“Your little one is growing strong,” Thevan replied. “She may soon make it impossible to come here.”
Everyone in the fort had fallen into the habit?—into the hope?—of referring to the baby as a girl.
“She will have to learn that her will won’t ever supersede mine,” I said.
Thevan managed to keep a straight face as he helped me lower to the ground. “I’m certain you will learn from each other.”
I tried to find a good position for my tambura but winced as another pain ripped through my back.
He crouched by my side, so his face was even with mine. “Are you sure you’re well, Rani?”
I tried to keep my voice light as I brushed aside his concern, but he could hear the effort it took to control my pain. “I think I was meant to either play a big instrument or have a big belly. It’s folly to try to do both at once, but I am determined.”
“Shocking.” He placed a dagger at my side, as he did every day.
“It’s just more for you to pick up later,” I teased.
“Too many weapons are better than too few.” His lips brushed against my ear, and goose bumps pricked my arms. Thevan ran a finger lightly from my hand to my shoulder as he stood before he bowed and left.
I watched him go, fighting my inexplicable urge to ask him to stay.
For better or for worse, he was long gone by the time I found my voice again. With a shake of my head, I tucked the dagger under the folds of my turmeric-colored sari so it wouldn’t look like a threat to the adaiman. I’d chosen this particular sari in the hope that the little birds might better understand my message. If only they’d come.
I strummed a few chords and played with the tuning, making the notes rise and fall until each string sang out in perfect pitch. Finally, the strings reverberated in harmony, filling the stepwell with a rich chord that carried up to the heavens.
The tones of my tambura lured me in, drawing me into the song until I lost myself in its melody. I closed my eyes and followed it. My voice twirled around the vibrations of the strings and the lapping of the stepwell’s waves, weaving them together and making the fabric of our song complete.
A crunch on the ground in front of me broke me out of my trance. I opened my eyes, hoping to see an adaiman, but instead I found myself looking at an ornate pair of shoes. Their tips curled up off the ground, and the shoes themselves shone in a way that was unworldly yet strangely familiar.
I hissed an exhale as I realized the shoes were covered in gems that were a poor imitation of Porcugi scales, and I looked up to see a man standing on the platform in front of me. His robe was different today?—deep blue with shining fish embroidered in silver?—but the man was the same one who’d come to the throne room so long ago. On that day, my uncle had shown the strength of Ullal, and my sister had stood by my side.
But today I was alone.
And Kamran Khalil stared down at me through his shrewd black eyes.
The last echo of my song was still ringing through the stepwell as he held his hands up at shoulder level. I placed my fingers across my tambura’s strings so they would stop their singing. Beyond Kamran, the door to the gardens was wide open and empty. What had happened to Thevan? He would never leave his post.
“I mean you no harm,” Kamran reassured me, keeping his hands up. The wind blew from behind him, carrying his salty, sealike scent.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Ektha’s bangle was heavy on my wrist. I leaned onto my other hand, ensuring that it was close to my hidden dagger. “What did you do to the soldier who was guarding the door?”
“There was nobody at the door when I came,” Kamran said.
When I looked at him skeptically, he gestured to his slim build and continued, “I am unarmed. Do I really look like I could take on a trained guard? There was nobody at the door. I swear it.”
He made a fair point. On the surface, at least, there was no indication that Kamran would stand a chance against Thevan. I’d have to take his word for it and talk to Thevan later to find out what had happened. For now, I had other problems at hand.
The emissary stepped closer but stopped when he was two strides away from me. “I hope to have a conversation with you. So we can come to a better understanding.”
He needed to understand that he should leave. As I shifted my position, my back clenched, sending a searing pain up my spine and through my hips. I forced myself to breathe through the pain, and it dulled. There was no way I’d let this man know I was hurting.
“It’s hard to imagine coming to a better understanding when you know that this isn’t the place for such a discussion,” I snapped. It would have been far more appropriate to meet me in the throne room, as he had my uncle. “So tell me: Why are you here?”
Kamran smiled wryly. “Although I’m sure that you’re far too wise to fall into such a trap, I’ve met with leaders whose advisers are, shall we say, biased by their own prejudices. I have come to you here with the hope that it might be easier for us to speak plainly.”
“My advisers are my advisers because I trust their counsel.” I gripped the hilt he could not see. “I do not wish to speak with you without them present.”
Kamran tutted, as if my opinion was nothing but a childlike misguidance. “The rani does not give herself enough credit. I am sure you are more than capable of hearing my arguments yourself and coming to the best conclusion without any help from others.”
