'Did you see how her body twitched?

'And the stuff that came out of her mouth ...'

'I swear I've lost my appetite for the whole month.'

The entire kitchen was filled with gossip that day. One woman stir-fried ladles of sauce in palm oil while another stirred her pot of boiling crabs. Isla's stomach rumbled at the rich smell of chilli and oyster paste under the fresh crush of bay- and lemon leaf that wafted through the large hall. Her eyes wandered up the platforms boxed up in small sections along both sides the wall; all of them raised by half a floor and fitted with counters and cooking stations that faced out into wide, folding windows.

That one's Prijsti's platform. She smiled, thinking of the first time she met Aldir's mother—though of course at the time Prijsti had not known Isla's connection to her long-lost son. The truth of it all came out much later, once Isla and Tam Mai had made their way to Elingar and reunited with everyone.

The side entrance into the kitchens stretched between Prijsti's platform and another—three sets of floor-length double doors, installed shoulder-to-shoulder and all left folded open to a view of the herbary.

'I still can't believe they've hung an actual rajini!' The pair of scullery maids came in through the entry, whispering above the squeaking of their carts, and Isla was reminded of her present objective. She followed them through the kitchen and into the fruits-and-grains storage at the far end of the hall. This room smelled much more subdued, and once the doors were shut behind her, it was suddenly much quieter, too.

'Tell me about it,' said the other maid. Plates and cups clattered as they mounted them into the sink and began washing. 'I thought they only punished royalborns for high treason against the Rama himself.'

It was not Isla's first visit to the storage room—but it would be the first time she came for other things than to steal sweets. Everything was exactly where they should be: sacks piling in one corner, casks of wines and beers rolled up against one wall, sinks and dirty dishes lining another. A shelf was filled to the brim with large, sealed jars of compotes and other poached fruit beverages, and every inch of space that was not left for walking was occupied by rows of stacked crates.

'Killing his consort is treason.'

'Not against him.'

Isla snatched a deep pink djambu from its crate. It was crisp and sweet in the humid winter air. She dropped onto a nearby stool to savour her forage—a kitchenhand was busy tapping some sugar cane into a pitcher, and another was checking the preservation runes on the shelf, but nobody paid Isla any mind.

'Well it was after the maharaj was through with his case,' continued the scullery maid. 'Did you attend the trial?'

'I told Head Cook I was having my moons so I could get the day off. Gods, he could convince me the rajini was a literal daemon of the epps, the maharaj!'

'Honestly, Flo. The maharaj can convince you of much more things than that.'

Flo giggled. 'You're one to talk. But can you imagine? He found the rajini without any help or support.'

His father's name and resources don't count for help? Isla rolled her eyes. She spat out the pit of her fruit into a waste basket by the barrels, swiftly dropping the contents of her pouch through the bung hole of one cask as she passed. She dusted her hands off the hems of her syarong, glancing around to ensure once again that no one had seen.

'I heard he even went against the Maha Rama's wishes,' said the other maid. 'And that getting engaged to the hanjou was his way of appeasing him.'

'Pretty clever.' Flo sighed. 'Well, the Maha Rama's the only person in Surikhand who's appeased.'

'Right, because you'd have a chance otherwise.'

'A girl can dream.'

Isla left them to their chatter, swiping another djambu just before exiting back into the kitchens.

'How did I know I'd find you here?'

Isla turned so fast at the grouchy voice, she pulled her neck. Her cry was a mix of both pain and pleasant surprise. She bolted for the exit, and her fruit went flying into the herbary when she hurled her arms around the old man waiting between the doors.

Master Chendra only half struggled before relenting a pat on her back. His face was flushed when he finally managed to pull away. 'Not a single word about you for years, and then the next thing I know, I see you testifying in a rajini's trial! Do you know what you've gotten yourself into? I should've sent you to the Water Palace long ago!'

'Hush now, old man, is that any way to greet your favourite pupil?'

'Favourite heart disease, maybe! What did I tell you about getting involved with royalborns? I didn't mean send them hanging, either!'

'Sounds like you need some food in that beer barrel of yours.'

'Beer barrel—'

Isla laughed over his continued objections.

'What are you even still doing at the kitchens? Your academy dhayang days are over!'

Isla followed him out onto the porch. Had it really been two years since the old man took her from Biripor to Kathedra? 'Old habits die hard, and Rajini Chei doesn't always keep pandan cakes in her estate.' She enjoyed walking between the busy platforms, besides, stealing a treat or two when Head Cook had her head turned.

She had even grown accustomed to all the cats mewling about. Perhaps she would even allow Tam Mai adopt that unlucky one she liked so much.

'How are Tran and Phrae doing?' Isla started down the herb gardens. Someone had planted an entire plot of catnip, and now strays rolled about and mewled in its bushy whites.

'Tran's been at the Water Palace a whole year, now,' said Master Chendra. 'And Phrae ... well, last I heard, she was with child. Should be about six months old by now.'

Good for her. It was what Phrae had always wanted. Hopefully a child would have matured her, otherwise Isla would weep for the poor babe.

'And you!' His voice boomed as they crossed through a line of cassia trees that marked the end of the kitchen herbary and the beginning of the Grand Palace gardens. 'A royal messenger! Is that what you've been up to all year 'round? Delivering messages?'

'You know I can't tell you that.' Isla grinned.

'You could have at least told me you accepted Rajini Chei's offer. Do you know the commotion you caused, disappearing like that?' Master Chendra stopped in the middle of the footpath, waved her aside between two trees. 'And the man who attacked your bedchamber ... we thought you were dead!'

'I can't—'

'I know, I know ... Whatever secret message the rajini entrusted you with is none of anyone's business. But more attempts on your life will be made, Lilja, if you insist on staying in this line of employment.'

Still trying to talk me out of things. Isla smiled despite herself. A flutter of leaves danced down the slope rising up beside them, where the ground had been manicured into a small, perfectly round knoll to accommodate a square pavilion at its peak. It was busy, late in the afternoon though it was. Men crowded its surrounding stone steps, women giggled and gossiped under its ridged roof.

'And that whole business with Maharaj Kiet—'

Isla's attention snapped back toward the old man at the mention of Kiet's name. 'What business?'

Master Chendra's cheeks burned scarlet. 'I—I heard the testimony, Lilja! All of it!'

Oh. Her relief quickly turned to discomfort. 'No! That's not ... it was just—'

'Spare me the details! I knew something was going on between you two the moment I caught you together in the Water Palace dungeons! Measuring the cells my foot! I just want to caution you, for all the good it's done so far. He'll only break your heart, stupid girl, and the other women of court will break more than that!'

Ifrit burn that Kiet!

Her explanation would have been a little more farfetched, a little more convoluted, but at least it would also have been a lot less salacious. But of course Kiet beat her to an answer before she could finish her act.

'Lilja Shapor?' A woman interrupted from the foot of the knoll. She had wandered from the rest of the group in the pavilion it seemed, for she was dressed in a fine ossa and skirt; a diamond cut between its collar and breastbone to reveal the intricate henna curls on her chest. 'Will you join us at the pavilion?'

Isla exchanged a glance with Master Chendra. 'Why?'

The woman sighed, which only made Isla question more. 'It really isn't a request. The maharaj has asked me to bring you.'

Ifrit burn him indeed. Isla gestured at her own shawl and syarong. 'I'm quite underdressed.'

'Right, but I'm not going to be the one to tell him no.'

Isla frowned. Kiet was not that intimidating a man that a servant would fear to refuse him; let alone a nobleborn woman such as the one before her. Isla waved her old mentor goodbye and followed the woman up the slope. She was halfway up the mound before she realised the men crowding the steps were guards, and the maharaj the woman spoke of was not Kiet.

She dropped to her knees with a start.

Maharaj Khaisan rose from the centre of the pavilion, robes flowing around him as smooth and delicate as the ladies at his feet. 'I thought it was you, royal messenger to our remaining consort.'

His boots clopped as he stepped down the pavilion to meet her, almost as loud as the thudding in her chest. 'Good evening, maharam. How might I help you?'

'Sit with me, for a start.'

Why? 'To what do I owe the honour?'

'He may be my uncle, but Kiet and I are only a year apart.' The maharam pulled her to her feet, calligraphy brush still absently in one hand. His smile looked only more menacing in the lantern light hanging from the eaves. 'Thus is it upon me—his closest childhood friend and family—to celebrate such a milestone in his life that is his betrothal; and since you've shared with him some history, I know Kiet will only be pleased by your attendance.'

Celebrate? Either he wanted to whore her out to get into Kiet's good graces, or he had something else up his silver-and-black-trimmed sleeves. 'Ah—but it was so long ago, I would barely even register as a shadow in the maharaj's mem—'

'Is that why he's kept you safe and secret over the past year?'

'Secret? I am no secret—I have only been occupied in the service of my rajini.'

'I did my reading. Former dhayang at the academy, disappeared following an attack on the asraam ...' Maharaj Khaisan twirled his brush. 'I suppose that was the night he took you to bed.'

Isla flushed. She had no issues lying, but this one thread was going too far and for too long. 'One of many nights, certainly.'

'In any case. My uncle took over the investigations of the attack on the asraam and kept others from prying into your whereabouts. You must mean something to him.'

'A witness to his mother's murder is what I meant to him, maharam, and before Rajini Dhvani was captured, I suppose he didn't think it prudent for people to know where his key witness was or what she was up to.'

'Perhaps, perhaps ...' Maharaj Khaisan stepped aside and waved her up the steps.

Isla was no fool. She did not need Master Chendra's voice screeching in her ear about getting complacent. Maharaj Khaisan's interest was not in her—damned if he even remembered her name—but something else more ... rooted and personal. Something the other girls reflected in their own eyes as she joined them up in the pavilion.

Looking at them now made her miss even Phrae. At least she had never masked her bitterness behind polite smiles and welcoming gestures. They sat among pots of rice wine and black dye, shuffling to make room for her. All of them wore henna marks of some kind: curlicues around one's shoulder and neck, floral patterns upon another's hand and arm; one even had an entire display threading from her ankle to her thigh and higher yet to Wise Father knew where.

'Do you drink, dhayang?' The maharam settled beside Isla and poured her a cup himself.

Isla took it with both hands and sipped, more to avoid his displeasure than anything else, but at least the alcohol warmed her throat and chest. 'I'm afraid I get drunk very quickly.'

'Good. We must make you nice and ready for the maharaj.' He slid further behind her until she sat with her back toward him. His breath came warm across her neck. Isla suppressed a shudder.

'I thank you for inviting me, maharam, but I am ill-suited compared to the rest of your company. It would be a shame to keep me among these other fine, young ladies.'

His hand trailed across her shoulder, inching closer to where she knotted her syarong along the base of her neck.

Isla's discomfort quickly turned to anger.

She spun, caught Maharaj Khaisan's wrist before he pulled her knot undone.

'Easy, dhayang.' His voice was low and placating. 'I mean only to paint you. We wouldn't want any drops upon your syarong, would we?'

'I do not sit well with the cold.'

'You prefer I first warm you up for the night?'

'I prefer to return to my rajini, lest she discipline me for neglecting my duties.'

'I'll let her know the crown prince has granted you dispensation this eve.'

'Maharam—' One of the other girls caressed his arm gently. 'Forgive my interruption, but Sarai has also need for paints, and she has been patiently waiting for so long already ...'

'Then Sarai must be patient for a little longer.' His voice remained civil, but there was a bite in his glare, and immediately the girl dropped his arm.

Isla stirred her core awake and brushed against the maharam's mind. His void was there, just as it had been the last time she dared sweep against his walls two years ago. He needs more drink. A lot more.

She took his empty cup and poured them both more wine. 'Rice wine always helps keep me warm, maharam. Is it all right if you first painted my wrists until I accustom myself to the night air?'

He smirked, took her hands in his, ran his fingers along the blue of her veins. He dipped his brush into a pot of dye and pulled her closer. Much closer than he needed to. 'If you say so.'

'What is this?'

'You are late, uncle.' Maharaj Khaisan did not even look up from his work. He traced a fine curl around Isla's wrist. She shivered at the kiss of ink. 'Nor did I expect you'd be bringing company.'

Kiet stormed up the last steps of the pavilion, his captain of guards—Akai—at his tail. 'You said we'd be celebrating my betrothal. Akai has been key to my successes in Tsunai, hence is he here. These ladies, on the other hand—'

'Has an engagement turned you soft? This is nothing compared to our celebrations that night in—'

'That was a long time ago,' interrupted Kiet. 'We were eighteen and knew no better.'

'You've become such a bore, these past years.'

'Thank you for coming,' this Kiet said to the women before him, 'but you are all now dismissed.'

They exchanged uncertain glances, waited for the maharam to speak. When it was clear he would not object, they all gathered their shawls and wraps and bowed out of the pavilion.

Isla rose to join them, but Maharaj Khaisan tugged her back down. 'I'm sorry you've no longer found use for girls, uncle, but not all of us here are yet betrothed.'

'Do my sister's attentions suffice not to you?'

'Well, after your latest meeting with the Maha Rama, I worry for the prospect of our union. Besides—' The tip of his brush trailed up and around Isla's arm, leaving a wisp of black calligraphy ... up her shoulder, around her back ... 'Every rama needs a consort.'

Whatever it takes. Isla shut her eyes and grit her teeth.

Did Kiet think his story in court would deter the maharam? That it would put a dent in her plans? No—all it did was increase her value. Clearly Kiet did not understand the webs of rivalry. Clearly he never had to share his playthings with his younger sisters; like the beaten old straw hat Isla never cared for, yet never allowed Tam Mai to have, either.

Never mind that these maharaji were not children nor she a plaything—men, they were all the same, the base emotions that gnawed deep within them. One always wanted what they thought belonged to another.

Isla steeled herself as the brush danced along her side; up and down and around in swirls until it grazed the side of her breast.

A screech broke through the night.

There was a blur of feathers, a beat of wings that tore between her and the maharam. Isla shrieked, covered her face. More yells followed, and the creak of bows being strung.

'Control your beast!' Maharaj Khaisan was up on his feet.

Down in the knoll, his soldiers trained their arrows into the night sky, searching for Kiet's bird, but it had disappeared with a triumphant call.

'Touch her again'—Kiet's voice came inches from Isla's ear. Only then she realised he had pulled her up and away from his nephew—'and it will be not for Nagha your soldiers need search.'

   
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☆ this chapter is dedicated to KambudueMaria ☆

Video: The Ambience Channel
Image: Original artists unknown

Hmm . . . not sure if threatening the crown prince is a good idea, but it's not like their relationship could get any worse, surely (●_●)

Anyway, I've had some time to catch up on the Q&As, and this next one is all about the resources and softwares I use to get all my writing and artwork done. So if you want to know where I get my free fonts, stock images, etc. you can see the list through the linked comment!