The Ivory Key, page 10
“You kept that?” Vira sounded surprised as she looked at the sole canvas that hung between the window and a bookshelf.
It was a colorful imagining of Visala, Ashoka’s once great founding city, the famed home of the first maharani, Savitri. The painting was old and faded—and more than likely inaccurate given the dearth of information about the long-lost city.
Once, Ronak had soaked up everything he could about Visala, voraciously reading every account Papa had found detailing its wonders. Visala had been another ancient mystery—like the Ivory Key—that Papa had tried and failed to solve. Ronak knew better than to waste time on treasure hunts by now, but Papa had loved the painting, so Ronak hadn’t been able to bring himself to take it down.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I assume you didn’t come here to talk about Papa’s obsessions.”
Vira turned to him, her face oddly solemn. “He was obsessed, wasn’t he?”
“He was,” Ronak agreed. And it was no secret that Vira had inherited his infatuation with things best left buried in history and lore. He wondered if Vira knew what her dead fiancé had had in his possession. A tiny flash of guilt pierced him, but Ronak pushed it away. Vira had made her choices.
And Ronak was making his.
“Why are you here?” Ronak prompted when Vira didn’t say anything else.
“A country thrives when all of its citizens perform their respective duties,” Vira said, sliding seamlessly into the role of maharani.
Ronak snorted. “And which councilor do I have to thank for putting those words in your mouth?”
“Yours”—Vira continued as if he hadn’t spoken—“is to help us forge an alliance.”
Dread pooled in Ronak’s stomach. He’d known this moment would come, but he hadn’t thought it would be so soon. “I’m not interested.”
“That’s not up for discussion.”
Ronak smiled blandly, walking forward until he stopped in front of her. Vira had always been the tall one between them, but he’d grown so much in the last few months that she had to tilt her head back to look him in the eyes. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?” he said.
“Don’t,” she said, as though she could see right through him. “Whatever you’re thinking. Don’t do it. You can’t get out of this. The Council will try you for treason.”
“Well, then, I suppose I won’t have to try so hard to visit our brother. Not that you’d know anything about that.”
Vira glared at him. “Do you think this is funny?”
“A bit, yes.”
“It’s not.”
For a moment, Ronak couldn’t help but wonder just how they’d gotten here. They’d been close once, able to trust and rely on each other. But as he looked down at her, all he could think was that the distance between them felt as wide as a chasm.
Vira inhaled deeply, as if to compose herself. “The engagement ceremony will happen in three weeks’ time.”
Ronak’s smile dropped. “Three weeks?” That wasn’t enough time to free Kaleb, to get out of Ashoka.
“Circumstances have changed. Or did you not hear about my dead fiancé?” She hesitated, and then added, “It’s Preethi.”
Ronak stared at Vira. “Preethi,” he echoed in disbelief. “You cannot be serious.”
He knew her—not well, but enough to know that they had absolutely nothing in common. She was competitive and ambitious, but clever enough to charm others into getting what she wanted. She loved to be the center of attention, thriving when there were dozens of admirers watching her every move. But worst of all, she’d made it abundantly clear that she actually enjoyed court life—that she wanted to serve on Vira’s Council and participate in all the mundane duties that came with it.
“It’s a political alliance, Ronak.”
“No,” Ronak said forcefully. “I won’t do it.” He refused to sign his life away—a life he’d barely lived, full of experiences he hadn’t yet had.
“I did what I could to stop this,” she said, lowering her eyes almost as if she felt guilty. “But this is the only way, Ronak. I’m sorry.”
“You expect me to believe that?” Just as he’d predicted, a councilor had said the right words, and Vira was bending to their will.
She looked back up at him. “I don’t expect you to do anything except marry the girl.”
Jay had learned from his brother, Kunaal—who served on the Council—that Vira intended to send Harish’s body back to Onaar for the proper cremation rites by the next morning.
“Don’t panic,” Jay had said when he stopped by to tell Ronak the news. “We’ll get it before they leave.”
But panic was all Ronak could do as he paced the length of his room. They had a short window during which they could sneak in to search the body and find the map piece for Ekta. And now that his timeline had moved up, he needed Ekta’s money.
It wasn’t only that. He barely had a plan to break Kaleb out of the dungeons. It would be easy enough to bribe the guards to look the other way once he had Ekta’s money, but getting Kaleb out of the shackles would be impossible without a mayaka—specifically the mayaka who oversaw the palace dungeons. And bribing Aaliyah wasn’t an option, not when she’d trained under Papa.
Ronak fell back on his bed, wishing he could talk to his brother. Kaleb would know how to circumvent the constraints they faced. But Kaleb had made it perfectly clear that he intended to stay in jail until Vira saw fit to release him—which Ronak knew would never happen.
There was another knock at the door. Ronak sat up, reaching for the small book he kept beside his bed, which wasn’t a book at all. It was hollowed out, the pages glued and cut to make a secret hiding compartment. He’d dumped out the contents after Vira’s visit—results of his investigation into Kaleb’s framing, his emergency stash of coins, notes on ways to free Kaleb—and now he shoved them all back in. He hadn’t had visitors in weeks; having two in one day set him on edge.
The person knocked again, louder this time. “Ronak?”
He looked up, frowning. There were very few people in the palace who called him by his given name. He closed the book and made his way to the door.
Ronak’s stomach plummeted in shock. “Riya?”
“I heard you lived here now.” She smiled a little ruefully, not quite meeting his eyes.
She looked so remarkably like Vira. She was shorter, and she didn’t have that air of haughtiness, but everything else was much the same: the hair, the clothes, the jewelry, even the kaajal around her eyes. Ronak stared at her, unable to get any words out. How was she here? Why was she here?
And why had no one told him?
Riya bit her lip. “Can I come in?”
Ronak numbly stepped back. “What are you doing here?”
“Vira didn’t tell you?” There was genuine surprise in her voice. “Oh, I assumed—” She stopped herself.
Vira knew. She’d known when she came to see him, and she hadn’t told him. Every time he thought Vira couldn’t possibly disappoint him further, she still somehow found a way.
Riya glanced at him for permission before she walked around the edge of the room, trailing her fingers over the spines of Papa’s books, surveying the area much like Vira had. “This suits you.”
She’d probably spent as much time in this room as he had, doing her lessons on the faded rug beside Papa’s desk while Ronak drew, both of them hanging on to Papa’s every story. But that had been a lifetime ago.
“Why did you come back?” Ronak blurted out.
“Vira asked me to.” Riya fiddled with the bangles stacked on her wrist. “So we can be a family again.”
“Family,” Ronak echoed. “You expect me to believe that?”
She looked up in surprise.
“I saw you, Riya. I saw you at the protest last month. With those rebels.”
Riya’s face drained of color. “Ronak—”
His mind kept flashing back to that moment over a month ago when he and Jay had ducked into the crowd. It had been a shortcut, an easy way to cut across to the Market District to meet Ekta’s intermediary. But then he’d seen her. She was one of the protesters, there with a group of rebels. Ravens, someone had called them.
He remembered how often she’d fought with Amma—how their last fight had sent Riya racing off into the night. They’d always thought she’d come back, but she never had. She’d left them without sparing a second glance, and now she stood in front of him as if this were a common occurrence. It was all too much.
“You walked away from this life,” Ronak said, his voice thick with emotion. “From us. And now you’re telling me that you don’t have some secret agenda?”
He could read the guilt on her face. They stood in silence for a long moment, studying each other. She seemed worlds away from the fifteen-year-old he’d last seen. Who’d shared his passion for the outdoors, for the adventure and games that Kaleb was too cautious to play and Vira was too stuck-up to entertain. This girl who stood in front of him was a stranger.
“Whatever it is you came back to do, leave me out of it.” Ronak turned away. “The door, sister, is where you left it. Don’t forget to shut it on your way out.”
Chapter Fifteen
— Vira —
PAPA USED TO say that smell was a powerful key to memory, but Vira didn’t anticipate the sharp sense of dread and regret that slammed into her when the guards pulled open the door and stifled dungeon air washed over her.
Kaleb hadn’t fought. He hadn’t argued. He’d just lowered his gaze and held out his hands to be shackled when she’d sentenced him. And this was the closest she’d stood to him in eight months.
Coward, a voice inside her muttered. That voice wasn’t wrong. She hadn’t gone to see him, because she couldn’t bear the thought of looking into his eyes and seeing resentment. Hate. Anger. Emotions that she’d put there.
“Maharani?” The confused guards were still holding the gate open for her. Vira picked up the skirts of her lehenga and stepped inside.
The mercenary’s cell was in the back. Vira walked quietly and deliberately, her eyes trained on the ground. Feeble light and humidity streamed in from windows high up in the walls, but there wasn’t enough warmth to combat the strange kind of cold that lived here.
If Surya heard her approach, he didn’t show it. He lay on a straw pallet, his arms folded beneath his head. The sleeves of his kurta were rolled up to his elbows, but the tattooed skin was hidden from view by his hair.
His head twisted finally, and the side of his mouth twitched. “A visit from the maharani. I must be blessed indeed.” He sat up and lifted his right arm to rub the back of his neck, revealing the tattoo on his upper arm.
Vira’s breath hitched.
Surya’s eyes followed her gaze, and he smirked. “Is this why you came? To find out if it was me who killed your rani? Your mother.”
“Was it?” Her voice was raw.
“No.” Surya’s smile was almost cruel. “That honor was given to my father.”
Honor. He didn’t know the first thing about that word.
“There is no honor in murder.” Rage burned low in Vira’s stomach. “And father is a lofty term for the man who kidnapped you.”
Surya walked forward, his movements as deliberate as a cobra stalking its prey. “Don’t speak of things you don’t understand, Rani.”
There was ferocity in his gaze, protectiveness in his voice, and pride in his stance. For a man who had removed a young boy from his family. A man who had turned him into the killer who stood before her. That wasn’t a father. That was a monster.
“And what of things you don’t understand,” she spat. “Like the Kamala Society.”
An emotion passed over his face that she couldn’t read. “A story for children.”
“We both know it’s not.”
Surya raised a brow. “Do we, now?”
They studied each other. He wasn’t much taller than she was—or much older. But there was something in the way he carried himself, in his stiff back and wide stance and careful speech, that lent him an air of authority. His features, too, were striking: a crooked nose, deep-set eyes, a scar that cut through one eyebrow. Two onyx studs in his earlobes winked through the curtain of dark hair. He looked like a soldier, like someone who thrived in battle, who’d command the respect of entire armies, and Vira hated him in that moment.
“I am the only thing keeping you alive. My Council wants to see you dead—and your head shipped to Onaar. I can protect you, but only if I have reason to.” Inexplicably Vira stepped closer to him. “You seem clever enough not to die simply to spite me.”
“What are you proposing exactly, Rani?”
“A deal,” Vira said, forcing the words out. “Your life in exchange for the information you have.”
Surya laughed. “There’s a reason the mongoose and the cobra aren’t friends. One will always kill the other.”
“I’m prepared to take the risk.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Surya stared at her for a long moment. “Freedom. That’s my price.”
“You’re in no position to bargain.”
“Oh. But I think I am.” A slow, wolfish smile stretched across his face. He, too, stepped forward, and Vira was too aware that all that stood between them was a thin metal bar and a wall of magic. “You came here, Rani. You need me.” His eyes sparkled with a challenge. “I don’t fear death. And you seem clever enough not to lose simply to spite me.”
He knew he was right. And she knew he wouldn’t bend. Against Amrit’s counsel, she’d been prepared to offer him protection, but she would not let a murderer—and a mercenary—run free through her city.
“Fine,” she said. “Your freedom.”
A corner of his mouth twitched—almost as if he knew she was lying. But he merely crossed his arms over his chest. “What would you like to know?”
“Who hired you?”
“You already know that.”
“Why did the Kamala Society want Harish dead?”
“I think you already know that, too.”
So he knew about the Ivory Key.
“He would have been a terrible rajah, by the way. Your lord planned to betray you. And he was far too quick to give up his plan in exchange for his life.”
“And you killed him anyway.”
Surya lifted one shoulder. “I never pretended to be anything I’m not, Rani.”
No. He hadn’t. “What were you supposed to do once you’d killed him and taken his dagger?”
“There was a contact I was supposed to meet at an inn outside Dvar. Don’t bother to look. He’s long gone. The Kamala Society doesn’t care what happens to me.” He smirked, as if enjoying a private joke. “They were the original mercenaries, you know.”
“And the last piece of the map?” Vira prompted.
Surya’s amusement faded. “Our deal, Rani. Free me, and I’ll take you to it.”
Vira’s heart skipped a beat. He knew where it was. “I’ll free you once I have my information.”
“Then you’ll be waiting a long time. You think you’ll crack his code?”
Vira looked up just in time to see Surya’s eyes widen slightly. He’d misstepped. He’d given something away he hadn’t intended. The encoded message led to the last piece of the map.
It was her turn to smile even as her pulse raced and her knees threatened to give out. “I guess I have everything I need.”
“You’ll wish you hadn’t done that,” he said. “You’ll need me sooner or later, Rani. And you’ll regret this.”
“No. I don’t think I will.” She turned and walked away.
Amrit was waiting outside the dungeons. Midmorning light seemed to wash away his shadows, painting him with softer brushstrokes. Vira let her eyes trace over him, from the curl of his exceptionally long lashes down to the curve of his lips. He’d probably slept even less than she had, but somehow he looked refreshed, his eyes lighting up as he saw her. It really was unfair that some people were so effortlessly beautiful.
He offered her a smile and a paper-wrapped parcel and then nodded toward the stone stairs that led back to the palace.
“What’s this?” Vira unwound the parcel as they walked. Perfect diamonds of mango and coconut burfi, topped with a smattering of crushed pistachios and saffron threads. Her breath caught in surprise. She didn’t know if she’d ever told him that this was her favorite dessert.
He didn’t say anything until she looked up at him. “An apology.”
“What?”
“Yesterday, I didn’t act as a guard would to his maharani,” he said. “I acted as . . . as a friend. I should have told you about the mercenaries in the forest. I’m sorry, Vira.”
“Oh. Thank you,” she said, feeling some strange, heavy emotion stir within her. She hadn’t given it another thought since they’d left the interrogation room. But he had. He’d considered what she’d said and how he’d acted.
Some days Amrit was all duty and sage advice. On other days—when he offered her smiles and sweets and sorries—it was harder to forget that he was a boy, too.
“Your sister is meeting with the Council,” Amrit said.
“It’s going well?” She’d wanted to greet Riya personally, but she’d needed an audience with Surya while the Council was occupied. She’ll understand, Vira told herself. This was more important.
“As well as it can. And how was your talk with the prisoner?”
Vira recounted the conversation as she followed Amrit up a set of stairs. Warm sunlight bathed the fort in a soft gold haze. Around them servants hurried by with baskets of flowers and vegetables. Off-duty guards lounged on the grass, trading gossip and homemade snacks. Chattering children breezed past Vira, running up and down the stairs in what looked to be a game, but Vira knew was a training exercise.
