Third Daughter (The Dharian Affairs, Book One) (11 page)

“Do you think an assassin would make such noise?” Aniri called out over the racket. Janak scowled at her and waved them to follow. Not only did she doubt the dangers of the Jungalian mountains would be quite so obvious, but by the time Janak allowed them in, her curiosity had taken over completely. She eagerly stepped over the threshold.

Inside was a steel carriage, boxy like a small train car, only this one floated above the ground, swaying slightly as a porter brought a step stool for their party. Aniri wondered how it could hover like that, until she saw it was suspended, hanging from a muscular steel arm attached to the thick cable overhead, which in turn wrapped around a giant wheel fixed to the ceiling.

A man shoveled coal into a furnace in the corner, his brown overalls covered in black, tarry soot. Next to him was a large-bellied boiler, which drove the flywheel of the steam engine. Gears connected the flywheel to the larger wheel overhead, but while the engine loudly chugged its operation, the overhead wheel and cable carriage were motionless. The small shack reeked of both smoke and fresh mountain air, the way Aniri imagined a forest fire must smell.

Prince Malik leaned close so he could be heard over the hissing of the engine and clacking of gears. “They’re waiting for us to board, your majesty.”

Aniri nodded and hastened to the carriage. The rest of the party—Janak, Priya, Farid and the prince—climbed in behind her, and the footman carried away the stool. The prince and Farid took hold of the bronze handles, a dozen of which were interspersed between the glass windows around the perimeter of the carriage. Aniri hastened to do likewise, her ride on the shashee not forgotten. But there was only a slight tug this time as they started to move. The cable carriage floated through the cottage, circling slowly around, then gaining speed.

Only when it approached the missing wall did she remember there would soon be no floor below them. She gasped as they flew out of the cottage. She was embarrassed further when the ground fell away beneath them, and her squeak echoed in the sudden quiet outside the cable station and its steam-driven clatter.

The prince was grinning at her. Heat crept up her cheeks. She was dressed like an adventurer, but acting like a schoolgirl. She avoided his stare and gazed out the carriage window, trying to recover some dignity, but soon her jaw was dropping again. They soared over the ravine and quickly climbed higher in the air, as if they would fly straight to the black-dagger mountain peaks in the distance. An infinite palette of green spread below them, a lush forest garden like the Queen’s, only it went on endlessly, broken only by a hidden stream peeking from the rocky bottom of the canyon. Past the receding trade station, Aniri glimpsed a sliver of golden fields: the plains of Dharia.

She was flying so high, she could see her home.

It was a wondrous feeling, and dizzying. Like she was a god—flying above the earth and surveying everything in it. What did the barbarians think, living here in the clouds and looking down on Dharia? She had pictured them brawling in dank caves and darkness, not here, perched in the blazing sun and blue sky, gazing at the fields below. Did they come down from their heights just to steal some of Dharia’s riches? Or did their mountain living make them dizzy, and they sought the sensible solid ground of the plains?

Priya was similarly gape-mouthed and for once speechless. Even Janak seemed surprised, or perhaps alarmed, still gripping the carriage handles, even though their flight was as smooth as glass.

The prince’s smile hadn’t dimmed. He edged closer, daring to let go of his handle. “It is beautiful, is it not, princess?”

“It is astonishing,” she said. “Do you always travel like this, in the sky? Does it not alarm you?” Aniri stole a glance at Janak. He definitely was a shade paler than normal, and she took no small satisfaction in that.

“We are a mountain people, your highness.” The prince leaned against the window next to her, quite close, their conversation clearly not private with nowhere for the others to go, but he acted as though they were alone. “We are used to high places and daring feats.”

He was bragging now.

“Well, in Dharia, we have many wonders as well,” Aniri said.

“I’m sure that you do.” He smirked.

The giant steel man with his pinched grip on the cable was suddenly near, hurtling toward them. “Oh!” escaped her, and she grasped her handle again. They quickly glided past it. A small thump rocking the carriage was the only note that anything at all had happened.

She drew in a breath and frowned at the smirk that had grown even stronger on the prince’s face. “You must think I’m very pampered and naive, Prince Malik.”

He looked contrite again. “Not at all, princess. But I do find pleasure in sharing the wonders of my country with someone who hasn’t seen them before. And it is soon to be
your
country as well. I hope you find it pleasing.”

“I’m still working on wonderment and exhilaration. I’m sure pleasing will come eventually.”

He smiled, and she managed to relax her grip on the handle, although she noted Janak still had hold of his. “Will this cable carriage take us to another trading station?”

“Yes. And another one after that. But the trip will be short. We will be in Bajir before lunch. Which is good, because they are waiting for us.”

“They?”

“My people. Soon to be yours.” His eyes traveled the length of her outfit. “As much as I approve of your traveling clothes, you may want to change once we arrive. I’ve arranged for us to make an appearance.”

“To announce our engagement.” The words, spoken aloud, made her stomach feel like a small flock of birds had taken up residence. Somehow flying through the clouds seemed less daring than publicly proclaiming her intent to marry the Prince of Jungali.

“Yes,” he said softly, then peered down at the ground far beneath them, whisking by in a blur of leaves and sparkling gray granite boulders. He looked back to her. “Are you ready to meet your new subjects, future Queen of Jungali?”

“I supposed I shall have to be.” She smiled to take the edge off her words, cringing at how easy her thoughts came out in her voice. She would have to play her part better than that, if the ruse were to hold long enough to complete her mission. In spite of the unexpected beauty and lightness of their means of transport, the Jungali remained barbarians, ones who would likely slit her throat if they knew her purpose. She might mock Janak for his overcautiousness, but she was also concerned about the dangers that could be found in the mountains of Jungali.

Not least that their young prince might discover she was a spy.

People choked the streets, spilling from doorways and leaning out of windows to catch a glimpse of the prince bringing his bride-to-be home to Bajir. The prince told Aniri the capital city was named Bhakti, which meant devotion or loyalty. It wasn’t as large as Kartavya, Dharia’s capital, but it seemed to hold just as many citizens, as if the entire population of her capital were squeezed into a quarter its size. Bhakti perched at the edge of a mountainous plain that overlooked a thousand foot abyss. Aniri imagined the white granite walls surrounding the city kept out the cold winter winds as well as other Jungali clans. In between drafts of fresh mountain air, the city was squalid with the smell of coal smoke and too many bodies.

And the colors! They were an assault on the senses as well.

Buildings were stacked one on top of another, every surface painted green or yellow or blue—especially blue, as if the Jungali had pulled down the vibrant clear sky above them and splashed it on the walls. Lines of wash were strung between the buildings, across streets and to lampposts, tying the entire city together with sheets and cloaks and bloomers that fluttered like brightly colored flags. The rooftops were so close together they formed a maze where one could run from house to house and never touch the ground. In fact, a small flock of children was doing just this as the royal entourage paraded through the streets. Aniri gasped and thought one of them might fall, but they clung to the edges and waved to the prince as he passed. He smiled, waved, and shouted something to them in a language she could not understand.

When they reached the prince’s palace, the white granite was a relief to her eyes. The glittering rock rose and fell in graceful, pointed arches and domes that were reassuringly strong and clean. During their passage through the city, she thought perhaps the panic had finally caught up to her because it had become increasingly difficult to breathe. But the prince calmly assured her the air was thinner so high in the mountains, and she just needed breathe more deeply and perhaps limit her movements for a while to acclimate to the change.

Her panic eased. When they arrived at their appointed room, Priya helped her dress and ministered to her hair. Eventually, Aniri calmed enough to feel presentable for the engagement announcement to the prince’s people. She couldn’t think of them as her people—that wasn’t her mission and hopefully never would be. She needed to test out her mother’s aetheroceiver, but that would have to wait. The prince expected her in his receiving room in advance of the announcement.

She had brought several outfits worthy of a Queen, but was frankly confused as to which would be best. Priya selected the least ornate among them for this first appearance, and Aniri trusted her judgment. The Jungali wouldn’t approve of a preened peacock from the rich Dharian countryside below, but the dress was still undeniably Dharian: silk skirts draped in lace, a formal corset, and a sweep of silk clinging to Aniri’s shoulder. She had thought the plum-and-cream fabric colorful before, but now it seemed dull compared to the riot of color outside the palace. She wore no veil, not wanting to appear already the bride, so Priya pinned her hair into a simple crown of curls with a single pearl hanging to her forehead.

She hoped her attire would meet the approval of the prince’s subjects.

When they left for the prince’s receiving room, Priya and Aniri took care to move slowly and keep their breath. Janak hovered close behind them, silent as always. Aniri couldn’t tell if he labored to breathe like they did, even with him constantly at her side, ever vigilant for attacks. The welcome to the capital had been so warm, Aniri couldn’t imagine one of the prince’s people leaping out to plunge a dagger through her heart.

Then again, Malik had posted several guards outside her room, as if he expected barbarians—
different
barbarians—to storm the gates of his estate at any moment. Janak seemed none too reassured by their presence either. He pulled open the door to the prince’s receiving room, and Aniri restrained herself from making an awkward sound of surprise when she saw the prince.

His royal Jungali clothes bore no resemblance to the Dharian ones he had worn at court, nor to his rugged traveling attire. He was encased almost entirely in black, his trim jacket clasped at his neck with a small, bronze crest. As she stepped closer, the fabric of his jacket seemed to come alive with glints of black diamond, but it was merely brocade with a silver-black thread that caught the light. The coat fell to his knees, revealing black trousers below. The only true color on him was in his clear amber eyes, which stared at her with the same amazement and disbelief as when she first accepted his proposal. A trill of worry swept through her. Had she made the wrong choice with her dress?

The prince stepped toward her, but an older man slid between them, reaching Aniri first. His movement was smooth, like a panther moving through the dark, and the midnight-black, knee-length leather coat, slicked-back hair, and dark, tightly-trimmed beard added to the illusion. His thin copper-wire spectacles gave a hint of learnedness, but beneath them, his dark eyes were still predatory. They raked over Aniri and her outfit in a way she would have found insulting if she wasn’t concerned she had dressed badly for the occasion.

She felt Janak’s presence at her shoulder. The look hadn’t escaped his notice either. Then the older man smiled, a thing that more resembled a leer and caused creases to race across his face. He pressed his hands together, the black gloves covering them squeaking slightly as he did so, and gave a very small bow.

“Arama, Princess Aniri. Welcome to Jungali.”

She bowed in return but wasn’t quite sure what to say.

The prince sent a barely concealed glare toward the older man, which was clearly ignored, then said, “Princess Aniri of Dharia, please meet General Garesh of Sik Province.”

“Arama, General Garesh,” Aniri said, bowing again. “It’s my pleasure to be here.”

“Indeed. I would imagine so. It’s not often we have Dharian royalty grace us with their esteemed presence.” The general could give Janak instructions in how to insult a royal while appearing to show respect. “I’m sure our country must seem a poor, bedraggled cousin compared to the riches of Dharia.”

“I… I find your country quite beautiful, actually.” Aniri inwardly cursed her stumbling, even more certain she had violated some Jungali dress code with her Dharian fashions. “The views are stunning.”

“That is true,” the general conceded, but the sly look didn’t leave his face. “But make no mistake. The beauty masks a bitter coldness that must be shocking for a refined lady such as yourself. Our mountain weather can be quite brutal. And unexpected.”