Shadow Caste (The Melderblood Chronicles Book 2), page 5
Daydream visions of showing him up and proving her independence cycled through her mind as she marched through halls splashed with ornate designs of every color. She would go to his dinner. She would let him make his announcement. And when he did, she would lay a hand on his arm, flash a beguiling smile that charmed everyone who saw it, and launch into a motivating speech about unity, freedom for melders, freedom for all, and an era of peace and prosperity. Shiva, the king, and the entire court would be enraptured, and pledge a true faith alliance with Jannemar, withdrawing any plans of invasion. The queen would be exposed for her blackmail and backhanded dealings. And Shiva would admit their engagement was a sham and beg her forgiveness in front of everyone.
Or maybe she would convince Shiva to let her walk through the menagerie just before the dinner. All the animals of the menagerie, every beast and bird, even the trolls, would somehow innately feel her goodwill and kind intention and offer her their allegiance. They would break through their cages, bear her up among them, and carry her off away from the palace.
Men would shout. The guards would give chase. But Princess Aviama of Jannemar would be long gone, blasting them back with a wall of air beyond anything her strength had yet supported. No one would dare come after her then. And her great escape and saving of the melders would be told for generations to come.
How exactly her escape would save the melders, she hadn’t quite sorted out. But in the daydream, it definitely solved the problem.
Aviama marched down hall after hall. Sai had to break into a jog to catch up after rounding the first corner, but now she progressed through the halls with Sai several paces behind one elbow and the latest guard on rotation behind the other. Every step she took brought her closer to her prison of a room, where she would stay pent up until called for, like a dog. Or before Shiva demanded she show off her powers for the gloating rights of Radha, in a room full of nobles and dignitaries, like a juggler or dancer.
Like an exotic animal on display.
Aviama stopped in her tracks so suddenly that Sai bumped into her. Ahead, the door to her chambers loomed—a place of baths, perfumes, and other trite distractions, but certainly having nothing to do with matters of state. Shiva wanted her to cooperate. He wanted her easy to control. Well, she’d show him! She’d refuse to be his puppet!
Her face flushed with heat, and her hands clenched into fists as she spun on her heel and swept back down the hall from whence she’d come. I’m not your Lilac, Shiva. And if Jannemar is to fall, I will not stand by quietly and watch, as if I were a willing party to my family’s destruction.
She reached the end of the hall and turned down a new corridor. She’d always been horrific with directions, but she’d become a bit more familiar with the palace in the last six weeks. This one should lead to—
Aviama stopped again, and the shadowing footsteps of Shiva’s spy female servant and the latest guard stopped precisely when she did. Her throat clenched. What good would a confrontation do but get her tossed in the dungeon? The dungeon wouldn’t be good for appearances, but Shiva would surely see to it she was cleaned up for public events.
Her stomach turned. A cage here, a cage there. But in the cage here, above the ground, Darsh had a plan to get her out that very night.
Don’t be stupid. Play their game. Aviama pursed her lips and took a deep breath. And play your own game while you’re at it.
Aviama frowned, spinning the rings on her fingers. If she were to play her own game, rather than only Shiva’s or Darsh’s, she’d need allies. Far more allies than the zero she currently counted.
With an internal groan, Aviama steeled herself, wheeled back around, and walked back to her room. She stared at the smooth bronze handle of the door. Going in isn’t defeat. You won’t marry him. You’ll satisfy your appetite for freedom tonight, after sunset.
Aviama turned the handle and slipped inside. Sai followed and closed the door, and Aviama twirled back to face her. “I wanted to thank you for this morning.”
Sai furrowed her brow. “Your Highness?”
“For asking questions. Human questions, not stiff stupid ones like you all have to ask me every day when we all know there are right and wrong answers dictated by this or that Tanashai at every turn.”
The girl blinked, then her features softened, and a sliver of the professional veneer, the impassive servant, slipped away. For a moment, she could have been the girl who let a princess stow away in her laundry cart without alerting the queen some weeks ago.
“You’re welcome. It was my honor.”
“I like you. I want to trust you. But you can imagine I’m in rather a spot.” Aviama crossed to the bed and belly-flopped onto it, kicking off her shoes in the process. “Ugh, something from the brunch did not agree with me.” Better to start building her stomachache story early. Aviama rolled on her side and dropped her chin in her hand.
Sai was lovely. Small frame, with the dark hair and eyes typical of Radhan people, but wiry arms from years of labor and keen, bright eyes set in a round face. Sai’s delicate brows knit together again, this time in concern for her health, but Aviama waved her off.
“I’m sure it’s nothing. Like I said, I need someone to talk to, and you’re a someone, and the someone I’d like to trust more than the rest. You trusted me with a question, and I will trust you with a question, and I sort of figure perhaps if we go on slowly trusting each other with little snippets, maybe we will get somewhere. What do you think?”
“I’m grateful you think highly of me, Your Highness. I am happy to hear anything you feel the desire to share.”
Aviama pressed her lips together. It was a start. “You know more about me than most. You know I fled my room those weeks ago. You know I’ve had training as a melder, not just the haphazard guesses of how to control powers that most new melders have. And you know—well, I suppose you don’t know for sure, but I think you know—that I don’t like hurting people. Radhan or otherwise.”
Sai said nothing, only attentively waiting for her to continue. Aviama sighed. “True, or not true?”
“Oh! True, Your Highness.”
“I ran that day because of the queen. She wanted me dead even back then.”
Sai said nothing, but it wasn’t a shock. She already knew.
“Do you know what Ishaan told Durga at the end of the brunch today?”
Sai’s lips parted. “No, Your Highness.”
“But you knew they were working together.”
The girl hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”
Aviama sat up. “What do you know?”
“Only that she doesn’t like me alone with you. Whatever drew her away to allow us to speak as we are now must have been important.”
Like Darsh paying someone an unexpected visit?
Aviama winced against an imaginary pain in her stomach and laid back down. “I’d love excuses to get away from Durga. Does she set your teeth on edge like she does mine? Find out what we can do that might keep her away. Is she allergic to horses or something so that we could go to the stables?”
The corner of Sai’s mouth twitched. “Not that I know of, Your Highness, but I’ll look into it. She does tend to have an effect on people.”
“Yes, well, please do. And can I get my easel and charcoals back? With all this wedding planning, I’ve decided I could use some sketching.”
Sai curtsied. “Of course.”
Aviama dismissed Sai, and she slipped out to gather the easel and charcoals and pretend she hadn’t already been looking into everything having to do with Durga. How much did Sai really know? Did Shiva confide in her or only use her for basic information?
Aviama genuinely liked her. It was a shame she had to dupe her that evening to get away. She’d revel in escaping from Durga, but she hoped Sai wouldn’t get in too much trouble. Maybe she could leave and come back fast enough not to cause a fuss. Darsh said there was a plan to get her out. Was there a plan to get her back in?
A sudden thrill ran down her spine. Maybe she wasn’t coming back in. Maybe this was goodbye. Maybe, somehow, informant or not, Aviama could get Sai out of the palace too—and away from whoever had left that bruise on her arm.
The rest of the day passed like molasses, slow and miserable. Durga made no appearance at all that entire day, but the guard was posted outside, and Aviama had been holed up in her room. The easel and charcoals did arrive as Sai had promised, and Aviama drew up some basic sketches of dresses with a more modern Jannemari flair to them than the traditional Radhan garb the queen planned to truss her up in.
Granted, the garments were beautiful, but Aviama was not Radhan. And the purpose of the union, at least allegedly, was to bring two kingdoms together—not have the stronger one swallow the other. Jannemar would not be forgotten.
Though after tonight, there would be no need for wedding planning.
The thought brought a shiver of delight to her bones. By the time she was summoned for supper with Shiva, she was antsy, and by the time she left, she had nearly given herself the stomach upset she was about to pretend she had. Supper was uneventful, and Shiva seemed distracted, which served her purposes just fine.
Aviama didn’t claim stomach pains around him, lest he suspect poisoning and double her guard or send a healer. But as quick as she’d tried to be, the sun was already setting when she arrived back in her chambers. Aviama called for tea, complaining of stomach upset and a headache, and hopped awkwardly from one foot to the other in the privacy of her rooms. She twisted the rings on her fingers and chewed her nail before ripping her fingers from her mouth again. The gesture reminded her of her capricious older sister. Avaya chewed her nails when she was anxious. And Aviama was not a desperate, power-grabbing woman like Avaya had been.
She was not Shiva.
But she was triple-blackmailed on all sides, first from the queen to stay away from Shiva (which she’d obviously not done), second from Shiva to play pretty dress-up as his pawn fiancée, and third from Darsh to accept whatever deal he planned to offer tonight.
The tea arrived, delivered by Bhumi, and a moment later she was alone again. The torch lighter came down the hall as the sun set on the horizon, spilling vivid oranges and reds through the latticework of her window. Aviama cast a long glance around the room, and her throat tightened.
Today might be the last day she would see it. She wouldn’t miss it, though, not really. Aviama’s heart pounded in her chest, and she took a deep breath to steady herself before crossing to the door and flinging it wide.
The guard was there, standing, staring. Her stomach dropped like a rock to her toes. Wind swirled in her palms, but she dismissed it with a wave of her hand as the guard slowly wavered and slumped back against the wall.
His eyes still stared, his knees still locked, but his eyes stared at nothing and his knees would carry him nowhere. Aviama’s lips parted. Was he dead? Did Darsh kill a man to get her out?
Just then, the guard fell sideways from his slumped position and clattered to the marble floor. The crash of it rang down the corridor, and Aviama did the only thing that came to mind.
She ran.
8
Her soft shoes hit the marble floor with a soft pattering sound, only half drowned out by the rustling of her sage green gown as she flew down the hall. She skidded to a stop only half a second later, pulse still pounding against her temple. She’d left the door open next to the fallen guard.
Aviama’s stomach dropped. Idiot! Semra would never have made a mistake like that. Chenzira would never have made a mistake like that. You’re going to get yourself killed, and you’ll endanger everyone you work with while you’re at it. Not that she had anyone to work with. Yet.
There was nothing for it. She had to go back. Aviama retraced her steps and winced at the sight of the guard staring up at the ceiling, unmoving. He was only doing his job. What did he know of all of this?
Maybe a little. Maybe a lot. But the man was only a pawn. Aviama wondered if one day soon she too would be staring into the nothingness, another dead pawn among a laundry list of other victims. She wasn’t even sure who would get the chance to kill her first, and it was likely that all the possibilities had plenty of experience killing people. Or ordering them killed, which was essentially the same thing.
Aviama softly closed the door to her chambers and whirled back down the hall. Torchlight filled the halls with moody reds and sallow yellows, spinning the bold colors to more somber tones as the deepening dark increased every shadow with every step. Semra’s tutelage took root in her brain as she moved, warning her of ringing alarm bells for everyone she passed.
Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. If she didn’t slow down, she’d draw attention and be dead as a doornail by morning. But if she didn’t go fast enough, the guard outside her door would still be dead, but her chance to escape from the palace would be gone.
She settled for a brisk walk and turned another corner, mentally reviewing Darsh’s orders for the night. Order tea for a stomachache after sunset tomorrow. Check. Though sunset was passed, and time was not exactly on her side. The guard will be taken care of. Check. Though “taken care of” seemed a rather gentle way of putting it.
Get in the basket on the south terrace.
Aviama dipped into a service stairwell and took the steps to the third floor. We’ll do the rest. How exactly Darsh planned on doing whatever the rest entailed was weighing heavier and heavier on Aviama’s mind by the second. But there was only one course of action left for her now.
She had to get to the south terrace.
Swish, swish, swish. Aviama grimaced. As it turned out, she also should have chosen a quieter dress. At least she’d chosen green instead of red or violet or some other glaring color.
Men’s voices floated toward her from just beyond the landing. Aviama clutched at the growing pit in her stomach and pressed herself flat against the curve of the spiraled stone staircase, just out of sight.
“…doubled the guard on the north side for the second time in two weeks. It’s not sustainable. But if His Majesty had wanted my opinion, he’d have asked for it, and I’m not holding my breath.”
“Her Majesty knows the load has increased. She is grateful to you for your diligence. Your work will not go unnoticed. Double the north towers as commanded, but do not leave the south unmanned.”
The pit in Aviama’s gut twisted like a knife. The second voice wasn’t a guard’s as she’d expected. It was Durga’s.
A low, throaty laugh from the guard answered her. “With what men, exactly? Does Her Majesty keep an extra legion hidden in her skirts?”
“Watch yourself. Your disrespect will cost you. Does Mrtyu look too thin? Should we feed him tonight? You have the men. But they are lazy. They are given too much time off. Alter the times of the guard changes, and offer shorter shifts in exchange for more frequent ones. Total time working will increase, but breaks will happen more regularly, and if your men are faithful and loyal, Her Majesty will reward you.”
“And this is for the security of the kingdom, not the fact that Her Majesty lives in the southwest wing?”
The voices passed by the hall above her, and Aviama squeezed her eyes shut. All this slow walking, waiting, hiding—with the sun well past set, and the guard dead as a doornail outside her door—biscuits. She was getting a headache. And Queen Satya lived in the southwest wing? Wasn’t that the hall behind her?
She had to move.
Her eyes snapped open, and she forced herself to wait two full minutes before easing out onto the landing and down the hall in the opposite direction from the voices. Two guards sharpened their weapons in the guard room to her right, but neither looked up. Coral designs wrapped around the walls and ceilings, and she knew one of the doors had to lead out to the south terrace. But who would be waiting for her if she opened the wrong one?
The small click sounded behind her, and Aviama glanced around. Nothing. Maybe it was the guards cleaning weapons or closing a door down the corridor. But her breath still quickened as she scooted around the corner and reached for the first door handle on her right.
It had to be a door on the right, facing the outside of the palace. She turned the handle, and the door swung inward, revealing lavish sitting rooms painted in emerald and accented with gold leaf. Aviama swallowed. The king’s quarters were on the northern end. Were these the queen’s rooms? Did they extend this far?
She shut the door, skipped the next one just to be safe, and opened the third. Why one room made a difference, she didn’t know, but if the last room was the queen’s, Aviama saw no harm in trying a door further down.
The handle turned. The door swung. A room lined with shelves of books, two tables, and carved wooden chairs greeted her, with a shocking lack of the bold colors so common to the House of the Blessing Sun. Four windows lined the wall, but no exit to a terrace.
Aviama stepped inside and gently clicked the door shut behind her. If she could see the terrace from one of the windows, maybe she could tell how to get to it. Her nose itched as the dust of the neglected room filled her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose. Biscuits, not now.
She held her breath and crossed the room, past the empty tables and rows of books, and stepped to the window. The moon was bright tonight, set in a clear sky and illuminating the palace walls. Directly beneath her, the walls fell straight down three stories to the ground. But to her right, a terrace welcomed the moonlight on its smooth stone floors and balustrade.
Aviama clenched a fist in silent victory and turned back to the door. She’d skipped the room she needed. But it was only one door over from the study she was in now.
She doubled her pace to get to the door. She was so close. Aviama ripped the study door open. And came face to face with Durga.
