I stepped closer to the table. Fragrant samosas filled with spiced potato called out to me with their crunchy triangle crusts. And they’d used extra cinnamon in the goat biryani, making my mouth water. The fish curry was the bright yellow of turmeric, so I couldn’t resist adding that to our list. I pointed to all three dishes, as well as the mango and lemon pickles, and servers hastily loaded up two large plates. They offered the first to our guest.
“I would love to see more of Ullal.” Raja Lakshmappa’s hand brushed mine as he handed me a heavy plate. “If there is a balcony somewhere, perhaps we could enjoy the view together.”
Uncle Trimulya was eating steadily?—trust the man to know what to do with a plate of biryani no matter how he was feeling?—and was clearly not about to interrupt any time that the raja and I could have together. He would have happily sent us on our way even if he had been in good health, so I nodded and led Raja Lakshmappa out of the throne room. He followed behind me, humming the song I’d been playing in the stepwell, and I was hit with a sudden realization:
Apparently heavy hearts could still flutter.
Chapter 16
The winds blew from the forests to the seas today. I inhaled deeply as we stood on the terrace, embracing the scent of crushed leaves and wet wood, and I pushed aside any thoughts of the beach and the carnage that probably still dyed its sands. Raja Lakshmappa stood beside me, and while he spared a glance at the view, he returned his attention to me very quickly.
Silence hung between us as I tried to think of what might interest him. My heavy necklace weighed on my thumping heart, and I forced myself to think about what Ektha might have wanted me to say. I gestured to the fields that decorated the ascending hills in their hues of saffron, green, and red. “The farmers of Ullal are its spine. The flavors in those hills sustain our nation, not only in the food we eat but also in the trade it brings.”
The raja took a big bite of the turmeric-colored fish curry and chewed, keeping his eyes on me. “I’d heard much of the treasures of Ullal’s soil, but no words could adequately describe its splendor.”
He looked far too pleased with himself as I blushed.
I refused to be the only person off balance in our conversation. “How is your horse?”
Lakshmappa snorted and choked as he tried to suppress his laugh. Two of the servers standing behind us rushed forward, offering him water and majjige. He gratefully accepted the cup of seasoned buttermilk and gulped it as he regained his composure.
“Are you all right?” I asked with affected innocence.
The raja chuckled. “Quite all right. Thank you for your gracious concern.”
It was my turn to suppress a laugh.
He continued. “My horse was quite excited after our entrance, so I had one of my men take him for a ride along the beach.”
Before I could help myself, I looked toward the ocean. So much was lost because of the attackers that hid within those waves. So many gone forever. The echoes of their deaths would ring throughout the kingdom, now and in our future.
I gripped Ektha’s bangle as my chin trembled, and I couldn’t stop it no matter how tightly I clenched my teeth. The tears I’d suppressed all day fought for their release, but I pushed them down with every breath.
“Rajkumari?” The raja’s voice was as gentle as a quiet embrace stolen between glances. “Are you well?”
“Yes, I...” I paused and cleared my scratchy throat. The confession escaped before I could trap it again. “I should be wearing white today.”
The raja followed my gaze to the sea. “You care so much for your soldiers?”
I chose my words carefully, desperately clinging to the threads of secrecy that remained. He couldn’t know about Ektha yet. “It is impossible to measure the loss of the souls that rose to the Spirits today. I would rather mourn alongside the people of Ullal.”
Lakshmappa stared at me as if I were a puzzle he couldn’t quite fit together. “Every time I see you, I meet you anew,” he said. “And each time I am left in awe.”
“Oh really?” I pushed my grief down into the space I had hollowed over years of practice. “You did not even recognize me the first time we met.”
“In fairness, on that day, you did not look much like the portraits I had seen.”
Of course this peacock of a man had only paid attention to my appearance. He’d been too distracted by my messy hair and mud-spackled sari to see me for who I was.
“You were beautiful,” he continued. I tried to hide my surprise. “Your eyes shone like a light in all that rain. Whenever you stopped speaking, I racked my brain for a question just so I could hear your voice again. And then when I heard you play the tambura and sing... I knew I never wanted us to share silence ever again.”
Spirits, the man had a talent for making the world feel off balance. I became a puppet on a string, pulled toward him with his every word. His voice’s warmth made me want to lean closer, but I caught myself and sat straight again. The weight of my heavy necklace helped calm my breath, which threatened to try to keep up with my swirling thoughts.
“So which girl do you prefer?” I asked. “The girl on horseback or the one playing the tambura in her simple lehenga choli? Or the one sitting before you in all the finery of her nation?”
The corner of Lakshmappa’s lip seemed nervous about lifting, but eventually he could not help himself. “I would be forever grateful if I didn’t have to choose.”
And the world was upside down again. My curls tumbled over my face as I looked down at my lap, unable to meet his eyes. Even if I wanted to speak, I couldn’t find any words to force upon my tongue.
