It was a sad tale. Not that he had anything to feel guilty about. What her family subjected Chandra to, in the name of punishment, had no bearing on him. He was only sorry that he didn’t know a lot, having avoided any news of his wife studiously, and had to learn quickly.
But the princess’s life here wasn’t like what he had imagined. She may have appeared to accept the punishment, but Veer knew she was involved in…something. And he would bet his best sword it likely had something to do with Guruji, that cunning minister who seemed to have his hand in all kinds of conspiracies.
More scents pervaded the air as the queen added additional herbs to the mortar and a few scant drops of what appeared to be a distillate of a purple bark swimming in a clean liquid. Billadev was amusing himself by having a conversation with the queen, and if his animated gestures and her indulgent smile were anything to go by, they both were getting along swimmingly well.
Veer watched them for a while absently. He had heard the apothecary had been the queen’s solace—she spent most of her time immersed in gardening and in studies of medicinal plants. If the royal gardens, which were said to be designed by her, wereanything like the range of plants he had observed here in this small building, it would be a worthwhile visit.
Veer wondered if she knew what her daughter was up to. Not that he had any chance of discovering it. Chandra was too well protected. He watched the queen tie up packets of medicine with a practiced twist of hands and had the random thought that the princess and her mother were as different from each other as day from night. Sure, they both had those colored eyes so rarely seen in the native people of Amaravathi. But while Chandra’s dark brown ones crackled and burned with emotions, the queen’s hazel eyes seemed to bury all traces of it deep inside.
She signaled using sign language and looked expectantly at Billadev, who translated. “Lemon verbena is right. It is a component of an unguent that draws out poison from wounds.”
The queen went back to gathering medicinal supplies for their upcoming journey, even though he didn’t ask her for it. Perhaps it was her way of apologizing for being so stubborn when it came to the matter of her daughter. He wouldn’t refuse her gift, though; they would need it despite the healing stones he had in his possession.
Veer wondered what she would do if he broached the topic of her objection to send Chandra with him again. Probably ignore him, as she had done previously. It seemed like it was down to the princess, then. As Shota had said, the only one who could convince the queen was her own daughter.
* * *
Damn it! Where was Chandra? She had been gone for a good chunk of the afternoon. Dusky rays of sun were now throwing slanting bars of light on the ground at their feet. And Veer had taken to calling her by the same ridiculously short and masculine sounding name as everyone did.
Right on cue, a side door into the building opened on well-oiled hinges. A woman stepped inside. It took Veer more than a minute to recognize her.
Gone were the ornate jewelry and the gossamer clothes of yesterday. She was dressed in an earth-brownantariya—a lower garment, elaborately pleated and tucked at her hips, leaving her calves exposed.
A roughly woven cloth covered her upper torso, like a bandeau across her breasts, along with another long cloth,the uttariyaor the upper garment. It was wound around her waist and thrown over the shoulder, with the ends tucked at her midsection. A thick silver ring encircled one delicate ankle. She put down a woven basket of freshly harvested vegetables from the garden and straightened, brushing slick tendrils of dark hair stuck to her damp throat, leaving a streak of red soil on her cheek. A speckled green gourd as large as his arm perched at her hip.
She looked like a peasant who had been grubbing in the garden.
“The magnolia plants were withering under the hot sun, so I brought them here, Mother—” Her eyes widened slightly upon seeing him. Then they landed on Sarun and, unless he was mistaken, alarm replaced whatever emotions his presence had evoked.
The gourd slipped from her grasp and crashed to the ground, splitting open with a fat crack, spraying the ground with seeds.
“Sarun! What are you doing here?” she asked. Her voice carried more than a bite of anger.
She turned to the queen. “Mother, haven’t I told you not to allow Sarun to stay this late? These aren’t safe times,” she said with a sidelong glance at Veer, whose eyes narrowed at her not so oblique reference.
Caught, Sarun crawled from underneath the table and hid behind Veer, clutching a fist full of hisdhoti. “But, Chandra…” A single blistering glance from her was enough to silence Sarun’s burgeoning protests.
“Come here like a good boy and do what you are told,” she said, extending him an arm and then snatching him when Sarun reluctantly went toward her.
She forced herself to raise her gaze to Veer. Their eyes locked and he recognized the barely hidden hints of fear behind her anger.
Veer glowered. Just what was she afraid he would do? Even at his worst, he never indicated he would harm innocent children. He contemplated Sarun with renewed interest. Who was this child that Chandra seemed to protect and care for like her own?
“What are you doing here?” asked Chandra, finally addressing him. He wasn’t surprised that it wasn’t a polite greeting but a blunt question.But then he remained seated, so he couldn’t exactly throw stones about decorum.
The queen signaled something to Chandra that stiffened her back. She replied in rapid hand movements, but the queen was already leading Sarun away from Chandra.
Veer looked toward Billadev for an explanation. “The queen wants you both to talk to each other. Alone,” Billadev clarified, departing behind the queen and giving a cheeky wave.
Once they were alone, Chandra turned her back on him and walked toward the door she had come from. “We will talk in the gardens,” she threw over her shoulder, not waiting to see if he would follow.
Veer walked behind her, cataloging the changes brought by seven years. Yesterday at the meeting, he could hardly see her behind the heavy hair ornaments and the yards of saree.
She had filled out her almost scrawny frame, but with sleek muscle instead of soft flesh. Her skin was a burnished bronze and gleamed in the late afternoon sun. Her braid, thick and long as ever, tossed about around her waist. And Veer remembered this, deducing how annoyed or angry she was by its movement across her hips. She was still a temperamental person, showing her emotions freely.
More importantly, she appeared no worse for wear from his annual punishment.
“Who is Sarun?” he asked.
