hands together with glee.
“Absolutely out of the question,” Pranay said. “You have more than enough on your plate just dealing with the Parliamentary Police, and once word of this plot gets out, the Press will be camping on our doorstep by the score.” The eldest sister looked at Prem for a long moment, her face unreadable. “I think Prem’s more than proven that she can take care of herself.”
Priya leaned across the table to take Prem’s hand. “Are you sure you want to do this, Prem?”
Prem blinked, looking down at the hand clasped tight around hers. She paused, swallowed, gently pulled her hand away. “If it’ll help, then I’ll do it.” She could do this. She could help this way. Returning to the dark, criminal world of her childhood was risky, but it was either that or having to ask the police for help, and Prem didn’t trust any of them.
“But that brings up another point.” Prem looked back at Priya. “It’s best for all of us if you lay low and stay out of the public eye for a little while until Preet and I figure out what’s going on.”
“I shall do no such thing,” Priya said. She sniffed again, sat up straight, smoothed out an invisible wrinkle across her knees. “I’ve only been Rani for a few weeks. Kunaia will eat me alive if I decide to crawl under my covers and not come out over one death threat, not to mention what the papers will say. I won’t be held hostage by any threat on my life, or on any of yours, either.” It wasn’t the sort of thing Prem expected her sister to say, and it changed her opinion of the younger woman, at least for the moment. Maybe Priya had a little steel in her spine when it mattered, but it remained to be seen how strong that steel could be. “For now, I’ll be careful. Preet?”
“Hm?”
“Do what you can about the Police. Some in Parliament won’t like it if they find out, so keep your inquiries out of sight. This Mariander Neru seems willing to work with us, so maybe contact him for now.”
Preet nodded. “Understood.” She paused, and a strange look came across her face. “Hard to believe a looker like that is Kunaia’s brat.”
“What?” Priya said it, but all three sisters looked at Preet.
Prem narrowed her eyes, gave the softest shake of her head. She didn’t know what to think of the Deputy Superintendant, but she had no interest in discussing the man’s good looks or the lack of them, ever. Vati never let Prem fraternize with other men, so that compounded her discomfort even more.
Preet didn’t take the hint. “Mariander, the Deputy that Prem and I met in the Waterback today—he’s the Prime Minister’s son, and handsome enough even I’d climb into his lap if you got me drunk enough.” Preet gave a wide, tooth-filled smile. “Who knew Kunaia ever managed to breed?”
“How do you know that?” Pranay said.
“It’s my job,” Preet answered, buffing her nails on her coat. “I’m supposed to know things like that.”
“How did Kunaia ever find the time to have children?” Priya said, a shocked look on her face.
“Or find a man willing to sleep with her?” Pranay added; coming from anyone else, Prem would have thought it an attempt at a joke.
“Obviously Kunaia managed to convince at least one man to sleep with her,” Preet replied with a grin. “Or maybe she tricked him, like a yukishi—she cast a spell on some poor sap, got him into bed, and then…” The Seneschal finished up with a wet, exaggerated slurping sound.
Prem rubbed her eyes, refusing to speak. The talk of sex, of seduction, children, and handsome men, all of it made her ill. Preet’s flippant, happy-go-lucky attitude annoyed Prem even more than the goading had, and she wanted to be anywhere else in the world at that moment.
“And you said he’s good looking?” Priya said.
“Do we have to discuss this?” Prem blurted out.
“Why shouldn’t we?” asked Preet. “There are plenty of women who’d think him handsome,” she continued. “Dark skin, tall, his face isn’t pockmarked, his eyes aren’t crossed, he might even bathe on a regular basis—”
Prem saw Priya give her a sidelong glance, but she still refused to look up from the table. The Rani cleared her throat before taking another sip of her tea. “Getting back to the matter at hand: Pranay, maybe there’s something in all of this that we can use.” Priya shuffled some of the papers around on the table. “Keep looking, see if something turns up.”
“Of course, dear.”
“Prem?”
Looking up at the sound of her name, Prem took a breath, stared Priya down, said nothing.
Priya gave a small smile. “Use your best judgment and see what you can find out. Just make sure you come back here when you’re done looking. Father and Mother would never forgive me if I let something happen to you now, you know.”
Prem could feel all of them looking at her again, but kept her eyes on Priya, pointing one finger. “Stop looking at me like that.” The tone of her voice made Priya’s smile fade away. Prem gestured at all three of them. “All of you.”
“Prem—”
“What happened was ten years ago—it’s over, it’s done. I don’t want to talk about any of it.” Prem looked at all three sisters in turn: Pranay looked cool and unreadable as always, Preet shifted uncomfortably in her chair, while Priya gnawed on her lip. “It’s taken this long for you three to stop staring at me like I’m a ghost every time I walk into the room. Stop expecting me to vanish again.” Prem pushed back in her chair and stood. “I’ll come back when I find something.”
Priya paused, then nodded. “See that you do.”
With nothing more to say Prem left, shutting the heavy doors behind her. She descended a nearby stairwell and stepped into the garden. The air felt warmer amongst the press of green and growing things, and Prem pushed back the long branches and fronds that barred her way, following a long, winding path lined with black stones amongst the pools. There were, in fact, one hundred pools in that garden, which explained how the place earned its name, but Prem was headed for one in particular.
Prem felt drained. Talking to her sisters was always a daunting task, and facing all three of them at once left her feeling physically exhausted. But what awaited her still made her heart race, until she could almost feel the blood pulsing in her veins. She was going back to the world where Sachin had lived and roamed free. While she’d been hiding inside the palace walls, that world still endured, awaiting her return.
Memories of steam-filled streets, of sweat and blood, of fire and acrid smoke, of the flash of steel and bright teeth in the dark, it all washed over Prem, made her lick her lips with repressed excitement. Part of her anticipation was Vati’s doing—she sensed him whispering, tempting her, coaxing her back to her old life and her old ways, but Prem couldn’t lie to herself: she also wanted to look into the shadows again, to see what stared back at her.
Tucked away in a lonely corner of the garden sat a small, isolated pond of gray-green water under the hanging branches of a red sandalwood tree, lined with a spotted chain on short stone pylons at its edges. An old, rusted sign that said ABSOLUTELY NO SWIMMING was the only thing to warn people away. It had no lily pads, no sparkling fountain that filled the air with shards of light or broken rainbows on sunny days. It was the oldest pond in the garden, filled with water from the Genja in the time of some ancient Raj or Rani whose name was lost to the ages.
Even though the pond was cut off from the rest of the river, its waters were still sacred and magical. Prem stepped over the chain and into the pool, felt her boots sink into the soft silt and mud at the bottom. Nothing lived in that pool. No fish swam in it, and no birds ever seemed to drink from it. The calm waters looked comfortable enough to lull someone into taking a swim, never knowing about the danger that lurked under the surface.
Prem loathed that pond. Their parents forbade the four sisters from ever going near it, but rebellious little Priya went for a swim one hot summer’s day, ten years ago. She nearly drowned before Prem jumped in to save her. That was the day Prem’s life changed forever, when she encountered Vati, roused and awakened when Priya first entered the water.
Priya blamed herself for what happened, Prem had deduced that much. Even now, the memories were clear in her mind: she recalled the overwhelming fear and terror, first at Priya’s accident, then when the spirit revealed himself. Prem first thought that the water demon simply wanted to drown Priya, but later learned that Vati wanted something more: a vessel, a body to take for himself, to be free of the prison that had contained him. Prem offered herself to save her sister’s life, so Vati took her. After that came darkness, pain, more terror and the sense of being completely alone, even if Prem could never truly be alone ever again. She and Vati were bound, two souls in one body, completely inseparable. He was a part of her, for good and forever. Prem thought back to the face of that nameless dead girl in the Waterback, with empty eyes and a pale, cold face, and found it easy to exchange that girl’s face with her own.
You never know who might be watching, Vati said to her. Prem looked around the garden, but she didn’t see anyone. She was alone, and yet…not alone. Vati was always there, observing her, looking at her through her own eyes—that likely explained the unsettling feeling.
Prem stared down at her reflection in the water for a moment, and then let herself sink deeper into the pool. She slipped further and further down into its warm embrace until it swallowed her whole.