Decisions and Dreams
“Mari Prem!” Mariander’s voice was loud and, to Prem’s surprise, rather warm as he approached, waving at her. He was dressed in his uniform again, looking more relaxed and at ease, blue coat unbuttoned and gloves removed in the heat of the morning. Members of the Press beyond the iron fence were shouting at his back, trying in vain to get his attention.
Prem felt a rush of heat up her neck. She took a deep breath and hoped it wouldn’t bleed into her face. “Deputy Neru.” Her sisters’ gazes felt like a millstone around her neck, and for some reason now Prem wished she’d had time to make a change of wardrobe—standing there with her hair disheveled and clothes streaked with mud was an irritating distraction. Who knew how many pictures the photographers had already taken, eager to plaster her ugliness all over the front pages that evening.
“What luck! I hoped we’d have a chance to speak again.” Mariander, ever the polite one, greeted them formally again with pressed hands and a bow. “Namak.”
Prem followed her sisters’ example as they all brought their hands together and bowed. Preet didn’t show any discomfort in spite of her excessive physical size, and Pranay was slender and elegant as a swan. By comparison, Prem felt as graceful and genteel as a legless flamingo.
“Namak,” the elder sisters said together.
“Namak,” Prem murmured. Mariander was the last person Prem expected to see, or to be paying her a visit. “You’re looking much better now than you did last night,” she said. She noticed Preet’s eyes start to go wide before she smothered a grin. Prem coughed, fighting hard not to clench her teeth. “I mean—I-I didn’t expect you to be up so soon after being wounded and all.” Prem resisted the temptation to look at Preet and stick out her tongue.
“Yes, all thanks to you,” he said. “I’m feeling remarkably refreshed this morning.” Prem watched him carefully run his hands down his chest to his stomach, as if expecting his old wound to start paining him again. Then he looked out towards the fence. “I didn’t expect there to be such a crowd when I got here, though. I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.” He turned back again, eyes darting from one sister to the next, looking so clueless and handsome. Mostly clueless.
“You might have.” Preet squinted, looking up at the bright morning sky for a moment. “But you could make it up to me by telling your men to go find somewhere else to stand all day—the bottom of the river, perhaps.”
“Preet.” Pranay gave the middle sister’s arm a light smack.
“My apologies, Seneschal,” Mariander said, dipping his head in a show of respect. “I only learned of the order to guard the Royal Palace before I arrived. I’m afraid whoever ordered it outranks my authority, unfortunately.”
“Yes, I have a few guesses.”
“Actually,” Pranay said, “would you excuse us? The Seneschal and I have other business to discuss.” She took hold of Preet’s arm and pulled her away, coaxing her up the stairs.
“Oh, I’m sure it can wait,” Prem said, looking away from Mariander for a moment. She hoped he couldn’t see the shine of panic in her eyes as she looked at her sisters, begging without words for them not to leave her.
Preet looked from one sister to the other and raised a finger. “Now that I think on it, the Court Mantrik and I do need to be going. Don’t we, Pray?”
Prem wanted to claw their eyes out when both sisters nodded in unison.
“Yes, yes, of course we do,” Preet continued. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon, Deputy.”
“I’m sure we will.” Mariander had such a simple smile, so honest and heartfelt.
Prem wanted to stab something—or a certain pair of someones—as they both beat a hasty retreat. She even considered turning around and following them inside without another word, but that was a bit too brusque, even for her.
“Seems like there’s quite a lot of excitement going on today,” he said, looking at the crowd again.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Prem said, waving a hand. “The Rani’s just making news like she always does.” Prem wanted to hug her arms around herself, to turn away from the black, unblinking eyes of the photoboxes staring at her, like buffering herself against the force of a freezing wind. She could imagine their constant clicking, the sounds manifesting and crawling under her skin like ants. “Could we step inside, perhaps?”
“Yes, of course.”
They ascended the steps together. Mariander walked too close to her, close enough he could reach out and take her hand if he wished, and Prem was quite sure she did not wish for that. Anything could be disseminated or misunderstood just because it was plastered on a broadsheet page or posted in a gossip column. Prem always felt naked in front of photographers, and the tremors in her heart lessened only after they stepped into the breezeway and out of sight of the street. It was cooler in the shade, so Prem still lifted her hair from the back of her neck for a moment’s relief since she had nothing to tie it back with.
They looked at each other. Prem was just about out of patience with herself. She felt like a child caught in the kitchen larder, withering under the cook’s long stare. “Why did you come here?” she said.
“I wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
Mariander looked surprised. “Well, for saving me, at the temple. I was outnumbered, and those cultists would’ve made short work of me if you hadn’t stepped in. And again, for saving my life afterwards.”
“I…” Prem’s earlier combativeness melted away. After an awkward moment, she licked her lips and nodded. “Well, you’re welcome.”
Mariander paused for a moment, as if at a loss for words, which struck Prem as funny for some reason. “You seem troubled, Mari. Is something wrong?”
The inside of Prem’s cheek was sore, swollen from so much biting. “I just don’t know what else to say, really. And it’s Prem,” she said. “Just Prem.”
“But I couldn’t—’’
“I insist.” It took all of her self-control not to fidget. What was so hard about him saying her name? “Please.”
He looked reluctant, but finally nodded. “Prem, then. I saw the way you moved, how you took them out without hardly slowing down at all. It looked so easy for you… Where did you learn to fight like that?” He seemed to be in awe of her, summing up the battle in the space of a few words.
Prem thought about telling him the truth of her past, and in her old life she would’ve done exactly that just to see how he reacted, maybe even enjoy a laugh at his expense. Sometimes the only way for her to cope with the life she’d led was laughter, at her tumbling all the way from the Raj’s ivory towers into the darkest, coldest corners of his capital. But now Prem felt stuck, flustered, even sheepish, a whole range of emotions she was all too well acquainted with. She fell back on an old excuse, one she hadn’t used for ages: “Oh… I was a dancer as a child. I guess some things just stick with you.” Assassins and policemen didn’t swap business cards, so what Mariander didn’t know wasn’t going to hurt him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You just thanked me a moment ago. What are you sorry for?” Prem couldn’t make any sense of the man.
Mariander looked embarrassed. “You went to so much trouble to save me, even if I don’t even know why you did it.” He looked down for a moment, raised a hand towards his mouth, but never quite reached it. Prem watched his eyes, the curves of his face, the bow of his open mouth. The heat crawling up the back of her neck was going to make her ears pop. “I heard you were arrested when I woke up in the hospital, but I wasn’t permitted to leave or come find you. I only found out this morning that you got stuck in lock-up all night.”
“Don’t blame yourself.” Prem waved a hand, trying to dismiss his comments, like spending nights in gaol cells was nothing new for her. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”
“Prem, you don’t have to—’’
“Did you find out anything about the dead girl?” Prem didn’t bother asking permission to change the subject, and she didn’t worry at being overheard—the plot on her sister’s life was front page news by then, and she saw no point in trying to hide it. Prem also thought it worthwhile to test him, to see what he might tell her.
Mariander seemed taken aback, and when he answered, he kept his voice lowered. “We know that she and the man Amar had no connection to one another. It’s possible that she never knew him at all.” He leaned in closer, so close that Prem could feel the heat of his breath, imagine how soft his hair would feel if she ran her fingers through it. She stared at his mouth as he spoke even more softly: “You went to the Red-Eye’s temple to find out something about him, didn’t you? About Amar. It’s the only thing that explains you being there.” His eyebrows went up. “Isn’t that right?”
Prem licked her lips, felt her heart pound as she took a long breath. She thought about lying, but decided it wouldn’t hurt to tell the truth for once. “The priest I talked to wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“Damn.” Mariander snapped his fingers. “I’d hoped he might’ve told you where Amar is.”
Prem took a gamble. “Where do you think he is?”
To her surprise, Mariander didn’t hesitate. “We think he might be hiding out somewhere on the other side of the river, in the Grays.”
“That’s possible,” Prem said, surprised at his admission. “Most criminals prefer Black Bay or Industrial, though.”
“Our records show that Amar said he lived in the Grays at one time.”
Prem nodded, filing that information away.
“The method of the girl’s murder doesn’t match any known religious or magical ritual that we know about. It looked like just what it was: a senseless act on a helpless victim.”
“Did anyone make funeral arrangements for the girl?”
“The father’s been dead for years, and the mother fell on hard times with other mouths to feed, so she couldn’t afford a funeral pyre. We arrange for burials in cases like this one.” He looked sad, even sighing. It was the sigh that made the difference to Prem. Mariander spoke like a naïve, pampered rich boy, ignorant of other people’s suffering, but that sigh made him seem sorrowful too, like he actually cared about what happened to the little girl’s body. On the other hand, life in Bhai Mandwa was hard; Mariander seemed to need a dose of reality to toughen him up. It reminded Prem of her sisters, how she wondered if any of them could last for one day out on the same streets Prem grew up on. It made her want to scold Mariander, or to pity him.
Instead, Prem stayed quiet for a long moment. “What was her name?”
“Whose name?”
“The girl. Did you even ask what her name was?”
Mariander thought for a moment. “Nakushi.”
Prem’s mouth pressed to a thin line. The word meant “useless” or “unwanted,” a name she’d heard more than once in the slums. It wasn’t a name that anyone deserved, and seemed ill-fitting for a child of the weeping, mournful woman Prem remembered standing in that gray, flooded street. Perhaps the mother finally realized what she’d lost once it was too late to get it back. “Where is she buried?”
“The Parliamentary Police keeps a cemetery in the Grays, near one of the old White-Hand Mordite temples.” Mariander tilted his head slightly. “Why do you ask?”
It took a long moment for Prem to answer, to find her voice. “When I was a girl…I had an accident—here, in my Father’s home.” She gave a short, sharp cough. Time had worn out the immediate sting of that memory, but the events remained fresh as ever in her mind. “I expect you probably know a little about that.”
He nodded. “Everyone in Bhai Mandwa knows about that. The papers talked about it for months, years even, after you disappeared. When you came back after the Rani’s coronation, I expect it shocked a lot of people to find out you were still alive. I certainly was.” Mariander hesitated. “Can I… Would it be alright to ask—’’
“No,” Prem said. The regret and contrition was plain on his face, and Prem twisted up her mouth when she saw it. “That’s not important. But I was just about that girl’s age when I disappeared. Seeing Nakushi’s body brought back unpleasant memories, that’s all. I want to get to the bottom of what happened. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. No one could deserve that.” Once she started speaking, Prem found it difficult to stop. Mariander confused her, left her guts tied in knots and her belly fluttering like a crimson-feathered bulbul locked in a cage.
“Prem, pardon my being so forward, but there’s something else I’d like to ask you about, if I may.” Something must’ve shown on Prem’s face since he added: “Off the record.”
That seemed safe enough. Prem took a breath and nodded. “Alright. What is it?”
“Do you have any idea why those Red-Eye cultists tried to attack you?”
Prem frowned. “Mariander, the only reason they attacked me is because I decided to help you.”
“No, I don’t think so.” His eyes were so intense, so serious that Prem couldn’t look away. “I saw them break away from the crowd in the outer courtyard and follow you. It seemed suspicious to me, and when I saw that they were readying their ambush, it seemed right to make the first move.”
If Prem knew how to lie, she also knew what the truth looked like; one was just a pale reflection of the other. Mariander was telling the truth—she heard no falsehood in his voice, saw no lies in his eyes. He reminded her of Priya, so focused and determined to believe in the good of things. Then his honest tone changed, sounding something more akin to humility: “I suppose it backfired on me rather splendidly, but whatever the case, I still think you were their original target.”
Prem considered his words. She didn’t like them, but she considered them all the same. She also forced herself to speak, rather than let the silence fall between them again. “I don’t know anyone who would want to kill me.” That was another lie; a list of almost a dozen names came to her mind immediately. “But I’ll make sure to be more cautious, just in case.” It felt bad to lie to him, leaving an unpleasant taste on the surface of her tongue that she wanted to scrape off. Lying came naturally to Prem, but she didn’t have to enjoy it.
“Thank you.” He even looked relieved.
The hem of Mariander’s coat near his neck suddenly twitched. Prem saw a familiar, fuzzy head poke up above the policeman’s dark blue collar. The mongoose’s eyes were rusted crimson in the shaded light of day. “Oh, Rikki!” Mariander turned his head, spying a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Is something wrong?”
Rikki gave a soft, chirping sound and climbed up on top of his head, looking around with dark, inquisitive eyes. Prem wondered if the animal’s brass gears or the fine, intricate cog-works of its hind legs would tangle in Mariander’s hair. Then Prem wondered what it’d be like to curl her fingers in his hair instead, and if the inside of his mouth would be hot if she kissed him, like biting into a steamed momo bun. She coughed, looked down, cursed under her breath.
“Is something wrong?” he said.
“I can’t figure you out,” Prem answered, leaning back as she crossed her arms. “You being a daayani was the last thing I’d have guessed at.”
“A what?” The Deputy looked surprised, even startled. “Oh! No, no, no—Rikki…” He looked up, as though he could see the furry little creature perched atop his head. “I found her in my mother’s garden years ago and I knew she wouldn’t survive on her own. I built her prosthetics so she could walk again, and she’s been with me ever since. She’s really just a pet, that’s all.”
“That’s very impressive,” Prem said. “A friend of mine who healed you thought Rikki was your familiar.” She pointed at the mongoose. “That animal is possessed, controlled by a Kushin; you may want to think twice about the dangers of keeping such a creature so close to you.”
Rikki didn’t seem to like what Prem said: the little beast went up to all fours, arched her back and bared her teeth in protest. Prem smirked back, but didn’t respond.
“She isn’t dangerous,” Mariander said. “Not to me.” After plucking Rikki off his head and petting her back to some semblance of calm, he coaxed the animal under his coat collar again. Prem thought Mariander looked so trusting, so sincere, decent and good-natured. It was hard for someone like Prem to even look him in the eyes.
“You learned how to work with mechanics as fine as that, but you decided to go into police work instead? How is that even possible?”
Mariander showed an embarrassed smile, rubbing the side of his neck with one hand. “It’s a long story.”
“I would think that someone with a mother like Kunaia Rao would’ve been born to be a politician.”
He laughed, which wasn’t the reaction Prem expected. “That’s right, my secret’s out now, isn’t it?” Before she could answer, he shook his head. “My mother wouldn’t speak to me for a month after I told her I was going to work for the Police instead of running for Parliament.” He looked around, as if worrying that he’d be overheard. “It’s why I used a different last name when I applied. I didn’t want to depend on my mother’s reputation to get ahead. I wanted to do things my own way… Have you ever felt that way, Prem?”
She wanted to laugh too, but was afraid he might take it as mockery—her entire life was about doing things someone else’s way. “I think I’ve wanted that all my life.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” His smile, however small, looked kind and a little sad.
Prem dared to show a tiny smile in return. “I know your mother. I’m surprised Kunaia stopped holding a grudge after just one month.”
Mariander sighed. “It’s true. But then again, she’s part of the reason for where I am now, so I can’t really be angry at her. I just hope she hasn’t made life for you or your sisters too difficult. My mother’s always had a…pointed opinion of your family, I’m afraid. I hope you won’t think too poorly of her for that.”
What could Prem say to him? No, your mother’s only held a grudge against my sisters and me since before we were born? Their mother told them about Kunaia and her scheming ways since they were old enough to know what the word “scheming” meant, but it felt wrong to badmouth the woman in front of her own son.
There was new activity out in the courtyard as a long, black car rolled up to the steps of the Ooncha Mahal, led in front and followed behind by two police busses, blue paint and golden dragons shining in the sun. The car door was opened and the Prime Minister stepped out, dressed in a violet sari and a short-sleeved silver blouse that sparkled as she moved. Kunaia ascended the steps with purpose and poise, not even waiting for the retinue that hurried to catch up with her.
“Speaking of your mother…” When Mariander seemed puzzled at Prem’s words, she nodded towards the doorway. There was no time to slip away or try to avoid the woman’s notice; Prem could feel Kunaia’s stare on her, burning white-hot like a brand.
“What are you doing here, Mariander?” Kunaia’s voice was harsh, unfriendly. She scowled as she closed the distance between them, reaching up to touch his arm. Hearing the old woman speak her son’s name aloud made it sound dirty to Prem. She didn’t like it.
The Deputy looked like he wanted to sigh again, but Prem watched him smile instead. “Good morning, Mother. Making a social visit?”
“I have an appointment,” Kunaia said. She locked eyes with Prem for a moment, not saying anything, so Prem saw no reason to speak first. The Prime Minister turned back to her son. “I’ll ask you again: what are you doing here?”
Now he did sigh. “Mari Prem and I were just talking, Mother. Were you aware that she recently returned home after a long absence?”
“I’m sure I recall that being reported somewhere,” Kunaia looked Prem up and down with a critical eye, one brow ever so slightly higher than the other. “It appears that reacquainting yourself with the comforts of home hasn’t been easy for you, my dear.” She sniffed, curling her nose for effect.
Prem wanted to narrow her eyes at the older woman, but she resisted the temptation. “It was a busy night, Minister. Perhaps you heard about it.”
“I heard that my son got himself into a spot of trouble, yes,” Kunaia narrowed her eyes at Prem. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“A fair bit,” Prem replied, doing her best Preet impression.
Mariander cleared his throat. “I was just here to thank the Mari personally, Mother.”
“Thank her?” Kunaia looked up at her son, then at Prem. “Whatever for?”
“She saved my life,” he said. “Twice-over, no less.”
“Is that right?” Kunaia gave Prem another glance, the look on her face showing near-palpable disbelief. Then she gave Mariander a hard, unfriendly look. “How many times have I told you about going to such places? They’re dangerous and unbecoming to someone of your station.”
“Sometimes it’s my job to go to dangerous places, Mother,” Mariander said. It sounded like an old argument, one Prem could imagine them having dozens or hundreds of times.
“Lots of places can be dangerous,” Prem said, stepping closer. “It’s impossible to be safe everywhere all of the time.”
Kunaia twisted up her mouth. “How could you know anything about danger?”
“I know enough.” Prem got up close to the both of them, closer than she would’ve normally been comfortably with. Kunaia was taller than she was, but size never intimidated Prem. She looked up, right into the Prime Minister’s eyes. “Take where we’re standing right now. You never know who’s listening in, or who might be watching you. Someone you’ve completely overlooked or ignored before could be watching you right now…just waiting for the right moment to do terrible, terrible things.”
The Prime Minister’s eyes showed the faintest bit of surprise, far less than Mariander’s widened eyes and open mouth. “Are you threatening me, girl?” she said, voice low and tight with anger.
Prem smiled. “I just wanted to make sure you were aware of the risks that could be lurking anywhere, Prime Minister. But surely you’re not so easily frightened—certainly not with all of these policemen around at your beck and call.”
There was hesitation in Kunaia’s eyes, a flash of it that came and went so fast that Prem nearly missed it. But when she saw it, just like with Udara, Prem knew she’d won.
“I don’t think you understand—’’
“I think I do,” Prem said, cutting the other woman off. “Maybe you’ve got my other sisters fooled. But you can’t fool me: using this threat on the Rani’s life as an excuse to make her dance, scrape and bow whenever it pleases you? It’s not going to work.” The blood was draining from Kunaia’s face, but Prem wasn’t foolish enough to blame that on fear. “You should take your bluecoats and go back to whatever Gilded manse you came from.”
The Prime Minister let go of the death grip she had of Mariander’s arm, straightening her back and glaring down her nose at Prem. She opened her mouth twice to speak, but never quite found the words she wanted. Then she spun in her slippered feet, walked out and down the steps again, a trail of surprised bluebottles turning to follow behind her once more. The two busses and car filled back up and pulled a quick, tight circle before rolling out of the courtyard, through the gate and back up the street, passing the gathered crowd and driving out of sight.
For a moment it was unnaturally quiet. Mariander cleared his throat, sounding too deliberate and forced to be any kind of natural cough. “Well, Prem, I…” He gave a nervous laugh, rubbing at his neck. “I don’t really know what to say.”
“Say you’ll accept my apology.” Prem didn’t sigh, or scowl, or do any of the things she normally did in response to feelings of discomfort. Her stomach was in such a tight knot it felt ready to implode. “I could’ve handled that more tactfully. I’m also responsible for your secret getting out. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, I know my mother. You’re hardly the first who’s incensed her. And I suspected I’d be outed eventually, so I’m not worried about that. But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll accept your apology.” He smiled, looking more certain of himself again.
She looked down, ran her hands along the front of her stained shirt. “I should be going. Yesterday was a long day.”
“Yes,” he said, “yes, of course. I shouldn’t have kept you for so long. Thank you again, for everything.” Mariander held out one hand. “Don’t worry about my Mother. Or the Press. I’ll handle it, somehow.”
Prem took his hand, shook it. She smiled, glad that it felt genuine. It felt good to smile for once. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help, at the time.”
“I hope we’ll see each other again soon.” Mariander bowed a quick farewell, then turned and headed down the stairs, walking back toward the gate. The newspapermen pressed in together, all of them shouting his name, demanding a statement.
Prem was left surprised, curious, and more than a little confused. She’d never met anyone like Mariander in her entire life, but knowing that such a man actually lived in Bhai Mandwa made her a little sad, if only because it had taken her so long to meet someone like him. She watched Mariander walk through the gate and disappear from sight before she headed further inside.
There was a sound over Prem’s shoulder, the faint click of a heel in the wide-open hall, something that stuck out of the hum of discordant noise. Prem looked back but didn’t see anyone, paused for a second, listened for it again. After casting one last look over her shoulder, she muttered at herself under her breath—she was jumping at strange noises, too nervous for her own good. Whatever made the sound, she didn’t hear it a second time, so Prem hurried back into the palace proper. The reception wing was a set of large, airy chambers with octagonal columns topped by wide, saw-toothed arches decorated with ornate white latticework. Crystal chandeliers hung from a ceiling painted sky blue, while sunlight streamed in through tall windows and domed skylights. The floors were white marble; tall mirrors and the golden lions of the Jairan coat of arms shared wall space with the royal family’s golden star. Red-coated members of the Guard stood at regular intervals, two at each post, all on alert.
Prem saw three familiar pairs of eyes staring down at her from over the top of an upstairs balcony railing. Preet and Pranay seemed surprised, but Priya was almost effervescent, a bubbling bowl of excitement and fascination ready to boil over. The young Rani’s eyes were all lit up with wonder and, Prem thought, a conspiratorial delight. Squeezing both hands into fists, Prem half-wished Gomati would just come and finish them all off to save her from the temptation of doing the job herself.
Ascending the stairs felt like walking towards a firing squad. The three of them blocked her path as she reached the top. Priya was in the center, dressed in a dark red and cream sari with matching choli; her arms were bare, and she wore a headpiece decorated with a small piece of red coral carved into a star hanging along the slope of her forehead, with a silver necklace and a matching coral charm. “Well?” Priya said, eyes wide and curious.
Prem smothered a sigh and looked up at the youngest sister from under her eyebrows. “Well what? And don’t say anything about how I look.”
“Did you really tell Kunaia off?” Priya’s eyes were wide.
“I never thought you had it in you,” Preet said with a grin.
“Most impressive,” Pranay added. “And well-deserved, at that.”
Prem huffed, rolled her eyes. “I told her what I think about her trying to keep us all cordoned off inside our own home like rats in a cage. For all the good that it did.”
“Well, she’s gone, isn’t she?” Preet said.
“More importantly, that man Mariander Neru—he came to see you!” Priya gave Prem a soft nudge at one shoulder. “What did you two talk about?”
“I asked him about the dead girl and if he knew anything else about what happened to her.” Something inside of Prem felt like it was withering away under their constant staring.
“Did he say anything interesting in-between you two mooning over each other?” Preet said with a smirk.
For a moment Prem looked at each of her sisters in turn. The memory of her smile at Mariander tasted bitter now, a stark contrast to how she felt around her own family. Reaching out, she grabbed Priya’s wrist and pulled her along. “All of you, come with me.”
The second floor of the Ooncha Mahal had residential suites for visiting guests and the staff that lived on-site, so she had plenty of rooms to choose from. Prem picked one at random, peeked inside and found it empty, then ushered her sisters inside. They all crowded into a front antechamber, where visitors removed their shoes before entering the apartment. A mahogany long-case clock stood beside the door, with heavy weights of polished brass hanging on slender chains and a rotating face showing a pastoral scene painted in both sun- and moonlight. A soft, methodical tik-tik-tik-tik was a constant staccato in their ears. Prem saw a framed black and white photograph on a small table: an older woman dressed in a striped mekala sador, a more-traditional draped garment worn over a long-sleeved blouse. She stood in front of her husband, both of them looking very composed and formal for the photographer. It reminded her of their parents, and made Prem miss her mother’s smile and her father’s kind eyes.
“Wait, why are we here?” Priya said.
“Because I don’t need the three of you making me look like an idiot out in public, that’s why,” Prem said, making sure they all heard the edge in her tone. She was irritated again but didn’t even try to hide it that time.
“Lay off her, Prem,” Preet said.
Prem pointed at the Seneschal. “Nobody asked for your opinion.”
Preet took a step closer. “I think I’m about ready to give you one.”
“Enough!” Priya’s voice snapped, shutting them both up. Prem clenched her teeth together, but she didn’t fight when the Rani pulled her wrist away. “What is it, Prem? What’s wrong?” The youngest sister’s eyes were so clear, so pretty and regal at the same time. “What’s bothering you so much?”
Prem faltered, opening her mouth, then waved one hand when she couldn’t find her voice right away. “It’s… I don’t know. I just wanted somewhere to talk where I won’t have to keep staring over my shoulder. Kunaia’s got the whole place surrounded, so who knows who might be working for her on the inside?” Prem waited for any of them to question or doubt her suspicions, but when none of them did, she took a calming breath. “Either the Police don’t know more about the murder than what they started with, or Marian—… or the Deputy doesn’t like sharing secrets. Like whether the police know ‘Amar’s’ real name, for instance.”
Preet seemed surprised, then suspicious. “I didn’t expect that.”
“Do you think they don’t know that Amar and Gomati are the same person?” Priya said.
“Deputy Neru used the name Amar again. I didn’t correct him. But I’d bet either they already know something and he didn’t let it slip, or they’re waiting for us to make the first move before trying to grab him.”
Preet grunted. “And what better way to keep an eye on us than to station half a squadron of men outside our front door?”
“But why?” Priya frowned. “This is clearly a matter for the Guard to take care of.”
“Look at it a different way,” Pranay said, leaning against one wall. “The Police first discovered the assassination plot. Parliament controls the Police, and Kunaia controls the Parliament. It’s as Preet alluded to yesterday: what better way to embarrass the new Rani than to arrest the assassin right under the noses of her Guard, especially if we find him first?” The white-garbed mantrik looked at Prem, something contemplative or appreciative in the older woman’s eyes. “I can see why you’re always looking for another angle, Prem—you think like a politician.”
Prem didn’t know what to say to a comment like that. “But…why would Kunaia want to embarrass Priya? She hasn’t been Rani long enough for it to cause any real scandal. Kunaia doesn’t get anything out of it.”
“Maybe it’s because she’s a bi-i-itch?” Preet said, holding out the word for effect.
Pranay gave the Seneschal a long look. “Or because any sign of Royal weakness puts Parliament into a position of strength. Politics touches everything. Even this. Especially this.”
Preet snorted. “Thanks for proving my point.”
“So, what do we do?” Priya said to Prem.
“We,” Prem answered, “by which I mean not you, will have to do some extra hunting of our own.” This was Sachin’s domain, and that made it Vati’s as well. The demon wanted blood—he craved conflict and chaos, anything besides just hiding and waiting around. “Pranay and I discussed other options on the ride over here, and I think there’s a way to find where Gomati’s hiding.”
“What is it?” Priya said.
Prem ignored her. “Preet, you should get your Guardsmen ready. One squad should be all we need.”
Preet hesitated for a moment, like their earlier argument wasn’t finished. Then, she twisted her head, popping her neck. “Fine. What time?” That was probably the only reason Prem could still respect her sister: Preet was a soldier, through and through, and when it was time to act, she acted.
Prem and Pranay shared a look; the eldest nodded once. “After dark,” the mantrik said.
“Sunset then,” Prem said to Preet. “Bring your best.”
Preet nodded. “We’ll be ready.” She opened the apartment door and slipped out before shutting it behind her.
“I still want to know what’s going on,” Priya said. She sounded put out, on the edge of pouting. “And what happened last night, Prem? You didn’t come home, and I saw the papers this morning. Pranay also told me where you were…as I’m sure you already knew,” she added when Prem scowled at Pranay.
Pranay shrugged her shoulders in a silent apology.
Prem forced herself to cough, rather than sigh like she wanted. Of course Priya would know where Prem had been. Priya wanted to know everything. “I said I’d be back when I found something,” she said. The anticipation of going on the offensive, of becoming Sachin again, already had her heart racing. Her mouth was dry, and the realization that sunset wouldn’t arrive for hours made her want to moan with impatience. “I went out looking for Gomati, just like I said I would.”
“That’s a very convenient dodge, Prem.”
“Yes, isn’t it?” Prem gave a mirthless smile, clutching onto what self-assuredness she had left, refusing to let Priya’s mothering dampen her fledgling excitement. “And what’s all this about you mingling with the public during the New Year’s festival? Have you got some kind of death wish all of a sudden?”
“What about it?” Priya crossed her arms. “I told you, I can’t go into hiding just because someone might be plotting something.”
Pranay stepped in, trying to play peacemaker. “Perhaps if you weren’t risking your life just to prove a point, your elder sisters might find it easier to stay calm when you surprise them with that kind of news.”
“Well, it’s too late now,” Priya said, stretching up a little taller so she could look down at Prem. They were the same height, and Priya couldn’t win the intimidation game outright, so she had to use other methods to take the upper hand. She stared at Prem, unblinking; it reminded Prem of the mysterious figure in gray, the one with the burning eyes. “I made the announcement this morning. It’s been printed and plastered on every newspaper in this city by now. I can’t take it back.”
“You can—’’
“I won’t take it back,” Priya added She had steel in her eyes, as though ready to defend her decision by force. “And what’s more, none of you could make me even if you wanted to. Your job is to make it safe for me to do mine. I’m doing what I think is best: for Father’s legacy, and for my own.”
The younger Marantha sisters stared each other down. Prem didn’t want to escalate their disagreement further, but she didn’t want to back down, either. She thought about arguing more, but her heart wasn’t in it. Of all her sisters, Priya was the biggest mystery to her, the hardest to understand—at times she was gentle, but other times made her seem stern or cruel. The little girl was all grown up, and their time apart had hardened her.
Prem lowered her eyes first, on purpose. “Fine. Have it your way.”
Priya looked surprised, but it was a fleeting thing, gone almost immediately. “Good. Now then, if you aren’t going to tell me what you have planned, at least tell me if this gets us any closer to finding out what Gomati is planning.”
“It’s too early to say.” Prem held up a hand when Priya opened her mouth again. “But if I’m right, we will find him, and once we do, we bring him here and question him ourselves.”
“Prem, I’m not allowed to hold prisoners on palace grounds by law.” Priya looked at Pranay for confirmation.
Pranay nodded. “It’s long-standing practice for the Guard to surrender any criminals into the Police’s custody. It was one of the first laws Parliament passed after the civil war ended.”
“Of all the stupid—! What good is a monarchy that has to follow someone else’s laws?” Prem rolled her eyes. “Fine, it doesn’t matter. First we sic Preet on Gomati so she can squeeze him dry away from the Palace. Once she’s done with her interrogation, the bluecoats can have what’s left of him. Besides, don’t you two want to find out what’s really going on?”
The other women shared another look then turned back, nodding in unison.
“Will it be dangerous?” Priya said.
“Most certainly,” Pranay said.
“But this could be our only chance,” Prem added. “If Gomati gets away, or if the Police find him first, we’ll never get to question him at all.”
Priya reached out and squeezed Prem’s arm. “Do what you have to. Just be careful.”
Prem wasn’t sure what to say in response to that. She opened the door, stepped out. “I’m going up to the Red Room. I feel filthy all over, so I’m going to go scrub myself off while I have the chance.”
The Rani followed her to the door. “Prem?”
Prem looked back but didn’t speak.
“About what happened last night. Are you…alright?” Priya’s question was, as ever, unexpected. The toughness in her eyes and her voice had vanished, replaced by something else: something soft, tender, closer to genuine concern than just irksome nagging.
Prem stared at her little sister for a moment, not speaking, not knowing what to say. At first she started walking away without giving any response, getting all the way to the stairs leading to the upper level. Once Prem reached the bottommost step she turned, gave a little smile, shrugged in a poor attempt at an apology, and kept walking without looking back. No one followed her, which was a relief, but Prem had to fight to not to break into a run. She felt raw all over, and Priya’s unnecessary doting wasn’t helping.
The Red Room was in the royal apartments on the topmost floor. The entire chamber was a vision of red silk and satin: the carpet, the bedspread and sheets, the pillows, the curtains, even the little tassel decorations dangling from the bed canopy were all shades of crimson. Prem thought it an eyesore now, but a lifetime ago she’d begged her father for the room’s special décor. Red was her favorite color, and she’d delighted in taking a hand in decorating her personal boudoir. Later, Prem learned that her mother had left the room exactly as it was on the day of Prem’s disappearance, right down to saving the dancing silks Prem wore that day, found floating in Vati’s empty pool.
Now, the Red Room was hers again in all its crude, awful garishness and morose reminiscence, and for the most part she’d left it untouched. Prem couldn’t say if red was her favorite color anymore, but it was certainly one she was familiar with. Even if Prem didn’t use the room for sleeping, its adjoining bath chamber had running water while her tiny basement sleeping quarters did not, so she still had a use for it.
She started the hot water, locking the bedroom door out of habit. A full-length mirror was on the wall opposite the porcelain tub, and looking at herself made Prem grimace at how dirty she looked. Mud and other filth had stained her clothing in streaks from her shoulder to both knees. Both of her cuffs were soiled, her leather corset would need a thorough scrubbing and re-oiling, and a few large globs of something dark was latched onto the side of her neck and nestled in her hair. The knowledge that Mariander had seen her in such a state only darkened Prem’s mood further. She tore off every bit of clothing as quick as she could, throwing it all with a mighty heave out into the bedroom before she slammed the door—just looking at the stained garments made her angry.
Prem paced in the dark as she listened to the tub fill. The room grew warmer as the steam rose, and the cool tiles grew slick under her bare feet. It was irrational for her to obsess about a man she’d just met, Prem knew that. An easy temptation was to blame her sisters for making her feel so awkward around him—he was too good, too pure of heart for someone like her. Part of Prem wanted to shrink from him like a civet fleeing for its den at sunrise. Perhaps if things had turned out differently, a quiet, unremarkable younger daughter of the Raj could’ve been a suitable match for the Prime Minister’s son, but Prem didn’t waste her time wondering about could-have-beens.
The worst part was that Prem didn’t know what to make of Mariander. He was attractive, yes, but even Vati could be attractive if he wanted to be. She thought about Mariander’s mouth, his hair, his smile. She’d seen his body, the tattoo across one shoulder, the softness of his flesh, even the gentle way he handled that pet of his. Mariander said he hoped to see her again. But why would he say such a thing? As Prem turned off the faucet and slipped into the hot water, she hissed between her teeth, using the heat as a distraction to burn away all of the unwanted questions and frustrations that bubbled up inside of her. The light coming in from under the door spread like a fan of luminescence across the tiles, a checkerboard of crimson, white and gold, but when she shut her eyes, the darkness was complete and Prem could almost fool herself into believing that she was alone. Vati was still there, a swollen tick on the underbelly of her mind, content to stay quiet, so in her thoughts Prem had the whole room to herself.
Her tub had more than enough room for two. Prem wondered what having company would be like, to invite someone into the most private of all chambers and into her arms. They’d have a gentle touch, slow and tender, nothing like the rough fumbling of fingers tangling in her hair or the harsh, heavy crush of lips upon hers—those were most of the embraces she’d experienced in the past. Prem was feeling selfish, and she wanted to be wrapped up in a pair of strong, affectionate arms.
Prem could imagine anyone that she wanted—she saw the edges of the smile, the shine of two eyes in the dark, with slick, wet hair pulled tight across the scalp. Prem refused to give the figure a name, to limit her imagination, more because what she wanted at that moment was pleasure, not a word to call out. Their shared kiss would’ve been lustful, warm and wet, bursting in her mouth like lightning, sizzling at the end of her tongue; sparks flashed behind her eyelids.
The desire was too strong for her to believe in anything else, even for the most fleeting of moments. For years her dreams became all too real every night as she slept, so why should the dreams when she was awake be any different? The cool air covered her skin in goose flesh, giving her frazzled nerves another shock of sensation. She curled into a ball, squeezing her legs tight against her chest. Even if the bathwater was still steaming-hot, she trembled like a starving child in a winter rainstorm. It took a long, focused moment for Prem to calm herself, to fight against the ragged desires of her aching heart. She floated in the dark, eyes closed; the faceless man in her mind faded away as Prem squeezed her legs together even tighter. A great sadness overwhelmed her, but she had no tears to waste on it. Prem knew that she was lonely, but also that her loneliness wasn’t going to change.
Prem opened her eyes and stared at the wall, feeling like a fool. It was utter stupidity, lusting after a man she’d only known for a day. Mariander Neru was barely more than a stranger, and more than that, he was one of the Police, a trained dog of Parliament—perhaps he wasn’t her enemy, but that didn’t make him her ally. Then Prem thought about Kunaia—remembered the woman’s face, at how she glared at Prem like she wanted to set the younger woman ablaze, and that only made her angrier. She slapped the water’s surface, throwing a wide splash across the far wall, fantasized about smacking the smug look off the old crone’s face. Her sisters would’ve been horrified—well, Preet would probably think it hilarious—but if Prem couldn’t cut the woman open, slapping her would’ve been a good start.
Something broke through Prem’s reverie: a scratching, a soft scuffling sound at the door. It was unexpected, just like the sound downstairs, and that sent her pulse racing. Prem vaulted out of the tub, naked and dripping, rushed to the door to see if anyone was outside. An angry shout died on her lips: her bedroom was empty, just the way she’d left it, right down to the pile of dirty clothes on the floor. She checked the bedroom door next, found it still locked.
Prem hesitated for a moment, suspicious and alert, waiting for an attacker that never showed himself. She waited long enough to start shivering, then shut the bathroom door again. Turning around to lean against it, the warmer air began to seep back into her chilled skin. Swallowing past a lump at the back of her throat, she climbed into the tub again. The darkness made it easier to calm her pounding heart, to let memories of Kunaia Rao fade away, and ones of Mariander return. As she slipped under the surface again, Prem closed her eyes and let her mind drift away, if only for a little while.