The Star-Touched Queen (The Star-Touched Queen #1)(14)

“If you wanted me to know your plan all along, why bother with sending a tutor for me? Why not get rid of all the distractions?”

“Your mind is playing tricks on you, Mayavati,” said my father curtly. “There was no tutor assigned to you yesterday. I know because I made sure of it. Take the potion during the ceremony. I have faith in your judgment, daughter.”

With that, he left. A heavy thudding sound rang in my ears. Of course there had been no tutor. I had truly lost my mind. I circled the room, my eyes darting over walls and corners. Escape was impossible. My doors were bolted. My windows barred with iron. Light entered the room slowly, like a predator stalking me, cornering me with the truth that there was no escape left but one—death.

*

The sound of water sloshing up beaten copper basins and the muffled chime of heavy jewels woke me. Fragrant myrrh, rose oil and the starch of brocade silks drifted through the gap in my door. One by one the attendants filled the room, their heads bowed and arms laden.

The moment I saw them, fury shot through me. Fury that I had thought better of my father … that escape was out of reach. But most of all fury at myself, for thinking that I was meant for more than this. Fury at my dreams for promising a life lived.

Quickly and quietly, the attendants scrubbed me with turmeric. If they saw my red-rimmed eyes or mussed hair, they made no comment. They bathed my limbs in milk and nettle, applied henna in intricate designs of mango blossoms and flowers, threaded golden ornaments through my waist-length hair. I bit my lip when they plunged amethyst earrings through my lobes and cuffed my wrists with bangles. They looked just like shackles.

When I stood, the attendants tightly wound a sari around my body. It was red, like the wedding saris worn by all the half-sisters before me. A bitter smile crossed my face. Red was supposed to ward off death on happy occasions.

In quick, methodical succession, the guards emptied my room of its things. Too soon, all that remained was my empty bed and the small nightstand. Over and over, my eyes returned to the small purple vial now tucked in the space between my wrist and bangles. It was cool against my skin.

I walked around the room—memorizing corners, touching edges. Above and around me, gossamer curtains wavered, bright green tiles twinkled and the golden concentric circles of the ceiling gleamed.

The door quaked.

“Princess, we must leave,” called the guards.

I wished I could sink into the ground or disappear into the ether like my assailant. Now the door was opening, shadows leaking inside and, still, I was here. I cast a glance at the pillar of Narasimha in my room, wishing it would spring free and protect me. But in the end, it stayed silent as stone.

“Come, Princess,” said a guard, leading me by the elbow in a less-than-gentle grip.

A final fragment of sunshine spilled across my foot before the door closed with a resounding thud. Silence pressed against me, pushing me forward.

As I walked, none of the harem women moved to embrace me. None whispered the customary blessings of fertility and love into my ears. From the shadows, Mother Shastri watched me coldly. Their daughters stood in the shadow of another pillar, their expressions unreadable. Only Gauri ran to me, led by a reluctant Mother Dhina.

“When are you coming back?” she asked, beaming.

I paused, on the verge of embracing Gauri, when I felt the vial of poison pressing against my wrist, staying my hand. An image flashed in my mind—foreign soldiers breaking through the harem walls. Stealing Gauri. Or worse.

Numbly, I unclasped my mother’s necklace and slipped it into Gauri’s palm.

“I don’t know. But will you look after this for me until I return?”

Gauri took the necklace reverently and nodded. I straightened my back, resolution knotting my stomach. I would do as Father asked. Not for him, but for Gauri. For Bharata. Before I walked away, Mother Dhina caught my arm. Her face was tight, kohl pooled in the puffy skin around her eyes. She looked like she was fighting the urge to speak. But in the end, her words won out:

“Keep some secrets to yourself, girl,” she said quietly.

Not to worry, I wanted to say. Soon, only the ground will know my secrets.

*

After that, time moved far too quickly. All too soon, I was crossing from the grounds to the Raja’s welcoming hall. Any time I wanted to wait, to pause, to touch anything, the guards pulled me forward. Even the sun had renounced me, disappearing behind the clouds and withholding its warmth. A numb furor sucked the air.

Marigolds and roses adorned the entrance to the Raja’s welcoming hall, and bright petals carpeted the path. Inside, the din of men’s voices and the cloying smell of betel nut hit me instantly. Through my veil, I could see the suitors and their attendants. Some stood short, others stretched tall. Some wore crowns of horns, others diadems of gold. All fifteen wore garlands of red carnations.

In front of each suitor lay a clawed basin filled with fire. Behind them, the pillars of the Raja’s hall bloomed into coronets of marble and vines of emerald. I glanced at the ceiling, palms sweating at the sight of the narrow rafters. How many times had I spied from that very spot?

Officially speaking, this was my first time inside the hall. Though it looked small from above, down here the chamber swelled in size.

The court notary handed me a garland of white blossoms. Whoever I chose to place the white garland upon would be my husband, if only for a moment.

“Noble visitors,” the Raja said in his booming voice, “I give you my daughter, the Princess Mayavati. May her choices in life be filled with honor and grace.”