Gifting Fire Page 14

  Arjun. My heart hurt just thinking about him. But I remembered his words of support, remembered the permission he’d given me to survive, and I kept those words close. He would never blame me, whatever it took to get through this, and that meant the world to me.

  “You know, I never did get the chance to thank you, your highness,” Hina said.

  “Thank me?” I screwed up my face in confusion at those words. “For what? Getting you into this mess?”

  “For saving my life,” she replied. “First when you took me in, and again when you defended me from your father and Karim. And I suppose a third time, when you talked me out of just shooting him and trading my life for his.”

  “I half wish I had let you shoot him,” I muttered.

  She shook her head. “No. You made the right decision. If we’re going to survive this, we need to be smart about it, we need to have a plan. Let’s not throw away our lives now just because we’re scared.”

  “You’re scared too?” I asked her, because there was no sign of it on her face. Even when Karim had arrived, her expression had been one of rage rather than fear.

  “We all are,” Hina assured me, but then her eyes flickered over to where Lakshmi and Nuri were flying a mock dogfight in the middle of the formation of river zahhaks, giggling loudly enough that we could hear them from where we were sitting. “Well, except them.”

  It was a remarkable thing to watch. I’d never seen river zahhaks growing up, so I knew little of their capabilities, beyond what I’d seen since coming to Zindh. But as Nuri and Lakshmi fought their mock duel, I noted that the river zahhak’s flight was far more buoyant than any other species I’d ever seen before. Nalini’s wings didn’t seem to beat with the same strength of purpose as a thunder or acid zahhak’s, giving her flight a lazy character to it, but each wingbeat lifted her higher in the air than a beat from Sultana’s wings would have done for her. And while Nalini didn’t have Mohini’s raw speed, and her long, pointed wings couldn’t roll quite as quickly as the acid zahhak’s shorter, broader ones, when the pair of them circled in the sky, it was the river zahhak who turned tighter, her long, forked tail twisting sideways as her wings dug so hard into the air that they sent little wisps of white smoke corkscrewing off their tips.

  “They’re such magnificent fliers,” I said, more to myself than to Hina.

  “Yes, they’re going to be so ferocious when they grow up,” Hina agreed, mistaking my meaning.

  “No, not Lakshmi and Nuri,” I said. “Well, yes, them too. I meant your river zahhaks. I’ve never had the pleasure of watching them fly before. They’re exquisitely maneuverable.”

  “And if they had breath, Zindh would be free,” Hina lamented. “That’s what my brother used to always say. If we could just give a river zahhak the fire of a fire zahhak or the lightning of a thunder zahhak, Zindh would be the most powerful kingdom in all the world.”

  I grunted at that. “How many river zahhaks are there in Zindh anyway?” Hina had sixteen of her own, and I knew that Sunil had more besides, but I hadn’t been in Zindh long enough to get a rough idea.

  “Altogether?” Hina shrugged. “I don’t know. But before Mahisagar’s invasion, my brother and I had forty-eight animals at our command. Now there are just thirty-two left. The other wealthy zamindars in Zindh have zahhaks of their own, but they’ll be reluctant to fly for us when they know they haven’t got a prayer of winning a fight in the air.”

  I shrugged. “I’m less worried about river zahhaks than I am about soldiers. Arjun can bring fire zahhaks from Registan, and if I can get word to Haider, he might bring thunder zahhaks from Safavia. But without soldiers, we’ll never recapture Kadiro.”

  “Speaking of which, we’re getting close now,” Hina said, gesturing to the farmlands in front of us.

  I didn’t see what was so different about them from the ones we’d been flying over for the last three and a half hours. Flat fields of freshly planted rice and cotton were broken up here and there with tall sugarcane stalks reaching the midpoint of their growing season. The farms lined the banks of the Zindhu in a strip of green leaves and black furrows about ten or fifteen miles wide, before the land turned to yellow dust, too arid for farming, and bereft even of much tree cover.

  “How can you tell?” I asked.

  “Because we’re reaching the delta,” she replied, pointing to little ribbons of water branching off the main channel of the river, spreading out before us like a fan. “Kadiro is there.” She pointed across the desert to our right, though I couldn’t yet make out any signs of a city in that direction.

  Still, Hina had lived in Kadiro and its environs for the whole of her life, so I trusted her as she banked Sakina in that direction, the indigo-winged river zahhak quickening her pace as she too recognized the landscape near her home.

  I followed Hina, noting that the other Zindhi fliers had already started their turns for Kadiro, drawing sudden movements from the acid zahhak riders behind us, none of whom really knew Zindh very well, and who had been content to follow the winding course of the river to the city.

  Personally, I’d have rather taken the scenic route to get to Kadiro. The longer I put off my arrival, the longer I could pretend that none of this was really happening, that I wasn’t engaged to Karim, that I wasn’t going to be forced to live in a strange palace surrounded by foreign soldiers, ruled over by men who wanted to strip me of my freedom and command me like a slave. And the closer we got to Kadiro, the more aware of my fate I became, and the more I worried that I wasn’t smart enough and strong enough to change it.

  But all too soon, the city of Kadiro hove into view, and my heart climbed into my throat. It was a bigger city than Shikarpur, and had served for centuries as Zindh’s traditional capital. Nizam had made Shikarpur the capital of the subah because it held the strongest fortress, but Kadiro was the great port at the mouth of the Zindhu’s delta, a hub of trade all along the coast, and one of the two endpoints of the river trade that flowed up and down the Zindhu.

  My eyes were struck by the bright blue tiles mingling with yellow sandstone bricks, by the domes of turquoise and gold, and by the stout city walls protecting Kadiro on its landward side. Its harbor was a natural lagoon, guarded from wind-driven waves by a barrier island that paralleled the seashore. The entrance, a narrow channel, was guarded by twin forts, small but stout, and bristling with cannons. The bulk of the city formed a crescent around the bustling harbor, but I noted that Hina was flying us not toward the walled city but toward a fortress that seemed to rise straight up out of the waters of the lagoon.

  It was only as we drew closer that I realized the fortress wasn’t a fortress at all, but a palace of gleaming marble. On its northern side, a pair of retaining walls stretched out like arms, encompassing a harbor that was a miniature reflection of the city’s. The still waters served as lotus gardens, blue-petaled flowers standing out like stars against the deep green of the lagoon. Gleaming marble walkways and pavilions capped with cobalt-and-turquoise-tiled domes led from small docks to the first courtyard of the palace, where dozens of buildings sat nestled amid date palms and enormous banyan trees, their marble facades connected to one another by means of golden sandstone walkways that stood out in sharp contrast to the bright green of the manicured lawns and well-tended rosebushes.

  “Akka! It’s so beautiful!” Lakshmi shrieked, pointing at the marble palace buildings, at the bright lotus gardens, at the scenic lagoons and the thoughtfully placed shade trees.

  “It is!” I agreed, offering her a smile that was utterly at odds with the sick sense of dread that was settling like a pall over my heart.

  “Maybe it won’t be so bad living with Karim,” she said, her tone so hopeful that it hurt me to hear it. She wasn’t old enough to understand that what she saw as a beautiful home was actually a gilded cage. So long as she was safe, reunited with her zahhak and living with her family, nothing else ma
ttered. But I knew the truth. If we were going to live in this palace in safety, I would have to give up everything that I had become. I would have to let the man I despised most in all the world touch me whenever he pleased, and I would have to raise his children as my own. And all the while, I would be watched by his agents day and night. No, I didn’t think I could subject myself to that—not even for Lakshmi.

  As we approached the palace, I spotted a pair of acid zahhaks winging their way across the lagoon toward us. They weren’t moving with much urgency, not when they could so clearly see Karim and his acid zahhaks behind us and above us in the position of advantage, but the patrol kept its height nonetheless, circling in behind us, joining Karim and his fliers, creating a six-strong formation of acid zahhaks in the perfect position to kill us all.

  It went against every instinct I possessed as a flier to just sit on Sultana’s back and watch that happen. It went against Sultana’s instincts too. The poor thing kept craning her neck back to get a look at Amira and the other acid zahhaks, her hood flaring slightly from anxiety. She’d been in enough battles to know that giving up her tail feathers to an acid zahhak was a good way to get killed, even if she could never have articulated it the way a human mind could.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart,” I lied, stroking the smooth cobalt scales of her neck. “We’re going to be just fine.”

  “Razia!” Karim called, Amira flapping her wings until they were turquoise blurs on either side of her body as she raced to catch up. He pointed to the outer palace’s courtyard, and a particular marble baradari that must have served as the diwan-i-khas here in Kadiro. “My father is waiting for us there.”

  “Of course, your highness,” I replied, and I forced myself to smile in spite of the anxiety eating a hole in my stomach. I steered Sultana toward the building in question, focusing my attention on bringing her in for a smooth landing on the sandstone path that led to the baradari’s bright white steps.

  Beside me, Mohini settled to the ground, and Lakshmi was quick to throw off her saddle straps so that she could better reach forward and hug her zahhak’s emerald-scaled neck, shouting words of praise and encouragement. Hina landed an instant later, and within seconds, I found myself surrounded by the eight Zindhi fliers so effectively that Karim and Amira couldn’t find a way through the cordon.

  He and his fellow Mahisagari fliers landed a short distance away, where they were soon joined by close to fifty musket-armed soldiers—or what passed for soldiers in Mahisagar. The men wore loose dhotis, and some hadn’t even bothered putting on their kurtas, letting their bare flesh take the force of Zindh’s harsh sun instead. With long, curved daggers thrust through their sashes, and battle scars marring their faces and arms, I thought they looked more like bandits than royal guards, but I knew from long experience that whatever they lacked in order or discipline, the Mahisagaris were the best fighters at sea to be found anywhere in Daryastan.

  More Mahisagari men approached from the other end of the garden, followed by three acid zahhak riders whose mounts pranced like proud horses, their keen red eyes taking in the river zahhaks around me with a predatory eagerness that sent shivers down my spine. One glance at the river zahhaks told me that they were nervous. I wondered if they were often made prey for acid zahhaks in the wild, on account of their lack of breath, or if these river zahhaks just remembered their last encounter with the acid zahhaks of Mahisagar a few days ago.

  Whatever the case, the hundred soldiers and seven zahhaks resembled not at all the usual welcoming party for a new bride arriving in her husband’s home. It was a completely unsubtle reminder of the fact that I was a prisoner, dragged here against my will, whatever pretty words Karim might try to spin to the contrary. But Sultan Ahmed of Mahisagar had never struck me as a particularly subtle man. I thought that was to my advantage, because I was going to need to outwit him if I was going to get myself out of this mess, and he was already starting the match with the deck stacked heavily in his favor.

  I sat uneasily on Sultana’s back, waiting for Karim and his men to dismount, but they hadn’t yet.

  The tension was broken by the arrival of about two dozen women dressed in chaniya cholis with bright embroidery and delicate shisheh mirror-work covering every inch of fabric. Their wrists and ankles were festooned with golden bangles and their faces hidden by the diaphanous silk of their dupattas. Like Hina’s celas, they were unarmed, and from the quality of their jewelry and the fine silk of their clothes, I suspected that these were the royal women of Mahisagar. Their arrival calmed some of the fears that had been gnawing at the back of my mind. I didn’t think the court women would have been present had Karim and his father intended to harm me.

  Karim swung down from the saddle as the women approached, and he came forward to embrace one of them in particular. As her saffron dupatta was covering her face, I couldn’t make out her identity, but her words gave me the answer. “Welcome home, son.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” Karim replied, with a politeness that I wasn’t used to seeing from him.

  “How was the flight?” she asked, her tone suggesting that she was either totally oblivious to the presence of so many zahhaks and so many armed men, or so accustomed to it that it bothered her not in the slightest. Wasn’t she the least bit worried that I might use my thunder zahhak to murder her and her son? She couldn’t be ignorant of our history, could she?

  “The air was smooth as glass,” Karim told her, “and we weren’t battling too much of a headwind. But it’s been a long day, and I’m sure that we’ll all be eager to get some rest before long.”

  Karim’s mother turned to look at me, and made her way over, followed closely by her son and her handmaidens. She kept her dupatta covering the majority of her face for modesty’s sake, which made me feel a little exposed, as I had but loosely wrapped mine over my hair. I wasn’t used to hiding my face, not when it had always been part of what my clients had paid to see.

  “There’s nothing to be frightened over, dear,” Karim’s mother said.

  “Frightened?” I asked, wondering what had made her choose that word.

  She gestured to me, still sitting atop my zahhak, and said, “It’s normal to be nervous when coming to a new home, but there’s nothing to be worried about. My husband and I are very happy to welcome you into our family. Karim has told me so much about you.”

  “Has he?” I asked, wondering just what stories he’d told his mother about me. Had he forgotten to mention that I was a hijra and had spent years living as a courtesan? Those were typically not the qualifications most sought after in a primary wife. Most men would never consider marrying a courtesan, let alone a hijra.

  “He has,” she assured me. “And so has my husband. He’s eager to see you again.”

  Eager to see me again? Somehow I doubted that, but the woman’s smile, barely visible through the thin silk fabric of her dupatta, was enough to convince me that I wouldn’t be immediately murdered if I dismounted. I unstrapped myself from the saddle and slid down to the ground, taking a moment to smooth the wrinkles from my ajrak clothes.

  As soon as I dismounted, Karim’s mother stepped forward, letting her dupatta slide just enough that I could make out her face, though it was still kept hidden from the men on account of Sultana and Sakina, the two zahhaks almost completely blocking us from view. She looked like Karim, after a fashion. Her eyes were the same nearly black color as his, the ideal sought after by so many courtesans even in Nizam, and their corners were creased with laugh lines that made it seem that she was accustomed to smiling—not the expression I typically associated with Karim and his father. Her skin was several shades darker than mine, a fine, deep brown that matched well with her lustrous hair, which was still a uniform black, without the slightest trace of gray, though I knew she must have been nearing forty.

  “My name is Asma, but you may call me mother-in-law,” she said.

  Though her word
s were mild, I felt like this was a test of sorts, and I was eager to pass it, to help take some of the suspicion off of myself, to help hide my true feelings after I’d done such a poor job of it back in Shikarpur. So I said, “Thank you for welcoming me into your home, mother-in-law.”

  Asma’s ruby-red lips pulled back into a brilliant smile, suggesting that I’d given a suitable response. “No thanks are necessary; it is my pleasure and my honor to welcome my son’s bride into our home.”

  I felt something warm and soft brush my hand, and I looked over to find that Lakshmi had come to stand beside me, her hand clutching mine, her eyes downcast like a properly shy princess. She’d even draped her sari so that the pallu covered her hair demurely. It was the acid zahhak sari I’d bought for her in Bikampur, paired with the acid zahhak jewelry that had once been mine, but which was now effectively hers.

  “And you must be little Lakshmi,” Asma said, bending over a little so that she was at her eye level. “You’re even prettier than my Karim said you were.”

  Lakshmi’s cheeks reddened at the compliment, and she lowered her big brown eyes still further beneath her thick lashes. God, she really had learned her trade well from Ammi’s tutors in Bikampur. Another two years, three on the outside, and she would have been one of the most sought-after courtesans in Bikampur. As it was, she looked every inch the young Virajendran princess, which worried me. If Karim had noticed her beauty already, then I was going to have to make good and certain that I never gave them a moment alone together.

  “Did my son’s gift please you?” Asma asked Lakshmi, her eyes darting in Mohini’s direction.

  Lakshmi bobbed her head, her earrings jingling in time with the movement. “I’ll never be able to thank him enough for bringing my Mohini back to me! I missed her so much.”

  “Well, you’re quite welcome, dear,” Asma said. “My son, Karim, has told me that he considers you to be like his own daughter, and so I will consider you my own granddaughter. How’s that?”