“It’s... incredible.” I couldn’t even bring myself to touch it.
“It was no small challenge to make an instrument worthy of you,” Aru said. He lowered his voice and brought his chin down so I could see myself reflected in his eyes. “I knew, the moment I saw you in that stepwell, that I had to make you my bride.”
It was so easy to get lost in his gaze, but a movement at the end of the table caught my attention. Parushi had gotten out of her chair and was on her way to intercept a pair of servants carrying a few large cushions, the type that musicians would often sit on while playing. Vishwajeet frowned at Parushi’s interference.
“An instrument like that calls out to be played,” Vishwajeet said. He wasn’t looking at me to see what I thought; all his attention was on the raja. “Perhaps you could favor us with a song? I know how much the raja loves to hear you play.”
This was exactly the type of thing Parushi had tried to warn me about. I’d contradicted Vishwajeet, so now he needed to find a way to undermine me. If I played the tambura in front of these men, I’d forever be the pretty girl who loved music, and I’d lose any hope of them taking me seriously as a leader. I waited for Aru to object?—to remind Vishwajeet that I was a rani and not a performer that could be summoned for his entertainment?—but Aru was just staring at me dreamily, apparently oblivious to Vishwajeet’s games.
It was up to me to find a way to avoid playing.
“Marrying the raja has brought me many joys.” I squeezed Aru’s hand three times, and he returned the gesture. “One of which is reserving parts of myself for only my husband. With his permission, I will have this beautiful instrument taken to his quarters, and I will save my music for his ears alone.”
I had never seen so many iterations of a smile at once. Aru’s was warm and true, while Parushi’s was wicked and proud, and Kamaraya’s was filled with mischief and delight. None of them had my attention, though. I lowered my eyes and glanced up through my lashes so it wouldn’t look like I was staring at the man beside my husband.
Vishwajeet’s smile was laced with venom.
The little girlwith big brown eyes peeked out from behind the trees and stared at the man at the cave’s entrance.Beads of sweat ran down his face, tracing his profile before they dropped off his chin and disappeared into the parched earth below. He hardly moved, except to sigh, as the sun rose higher and higher. Waves of heat beat down on him relentlessly, but he remained at the entrance of the cave.
Waiting.
Abbakka bit her lip nervously as the man sighed again, his spine curving lower with every breath, as if the sun’s rays were weights being piled onto his back.
She turned to the hulking green lion who lay beside her, hidden from the cave by the lush, purple-blossomed trees in front of them. “Matanta, he has been waiting for so long.”
“What do you know of time, child?” Matanta blinked sleepy eyes at her. His ear twitched, sending the adaiman into the air as they chittered angrily at each other. The lion paid them no mind and closed his eyes again, resting his head on his paws.
Abbakka ducked behind a trunk in case the man looked over because of all the noise, but Matanta did not move.
“He’s sweating so much, and he’s been there since morning.” Abbakka was sorely tempted to poke the winged lion on the nose, but she contained herself. “My uncle says that we can faint if we’re in the heat too long. Or even die. It’s why we always carry coconuts with us when we’re on journeys without shelter.”
“Then he should have brought a coconut. It is not for me to compensate for the shortcomings of others.”
Abbakka sat against a tree with a huff and turned her shoulders away from the lion as she picked up a fallen purple blossom and studied its petals.
“You have not answered my question, little one.” Matanta’s low voice hummed, unbothered but persistent. “What do you know of time?”
The young girl turned back to him and sat up straight. “I know that it always moves forward whether I want it to or not. It moves fastest when I’m riding horses or playing my tambura and slowest when I’m sitting in the temple or with my deportment mistress.”
Matanta’s deep laugh rumbled as Abbakka’s face soured at the thought of her lessons.
She continued. “I know I will never have enough time to do all that I want. And I know I can’t move it backwards.”
Her voice faded as she stared down into her lap. “No matter how hard I pray.”
The lion’s expression softened. “There is much you do not know, but perhaps you do not know nothing.”
Abbakka looked up at him and blinked, her mouth agape. “That is one of the nicest things you have ever said to me.”
Matanta cocked his head as he looked at the little girl, and Abbakka stared into the yellow eyes that were almost as big as her head. “Then you should remember this moment.”
He spoke solemnly as he continued. “Time is what we make of it. We can turn it into an eternity when we don’t use it, and into a blink of an eye when we do. When you have lived as long as I have?—”
“And I can’t ask how long that is,” Abbakka chimed in. Her eyes danced with impudence even though her voice was solemn.
“Indeed you cannot,” he said with a self-satisfied smile. “And don’t interrupt. As I was saying, when you have lived as long as I have, you understand the importance of time. If you want to live a full life, you must do what you need to do when you are meant to do it.”
The girl thought for a moment before she spoke. “But I can’t always know what I am meant to do at every moment.”
