Chapter 4 - Promises and sacrifices - Part 1
Dacra's boots echoed in the narrow hallway, where walls of burnished stone glowed crimson in torchlight. A scarlet carpet ran its length, and every hundred paces a line of soldiers knelt, heads bowed. His grip tightened on the hilt at his waist. *She's hiding something,* he thought.
At the end of the corridor, two sentries stood before an iron-bound gate. They dipped their heads as Dacra approached; he returned the gesture with a small, knowing smile. The guards parted on silent hinges.
Inside, soft lamp‐light pooled around a broad canopy bed draped in ruby silk. A crystal jhoomar tinkled overhead; the air was warm, scented faintly of incense. Rajeev lay half‐covered, a dark‐haired woman curled beneath him. Her hair spilled like oil against the pale sheets.
Dacra leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Pick up where you left off... after I've spoken."
Rajeev bolted upright, muscles coiled, sheet rising to bare his chest. He pressed a hand to his mouth, eyes wide. The woman slipped from beneath him and draped herself in her saree, lowering her gaze.
"Forgive me, my king," Rajeev stammered, planting both feet on the floor. "I did not expect you so soon."
Dacra stepped inside, shoulders squared. His smile was courteous but cold. "These walls didn't shake at your last… engagement. Consider this my summons."
Rajeev bowed deeply, expression chastened. "Your word is law. I should have waited."
Dacra studied him for a long moment, then pointed to a carved ebony chair beside the bed. "Sit. There's urgent business to discuss."
Rajeev sank onto the edge of the mattress. Dacra perched on the chair, fingertips steepled. Flames danced across his thoughtful face.
"I'm calling the council," Dacra said, voice low and firm. "Every minister. Every councilman. Gather them at once."
Rajeev's brow creased. "A council meeting—so suddenly? What crisis demands the court's ear?"
Dacra rose, each step measured. "No questions. Make the arrangements."
He paused at the door, shadows flickering behind him. Rajeev watched him go, mouth parted, as the iron gate swung shut.
Silence settled in the chamber, broken only by the distant drip of a torch. Rajeev pressed a hand to his forehead, as if warding off an unseen weight. Whatever the king suspected, it would have to wait until they sat at that council table.
As dawn's light crept into the palace corridors, far below in the capital, in the heart of Vastara's capital—where stone alleys twisted like veins through the waking city—Vina moved through the market with a far-off look in her eyes.
Vendors stirred behind wooden stalls, their breath fogging in the chill as they lit braziers and unpacked crates of cumin, lentils, and dried fish. A goat bleated somewhere nearby. The scent of hearthsmoke and rising dough hung in the air. But none of it touched her.
Her woollen veil clung damp to her brow. Every cart she passed felt like judgment—baskets of fruit she couldn't afford, bolts of silk she'd never touch. Her mind echoed with the queen's voice: Poison the king… and blame the Asura.
The burden pressed down like a millstone on her chest.
Beyond the market's edge, the road bent toward her family's longhouse, nestled beneath a leaning cedar. It was a modest dwelling—timbered beams, a moss-soft thatch, a narrow smoke vent instead of a chimney. It had once been a haven. Now, it loomed like a waiting noose.
She paused by a chipped stone fountain, water trickling in slow, hesitant droplets. Vina pressed her fingers to her temples. Her thoughts churned, heavy and unstill. The sun's first light brushed the palace spires in the far distance—so close, and yet unreachable.
By nightfall, she would have made her choice.
By nightfall, something would break.
Vina turned from the fountain, shoulders hunched as if bracing against a wind that hadn't yet come. The walk to her longhouse felt longer than it should have, each footfall stirring old leaves and fresh dread. The dirt path wound past bare trees and shuttered homes still blinking awake in the pale dawn light.
She reached her doorstep and hesitated. The wooden door, its iron latch rusted at the hinge, had always creaked when opened—today it felt like the sound might splinter her resolve.
Inside, warmth met her like an old shawl. The smell of roasting lentils drifted from the hearth, mingling with the faint smoke curling from a crooked clay stove. Kangana—her daughter, just three winters old—sat on the floor with a cracked wooden doll, her dark curls bouncing as she laughed at something only she understood.
"Kangana," Vina whispered, her voice catching.
The child looked up and grinned, toddling over on unsteady feet. She wrapped her arms around Vina's legs, unaware of the storm behind her mother's eyes.
Across the room, Veera—Vina's younger sister, only nineteen but already bearing the weight of a woman twice her age—stood over the fire, stirring the morning's meal. A worn shawl clung to her shoulders, and a smear of flour painted her cheek.
"You're back early," Veera said without looking. Her tone was casual, but her hands didn't stop moving. "The market wasn't too harsh, I hope?"
Vina didn't answer right away. She knelt and ran her fingers through Kangana's curls, as if trying to draw strength from their softness.
"No," she lied softly. "The market was fine."
But her eyes said otherwise.
Vina's fingers trembled against the rough-hewn doorframe as she stared down at Kangana's curls, golden in the fading light. The child rocked a chipped wooden doll back and forth, humming a half‑forgotten lullaby.
"Veera," Vina called, her voice low enough that Kangana didn't look up. "Come here."
From the kitchen, the clang of iron on stone answered her. "Just a moment, sister—I'm finishing the lentils."
Vina's jaw clenched. Every footstep echoing from the hearth felt like sand in her lungs. "Now," she said, and the single word carried an urgency that cut through the kitchen door.
Veera paused over the sizzling pot, wiped her hands on her coarse skirt, then crossed the threshold. Candlelight danced across her pale skin, and her blue eyes widened the moment she saw Vina's drawn expression. "What is it?"
Vina swallowed. The air tasted of smoke and fear. She forced herself to meet her sister's gaze. "You and Kangana must stay with Father—for a few days." Her voice caught on the last word.
Veera's hand shot to her chest. "Why? What's—"
A flicker in the courtyard window drew Vina's attention. There, half‑hidden by the morning mist, a lone figure stood motionless, watching. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
Rei's warning echoed: Do you want your family to die?
Cold dread pinned Vina's heart. She blinked away the sight of Kangana's innocent face, and instead of answering, she turned back to Veera, lips trembling. "I can't explain now," she whispered. "But promise me—you'll go."
Veera stepped closer, blue eyes narrowing with concern. "Tell me, sister…what's wrong? Why are you so tense?"
Vina forced a gentle laugh, though her pulse hammered in her throat. She clasped her hands as if smoothing the folds of her skirt, searching for steady words. "It's nothing dark," she said, voice soft but firm. "I—I sold this cottage to a traveling merchant, and I'm buying a better one nearer Father's. We'll need a few days before we move all our things."
Relief flickered across Veera's face, and she brushed a loose curl behind her ear. "Oh…that makes sense," she murmured, glancing at Kangana, who was still absorbed in her doll. "A fresh start, then?"
Vina nodded, though her throat felt tight as iron. "Yes. A fresh start." She met Veera's gaze, forcing calm onto her features, even as every echo of Rei's threat rattled her bones.
Vina's fingers drifted to the edge of her shawl, twisting the fraying hem between thumb and forefinger. "I have to return to the palace tonight," she said, forcing calm into her voice. "The queen is with child—and only I know the lullabies that soothe her."
Veera's brow furrowed. "But surely one of the other concubines—"
"They're all tied up," Vina cut in, voice low. "And she trusts no one else."
Veera stepped closer, her hand settling on Vina's arm. "Sister, please don't bear this alone. You're tired, and every day you sacrifice yourself for them. Say no—rest here with Kangana instead. I'm scared for you."
Vina's throat tightened. She glanced at Kangana's small face, serene in sleep. "I can't refuse," she murmured. "This is a critical moment for the kingdom—a new heir is on the way, and the queen needs me."
Vina knelt and gathered Kangana into her arms, holding her close as if the warmth of her daughter's tiny body could anchor her to the ground. She kissed the crown of her head, then reached out to embrace Veera, who clutched her tighter than usual—sensing something unspoken in the air.
"Take care of each other," Vina whispered, her voice barely holding together. "Don't let Kangana out of your sight."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and stepped through the threshold, the wooden door creaking shut behind her like a quiet farewell.
The evening had settled into stillness. Thin fog curled along the dirt path, and lanterns inside shuttered homes cast faint pools of gold across the stones. But directly in front of her house, just beyond the window, a man stood watching.
He wore a black robe stitched with the subtle pattern of royal service. A curved sword hung at his hip, its sheath lacquered and silent. His face was unreadable—eyes like cold iron.
He took a single step forward. "The queen sent me," he said flatly. "She expects you at the palace. It's time you fulfilled the duty she entrusted to you."
Vina's heart dropped. Her fingers curled instinctively into fists.
Rei's voice surged through her memory like a dagger drawn in the dark: "Spend a night with him. Gain his trust. Do not fail me."
The man waited, unmoving. And in the faint light from the window behind her, Vina's face turned pale as bone.
Vina straightened her back, masking the tremor in her breath. "I know what I have to do," she said, her voice firm but low. "Just stay away from my family."
The man's expression didn't shift. He gave a slow, mechanical nod—silent, acknowledging, but devoid of empathy. Then he turned and walked a few steps down the path.
Suddenly, a pale fog bled in from the trees, curling around his figure like grasping fingers. In seconds, the air thickened to a white shroud. Vina took a step back, shielding her eyes.
And then—it was gone.
The mist faded as quickly as it had come. The path stood empty. No footprints. No sound. No trace of the man.
Vina's pulse quickened, breath shallow. Every instinct screamed at her to run. She spun on her heel and took off down the road, the palace lights flickering faintly in the distance—drawing her in like a beacon she could neither trust nor avoid.
Chapter 4 ends