“I’m well aware,” I said. “And if Ullal wants to have any chance of victory, it must have a strong raja. I’m asking that you rest for now. Trust the healers.”
Tara approached with a heaping plate of biryani and a glass of golden milk. I took the cup from her and held it up to my uncle.
He stared at the glass mutinously. “I know what’s in there.”
“I’d be worried if you didn’t,” I said. “Drink it anyway. You need to rest. I’ve given Tara strict instructions not to give you any biryani until you drink the whole thing.”
My uncle glared at Tara, but she didn’t flinch.
“Ektha and I will see to the rites and the records while you sleep,” I assured him. “The work will be managed, but we need you to be well. The people of Ullal need you to be well.”
“Swear it.” My uncle’s black eyes locked on mine over the rim of the glass. “Promise me that you will take care of them and give them the departure they deserve.”
“I swear,” I said solemnly. Ektha nodded at my side, but Uncle Trimulya didn’t seem to notice.
“Do not let this be the first time you have failed me.” My uncle took the glass and drained it in three gulps.
Chapter 3
Uncle Trimulya finished the biryani within minutes and fell asleep before they could bring the second plate he demanded. I should have taken a bite before leaving the infirmary; I did not eat or sleep the next day.
While Ektha comforted the families of our fallen and wounded soldiers, she left the military strategizing to me. Ektha had stopped training with Jagath after a childhood illness robbed her of her strength. She’d focused on diplomacy instead, making her tongue far sharper than any blade and devoting herself to finding peaceful solutions, but even she had to admit that the time had come to prepare our swords. That small skirmish would hardly sate the Porcugi’s appetite; another attack was almost inevitable.
There was no time to waste. I stayed up all night with Jagath, Thevan, and our other military leaders, discussing how to best protect Ullal and developing a plan for defense. We also sent messages to our closest allies to warn them of the attacks and included a message from Ektha and our uncle encouraging a coalition against this fierce enemy.
The next day, Ektha insisted that we needed to pray but wanted to disturb as few people as possible, so we went to the temple just before dawn. As we passed through the marketplace, merchants hurried to stock their stalls before the hazy stillness of the early morning was replaced by the crowded din that arose with the sun. Everyone was far too busy to pay us much notice, and we avoided any questions.
By the time we arrived, the pinks of dawn colored the curved white stone of the temple. The cool morning mist nipped at my fingers as I knelt by Ektha’s side and stared at my burning orange incense until my eyes watered. I tried to pray, but the image of the white sheets covering the motionless bodies in the infirmary was etched into the back of my eyelids. So I sat and counted the bricks in the wall beyond the incense smoke until Ektha finally stood up from her prayers and we could leave.
Outside in the courtyard, many people wore white. Those who didn’t clustered around the mourners, offering them soft, humming platitudes as they waited for our guards to move from the staircase and let them enter the temple. A few sneaked worried glances up at us as they drew their wraps tightly around them, making shields of their shawls.
“We should stay and pray by their sides.” Ektha lowered her voice. “It’s what our uncle would do, if he didn’t need to conserve his strength for the rites later today.”
She began to descend the stairs, but I held her back with a touch on her hand. My mouth went dry as I searched for the right words.
“Perhaps...,” I began. I pushed away memories of the enormous crowd of mourners surrounding my mother’s pyre and the never-ending line of people we had to speak to after sending her to the spirit world. I’d stood half a step behind my uncle and tried to rub the ashes off my feet with my toes. But the more I rubbed, the more the ashes went into my skin, becoming a part of me instead of coming off. I was only four then, and Ektha was six, but we stayed and talked to everyone who wanted to pay their respects. We were the rajkumaris of Ullal, my uncle had reminded us, and the least we could do was to listen to the people who had loved their rani. We could mourn in quiet when the work was done.
I made sure my work was never done.
I cleared my throat and began again. “Perhaps I should go settle the arrangements for the rites while you stay here.”
My sister squeezed my hand. “Don’t stay too busy. Make sure you give yourself the time you need.”
“I’ll try,” I lied.
Ektha sighed but didn’t press the issue, and she went down to the courtyard by herself. I ducked back inside to find the monks and discuss the last rites. The monks agreed to have the ceremony for all seven of the guards on the beach at sundown, and I hurriedly left through a side door.
The market was decidedly awake now, and my attempts to be discreet were thwarted by the six guards who accompanied me. I ignored the whispers around me as I ducked into the stall of my uncle’s favorite florist to discuss the flowers for the evening?—but that wasn’t all I had come for. Even though the shopkeeper here was celebrated throughout Ullal for his vibrant blossoms and arrangements, his renown for flowers paled in comparison to his reputation for something else: Chetan was Ullal’s biggest gossip.
And I had come to negotiate a rumor.
Scents of marigold, jasmine, and chrysanthemum greeted me as I entered, bringing back childhood memories of sitting on a stool and waiting as Uncle Trimulya bargained with Chetan. Initially, I’d hated listening to the endless haggling, but over time I began to understand why my uncle always insisted that I join him. In this very shop, I had learned more about diplomacy than from any of my many academically qualified tutors. Here, my uncle had taught me how to speak with just enough truth and how to listen to everything that went unsaid. Even though we’d visited far less after Uncle Trimulya had taken his place as raja, the lessons remained with me.
The spindly man who approached was still taller than me, even though his back was slightly hunched. He bowed respectfully, and his voice shook slightly as he said, “Rajkumari Abbakka, how you’ve grown since the last time I saw you. The years have passed by too quickly.”
Chetan obviously hadn’t noticed me when I’d walked by earlier this morning. He had been standing with a much straighter back as he barked out orders without the slightest quaver while setting up his stall. His family had maintained this shop for generations, with flowers nestled into every nook and cranny from ceiling to floor, and he wasn’t about to let that standard fall.
As he bowed deeply in front of me, Chetan couldn’t quite hide the smirk lurking at the corners of his mouth.
