Third Daughter (The Dharian Affairs, Book One) (8 page)

Great billows of steam rolled along the back of the train, huffing impatience into the sky as it awaited departure. A dozen passenger cars gleamed in the morning sun, the burnished red wood almost as bright as the brass. The train station bustled with passengers and their cargo. The two aft-most cars had been sectioned off, cleared for Prince Malik’s return to Jungali. And Aniri’s first trip beyond the borders of Dharia.

The daylong train ride would take them through Dharia’s rolling farms and fertile fields, the ones that fed the world with their abundance. Aniri felt that excess more keenly as she surveyed the dozens of trunks being loaded into the baggage car by the Queen’s servants. It was an embarrassment of riches compared to the prince and his tiny entourage, which consisted solely of the prince and his bulky attendant. They stood near his train car, consulting about something in earnest. Unlike earlier, his guard was now heavily armed with a wide-barreled flintlock pistol strapped to his leg and twin daggers sheathed at the small of his back.

The prince similarly carried both a sword and a bronze-handled dagger strapped to his waist. The Dharian finery he had worn at court had been replaced by rugged traveling attire more in keeping with her expectations of the Jungali—a linen shirt casually open at the neck but secured with leather bindings at the wrists and trim, woolen pants tucked into his black boots. His knee-length open coat, with its leather chest straps hanging loose, made him look like a Samirian pirate, the kind who raided Dharian vessels long ago, before peace had been brokered with arranged marriages and trade. Yet he still managed to look regal. Perhaps it was the way he stood: more confident in his barbarian clothing than when she’d first seen him in the Queen’s Grand Chamber.

“He is rather handsome, in a coarse, barbarian kind of way,” Priya said, standing at her side. As she spoke, the prince glanced their way, as if he could hear her over the chugging of the steam engine pulling at its brakes. Aniri quickly turned her attention to her handmaiden, avoiding the prince’s gaze.

“I’m not marrying him for his looks, Priya,” Aniri said quietly. Her handmaiden couldn’t be trusted with the truth of Aniri’s mission. Or even the contents of her daily diary, for that matter. “Or for his charm.”

“Is he charming as well, my lady?” Priya’s eyes lit. She must think this adventure grand, dangerous, and romantic, and Aniri couldn’t entirely spoil her illusions without destroying her cover. The dangerous part was accurate at least. But Aniri’s misery in this marriage would make little sense when she had chosen it herself. “I suppose you will see for yourself, once we’re in Jungali.”

Priya smiled, unabashedly turning to linger a look on Prince Malik. “Do you suppose the other Jungali men are so handsome?”

“Priya,” Aniri said, exasperated. “We’re arranging my marriage, not yours.”

“Of course, my lady.” She leaned close to whisper. “And who said anything about marriage?”

Aniri rolled her eyes, tired of talking about romance that would not be hers. “Will you please check on our train car? Make sure there is nothing we will have need of, but somehow left behind. If that’s possible.”

Their marriage had supposedly been arranged to bring peace and quell the incursions at the border. After the formal engagement party and courtship period in Jungali, the wedding would cement their new alliance. She was supposedly leaving Dharia for good, so it made sense to bring her every earthly possession. But she intended to be home again well before the month-long courtship period was up.

Priya scurried off in her silk-slippered feet to join Janak, who was supervising the servants loading Aniri’s multitude of trunks. As soon as all her packages were loaded, she would board, but she wanted to stand on Dharian soil as long as possible.

She had made her goodbyes over an early morning meal taken with her mother and sisters. It had been a quiet affair. Aniri couldn’t be sure if Nahali knew the truth, but she was sure Seledri had only been told the lie. The pain in her eyes had been nearly unbearable. Aniri couldn’t face Devesh—she had taken the coward’s way out by leaving him a note. Priya promised it had been delivered to his bedside, so he would see it upon waking.

The train station was just outside the gates of the capital city of Kartavya, whose sandstone walls caught the morning sun and appeared even more rosy. Aniri had spent nearly all of her life inside the city. For all the times she imagined breaking free, she hadn’t ever pictured herself boarding a train for the mountains of Jungali in order to do it.

Aniri examined the couple dozen other passengers boarding the train: ladies in slim silk dresses with the kind of high collars fashionable in the Queen’s court. The colors of their dresses blended in a bouquet of deep greens, burgundies, and golds. The men were slightly more muted with plum and black jackets over raw silk shirts. Only a few noticed her standing alone on the platform. They kept their stares respectfully short. It wasn’t entirely unheard of for her to leave the palace grounds, but most of her travels had been limited to single carriage affairs to local climbing spots or on expeditions to a coastal town with the Queen and her court on holiday. On those occasions, they had the train to themselves, since the many members of the Queen’s court filled every seat.

A figure caught her notice as he moved quickly through the crowd, skipping past the slower moving travelers and shouting apologies in his wake. Her breath caught in her throat.

Devesh.

Aniri looked to the train in a panic. All of a sudden, being so far from the car where she would board seemed foolish. Before she could think of a way to avoid him, it was all too clear she couldn’t. He was upon her.

“Aniri!” Devesh called even before he reached her, and she was forced to turn back to him. His breaths heaved out of his chest when he arrived at her side, as if he’d run the entire way from the embassy. His hair was slightly damp, his linen nightshirt barely buttoned, and the laces of his boots pooled on the rough wood of the platform, clearly not having been tied in his haste. Dev set down the long traveling case he carried. In his other hand was clenched a piece of parchment. She recognized the royal stationary she had labored over last night, pouring her heart onto the page, hoping he could read between the lines and see that her actions didn’t reflect her love for him.

But perhaps he had read too much, because here he stood. He grasped her shoulders, his hands warm and pulsing from the run, crushing the letter to her stiff silk traveling clothes.

“Devesh—”Aniri said, but then Dev broke all decorum and crushed his lips to hers. His arms wrapped around her, not holding back in the slightest in his passion. Aniri struggled to push him away, and suddenly she was free of him. Janak had hold of Devesh, literally yanking him off Aniri by the back of his half-buttoned shirt. Devesh swung at Janak, which pulled a gasped “No!” out of Aniri. Janak easily dodged Devesh’s punch, landing one of his own in Devesh’s stomach, which bent him over double.

Aniri found her voice, shouting an imperious, “Janak!” that caused him to pull a flat-handed chop that had been aimed at Dev’s throat.

Janak roughly shoved Devesh away and turned to Aniri. “My lady, your train awaits.” His normally impassive face was mottled, but with anger, not exertion. He could easily have killed Dev with that single well-placed strike, the kind that earned the raksaka their reputation as silent assassins as well as royal guards. But her anger matched his: it was not his place to come between her and Devesh. Not now, and not before, when he had betrayed their affair to her mother. Her anger reached a new height with that thought.

“The train will wait for me,” she said to him, her voice harsh with anger. “And you may wait on board.”

If he did not heed her command, she would banish him from the mission altogether, whether her mother approved or not. Janak hesitated so long Aniri nearly sent him packing… but either the fury in her face or his sense of obedience turned him sharply on the hard heel of his boot. He strode to the train, where Priya stood, hand to her face and horror in her eyes. Aniri ignored them both, as well as the crowd that had frozen all around them to watch.

Devesh had straightened, recovered somewhat from Janak’s blow.

“Devesh, you are a foolish boy.” There were tears in Aniri’s eyes, blurring her sight of him, even as she reached for his shoulders to see if he was all right.

“Foolish?” he said with a smirk. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to take a swing at Janak almost from the day I met him.”

“He’s
raksaka
. He could have killed you before you raised a hand to defend yourself. Are you
mad
?”

Devesh peered down into her eyes. “I’m mad about you, Aniri.” He crumpled up the parchment still in his hand, threw it to the station platform, and took her hand in his. “You cannot do this. You know this marriage is a horrible mistake. I beg of you—come with me. It’s not too late. We can leave right now. A cousin of mine is waiting with a carriage. He can secret us away in a cottage in the lowlands by the coast until we can find passage across the sea to Samir.”

Aniri slowly pulled her hand from hers. “I… I can’t, Dev.” She took a half step away and almost turned her back on his pain-filled eyes before her lips could betray her. Any declaration of love on the platform, with dozens of onlookers, would doom her chance of making the subterfuge work. He was her lover. She
had
to leave him behind. But her gaze fell to the trunk Devesh had brought, and she couldn’t help hoping.

“Are you boarding the train, Dev?” Her voice was whispery and soft, her breath catching in her throat. Would he leave everything behind for her? He frowned, then scooped up the case by the intricately carved handle. Only then did she recognize it. He held it up, flat, presenting it to her as he had her blade the day before.

“Jungali is no place for a Samirian diplomat, princess. But your majesty will want her favorite weapons for this trip.” Then he clamped his lips into a tight line.

Aniri took hold of the handle and lifted it from his hands. It was heavier than she expected. “It was kind of you to remember.”

Devesh stepped close to her, and Aniri was afraid he might try to kiss her again, but he held a respectful space between them. “Be careful, my lady,” he said softly. “These are dangerous people.” For a flash moment, Aniri thought he had guessed everything—her mission, the subterfuge, her true love for him—but the pain in his eyes told her differently. “If anything happens to you, Aniri...”

She stepped back and gripped her trunk more firmly. She forced the words from her mouth. “Goodbye, Dev.”

As she strode toward the train, every face on the station platform followed her. Priya awaited her at the door to the train car. Aniri climbed aboard and refused to look back.

A part of her heart ripped from her chest and remained on the platform with Devesh.

The sway of the train car and the heated, stale air within it made Aniri nauseous. Or possibly it was the fact that she was traveling to the frozen wastelands of the north, having abandoned the boy she loved in favor of a loveless marriage to a barbarian prince.

She breathed through her nose and let it out slowly between her teeth, calming the contents of her stomach and her nerves. It would only come to that if she failed in her true mission; yet it still felt like the train was barreling down its track toward a cage of her own making.

Janak stewed in the corner, watching the waving stalks of grain fly past the window and studiously ignoring her. Their confrontation on the platform had left him in an ill-temper, and she wasn’t any happier with him. Janak was fully aware that Devesh posed no threat to her, yet he had dared to lay hands on him. It was an insult under the guise of protection, and she knew it full well. Now that Janak knew the real nature of her mission, he was deprived of the chance to gloat over her impending marriage. It must eat at him like a burr buried under all those raksaka wrappings.

They had a long journey ahead in which he could stew. It was a small solace to her.

Priya floated the length of the train car, flitting from window to window and waving to the people whizzing past. If she hadn’t already known Aniri and Devesh were lovers, she certainly did now. As did everyone on the train platform. Priya had wisely avoided the subject since they had boarded.

The car had been cleared of the normal rows of seats to provide a small receiving area, complete with large cushioned pillows for sitting, low tables, and tea service. Aniri sat on one of the few train car benches remaining, her gaze fixed on the subjects of her Queendom as the train hurtled past them. Word had traveled fast of her impending nuptials, and many citizens from the smaller villages had gathered at intersections to wave. Occasionally, a flower-laden wedding streamer had been hung, wishing her good luck.

It pulled at her, and not only because the marriage was a ruse.

The people of Dharia were gentle and loving to a fault, greeting her with nothing but well wishes on her departure. They were proud she was off to marry a barbarian prince to bring peace to borderlands and justice for those who had lost their loved ones. The nausea surged back, and Aniri stood, suddenly determined to combat it with more than sitting morosely in her seat. The train swayed under her, and the distant whistle of the engine called to her countrymen and women as it passed. Aniri gripped the back of the seat and briefly contemplated returning to the tiny sleeping compartment in the back, near the privy. But her mission was to find what secrets Prince Malik was hiding, including his flying weapon, if it existed. Maybe pursuing that would keep the nauseous feeling that she was making the mistake of her life at bay. She marched to the front of the car and wrenched up the handle of the door to the brief passage between her car and the prince’s.