The Rogue Queen (The Hundredth Queen #3)(63)
In the sudden stillness, I blink dust from my eyes. The Tigress Pavilion, the ranis’ main social area, comes into focus. I never spent much time here, but it, too, looks different. The black-and-white tiled fountain has run dry, the water basin slimy and stagnant. Barren weapon racks line the far portico wall. Gone are the countless blades and staffs that the rajah’s wives trained with.
“General Naik,” Opal says, her stance alert. “We aren’t alone.”
Brac steps out from behind a low wall. My whole body locks with shock.
“General Naik?” Brac strides to me. “We have been apart a while.” He hauls me into a hug, my arms pressed at my sides. My brother’s golden eyes gleam. I am struck by how alike they are to Chitt’s.
“What are you doing here?” Natesa thumps him in the shoulder. “We’ve been searching for you, you dolt. You scared the sky out of Deven!”
“I only scared Deven?” he teases, and Natesa hits him again.
Yatin grabs Brac up in a wholehearted embrace. My brother’s voice squeaks out. “Missed you too, big man.” Yatin puts Brac down and rubs his head, mussing his coppery hair. Brac scans Opal up and down. “You look worse off than I do. Where are Rohan and Mother?”
Opal turns away, teary. I let Yatin explain. His gentle burr cushions everything he says.
“Mathura is well, but Rohan . . . won’t be joining us.”
Brac’s eyes spread in understanding. He lightly touches Opal’s arm. “My sympathies.”
Across the pavilion, behind low walls and lattice screens, shuffling noises and whispers sneak out from the wives’ divided dining patio.
Brac whistles. “You can come out! It’s just my brother.”
Just his brother?
“Gods alive, Brac,” I say. “I thought you’d been captured!”
He glances from me to Opal and back again. “Didn’t Opal tell you I got away?”
“That was days after I followed the imperial army looking for you!”
A flood of women pours into the main pavilion from the dining patio. The assembly is made up of ranis, courtesans, and palace servants, each group differentiated by their hair and attire. Ranis wear their long hair loose down their backs, and their saris are elegant and intricate, while the courtesans tie their hair back in braids, their apparel more garish in design and color. Servants wear plain robes that are boxy in shape. Children of all ages accompany them, holding hands with and carried by nursemaids. The stunning ranis and courtesans, all scarred in one way or another from their days competing for rank in the arena tournaments, file into the pavilion until it is full.
Brac explains in a hushed voice. “I was thrown from the wing flyer when we were struck in the sky. I fell into the Morass and the crash knocked me out. The army probably thought I was dead or would be soon. When I came to, I found the crash site, but Opal and the army were gone. I didn’t know how to get to you and Mother in Lestari, so I went to the nearest village, borrowed a horse, and rode here. I walked up to the palace gates and surrendered to Hastin. He gave me the option of rejoining the rebels or staying with the women. After what he did to you and Kali, I couldn’t stomach serving him again.”
“You’ve been here, with these women, all this time?”
“Good idea, eh?” Brac winks at a pair of very pretty ranis, and they giggle. At my short sigh, he sobers. “I knew Kali and you would eventually return for the ranis. Coming here was the surest way I could think of to find you.”
I grip the back of his neck and drag him against me. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
“You too.” He pats my back and lets me go. “We should probably address the women. They don’t have much patience these days.”
Our audience’s stares pull me back. A few courtesans whisper to each other. I hear one slur Natesa’s name like an obscenity. She holds herself with an air of aloofness, but stays close to Yatin’s intimidating bulk.
A servant steps forward. Long-healed red scars run down her cheek and over one eye. “Where is Kindred Kalinda?”
The whispers cease, and Yatin sets his mouth in a grim line.
“I don’t know.” My voice falls off, dragged away by worry.
“I’m certain the gods are watching over the kindred,” says a young rani, a baby propped on her hip. “I’m Shyla.” She motions to the pair of ranis who tittered at Brac earlier. “That’s Eshana and Parisa. And the woman there”—she gestures at the scarred servant with downcast eyes—“is Asha, Kalinda’s servant.”
I recognize them now. Eshana was one of Tarek’s favored four. Asha, the servant, once wore a heavy veil that hid her facial scars. She took good care of Kali.
Shyla moves in closer. “We’re the kindred’s friends, but some of the women are upset that she ran when the rebels invaded.”
From the women’s accusatory glares, they consider Natesa and Kalinda’s actions cowardly. But Kali has been fighting for her people since she left, and Natesa is here now. The truth of their efforts scalds my tongue.
Brac tugs my arm, turning us away from the crowd. “They don’t know what’s happening outside these walls. Hastin believes they’re too beneath him to tell them anything, and I didn’t want to upset them even more. We should speak in private.” He revolves and tosses the women a charming grin. “We apologize for interrupting your breakfast. Please, return to your meal with your children. We’ll gather again shortly.”