Vishwajeet crossed his arms and stayed silent. His face was impossible to read.
“What if we find a way to fight them better?” I pressed. “You could test Nallini’s paste before trying it on soldiers, and in Ullal we’ve begun to use longbows. They’re a bit unwieldy, but what if we could find a way to?—”
“Enough!” Vishwajeet’s echo rang out through the room, making the soldiers by the door jump and stare before they remembered that they were supposed to be looking away. “We could spend all day speaking of what-ifs. What if the Porcugi had never come? What if the raja hadn’t fallen in love with you? What if there’d been no traitorous servant? Life is filled with what-ifs, but they’re not reality. The raja sees the truth of what is happening and has made his choice.”
I lowered my voice so the soldiers at the door wouldn’t hear. “You mean you made his choice.”
Vishwajeet leaned in with a conspiratorial grin, as if we were sharing a secret. “Of course. The raja has sought and trusted my guidance since his childhood. Nothing can change that. Not even you.”
I inhaled sharply. Maybe I couldn’t change it yet, but I wasn’t in the habit of saying never.
Vishwajeet tutted, reading my thoughts. “You may have succeeded in delaying my plans, but I was always going to have the last word with the raja. If you’re wise, you’ll accept that. I’m not a man you want as your enemy.”
“I’m not looking for more enemies.” I drew Ektha’s shawl tight around me. “But only a fool would think I could stand by when something needs to be done. And you are no fool.”
“Indeed I am not.” He affixed me with narrowed eyes. “And neither are you.”
Vishwajeet stood abruptly and walked past me, toward my window, where a large aloe vera grew in a pot. The tips of the plant had recently become brown and wilted. I craned my neck to watch Vishwajeet examine the thick leaves.
“The mother plant is sick,” he said. His words rang through the room even though he was staring at the aloe plant. “But there are some new plants sprouting at the base. I will have someone come and check on it regularly. We can’t allow the disease to spread to the young. It may be necessary to separate the plants from each other.”
Vishwajeet ripped off a wilting leaf and dropped it on the ground. He turned back and affixed me with an unblinking stare as he crushed it beneath his foot. Its gel oozed out beneath his sandal. “By whatever means necessary.”
My fingertips tingled, and I suppressed a shudder. I doubted this was the first time he’d given such a warning. Or that it would be the last.
Vishwajeet tracked aloe gel along the shining white floor as he closed the distance between us. “A Porcugi emissary will be paying a visit soon. I believe you know him?—Kamran Khalil. When he comes, we’ll announce our partnership, and you will sign on Ullal’s behalf.”
I remembered Kamran?—the man who strutted in the finery gifted to him by his captors without realizing that not all cages had bars. More importantly, I remembered my uncle’s last promise to him: Ullal will pay no tithes.
I didn’t move as Vishwajeet turned and walked to the doors. Before he left, he bowed deeply, but it wasn’t his usual begrudging show of respect. Today he did it with a flourish?—the panache that comes with victory.
“The plant is strong,” he said, gesturing back to the aloe. “I’m sure it can thrive with time, if it just learns to acclimate to the Banghervari climate. It may not be easy, but we’ll do whatever it takes.”
I stared at him in silent mutiny. My pulse reverberated from my chest to my toes, but I did everything I could to keep my mask of calm.
Vishwajeet stared, waiting for me to break. When I didn’t, he signaled to the guards. One of them stepped forward and offered something to Vishwajeet. He nodded and turned back to me. The syrupy sweetness of his smile made my stomach clench.
“I can only imagine that sitting for long periods of time is becoming more uncomfortable for you.” He offered me a large black pillow that shone like the ocean on a moonless night. It had a thick border of matching tassels all the way around it. “I commissioned this pillow as a gift.”
Confused by his consideration, I accepted it.
“I have never seen anything like it.” I ran my fingers over the pillow. The covering was surprisingly thick and heavy. Sturdy, yet silky. Even though I’d never encountered such a fabric, it felt oddly familiar. But my fingertips could not place the memory.
“Indeed.” For the first time all day, Vishwajeet’s eyes smiled with his mouth. “It is one of a kind. It’s made of horsehair.”
Horsehair. Black horsehair.
Maraan.
My hands flexed around the tassels involuntarily, but my fingers stopped as they brushed against hard, cold metal. A lump caught in my throat, and it was impossible to swallow. I recognized the flower pattern without looking, but I couldn’t help myself. I stared at Ektha’s bangle with Mother’s payal bells still attached. It was tied to the fringe of the pillow, but the shiny silver was obscured by the heavy horsehair and the dark, crusted bloodstains covering much of the metal.
Chaaya.
My mouth turned to ash.
Vishwajeet leaned in close. “No more what-ifs. The plant must adapt. The emissary is coming. And the tithes will be paid. It is done.”
He turned to the doors and strode out without a backward glance.
