Tyrants always replace other tyrants. I recall Amira’s words, wonder why they make me feel so uneasy now.
“But you had your freedom,” I point out. “Why did you give it up?”
“Freedom is relative, child. I am free to bind or remain unbound if I wish; I am free to come and go between the palaces. For me, that is enough—as it should be for most people.” I don’t miss the warning in her voice or the frown that appears on her face. “Come now. There’s a lot to be done. Starting with your hair.”
As a servant, my meals at Ambar Fort have been fairly simple: bajra rotis or rice, a bowl of black lentils or creamy white kadhi with freshly cooked vegetables. Sometimes, if we are lucky, we’d get a few honeyweed dumplings in our lentils. The food, though delicious, isn’t very different from the meals I ate growing up.
The royal family dines differently. Along a low table, gold dishes brim over with different vegetables and paneer, with curried lamb and spiced rabbit. Steam gently rises from rock crystal tureens filled with lentils in different colors. At the center, there’s a goat, which has been roasting on a spit for the past two days, the chef informs the king. The goat’s legs are folded over as if in a sitting position, its head rising over a tray of rice garnished with nuts and rose petals.
I enter the room behind Yukta Didi, who points to the king seated at the head of the table on a plush carpet surrounded by silk cushions. She leaves with a bow, while I stand in place, waiting, unsure of where to sit.
“Come here, child,” the king says, gesturing to a cushion on his right, between him and the crown prince. He sounds almost paternal. “Sit.”
The seat to the right of a king or queen is usually for a favored spouse—or an honored guest, Yukta Didi told me this morning. I glance at Queen Amba, but her face is impassive. I settle down, cross-legged like the others, grateful no one can see my knees shaking.
“When Subodh was still larking around here trying to broker deals for that foolish Samudra king, I told him, ‘Do you know, Subodh—I eat your subjects!’” the king says, laughing.
There’s a roar of answering laughter at this, though more dispersed than I expect it to be. Queen Amba and Prince Amar, the only two royals with no meat on their plates, do not laugh.
“I don’t know what the fuss is about, Ambarnaresh,” Queen Farishta says, sounding bored. “In the Brim, we eat meat all the time. Sometimes, the meat eats us. It’s a part of life. Besides, Subodh wasn’t some innocent. He was a lion, by the goddess!”
“Pashu,” Amba says shortly. It’s the first time she has spoken throughout the afternoon meal. “He was Pashu. A rajsingha, if you want to get specific.”
“Psh. Who cares about all that? The point I’m making is that he ate meat,” Farishta retorts. “The first four kings and queens of Svapnalok ate every animal—lion and lamb alike.”
“We must praise the goddess that the Four Blessed drew the line at eating each other,” Amba replies. “It has spared me the indigestion that would surely come from having to eat you, Farishta.”
More laughter this time, while Queen Farishta fumes.
“Looks like our newly freed bird doesn’t eat meat, either,” Sonar says. I feel him eyeing the serving of vegetables, roti, and lentils on my plate. “Squeamish, are we?”
“My needs are simple,” I say. I may not eat meat, but if he expects my stomach to turn at the sight of it—the way it does for some other Sisters—he is in for a disappointment.
The king smiles at me, but the look in his eyes is shrewd. “Indeed, you have been most humble in your win, Rani-putri Siya. It is a trait we value most in our servants. In those whom we bind with.”
Across from me, I sense Queen Amba stiffening. I place the partly torn roti aside and take a sip of water from a small golden tumbler to moisten my dry mouth.
“Which is why, Siya, I will give you a reward today. You will bind with Yuvraj Sonar on the twenty-fifth day of the month, a week before the Month of Tears turns into the Month of Flowers. A most auspicious time.”
The shock that comes with the king’s announcement must show vividly on my face. But it does not matter, for the others are shocked as well—the queens most particularly. Queen Amba looks furious, even though she says nothing. Only Sonar looks unperturbed; the king must have already discussed my so-called reward with him. My limbs feel numb. I barely even sense the finger lightly running down my neck, pausing right at the collarbone.
“Now let’s see how much of a fuss you make,” Sonar whispers in my ear.
30GUL
After lunch, Yukta Didi arrives again to escort me back to my quarters. In Ambar, once a binding is announced, the two mates do not see each other until the day of the ceremony.
A week, I think. I’m to be bound in a week.
As a young girl, I never wanted to bind. It drove Ma up the wall whenever I said it, made her wild with anger. “Do you plan to live with us forever?” she always demanded.
The memory slides through me, leaves behind more grief than bitterness. To my surprise, instead of taking me back to the servants’ quarters, Yukta Didi leads me to a door next to the green room that I’d helped clean only a few days earlier, the wood embellished with gold Ambari roses.
“Raja Lohar has said that this will be your room for now. After your binding,
