I Shall Rewrite the Stars

Chapter 13

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Spinning back, Raja gulps down a deep breath and sighs, “I’ve missed the smell of home.”

“Is there a reason the smell is rancid?” Helios asks as a breeze drifts over us, bringing a fowl scent from the direction of the city.

“That would be the moat,” Mrunal explains. “It serves to protect the city, as well as deal with sewage wastes. Once we’re inside the city walls, the smell will fade.”

“And you will marvel at the wonderous scents that fill the streets of our sacred capital,” Raja huffs, shooting Helios a glare.

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” he tries, flinching back when Raja’s eyes narrow, and she faces forward with another huff.

“Onward, then,” Mrunal says. “It will take a while to schedule our greeting with His Majesty, and longer still to arrange for a meeting with the rest of you. We’d do best to reach the palace before noon, if we’re to hope for such audiences within the week.”

“The week?” Ptolemy balks. “What good is the promise of friendship between our realms, if your pharaoh will not prioritize us in our hour of need?”

“He’s called a maharaja, Ptolemy,” I correct. “Just as Mother and Father would be referred to, if they were here. Respect the norms of this empire.”

“But-”

“And be grateful if he decides to speak with us, at all,” Helios adds. “We’re not our parents and we’re not Cearion. No foreign rulers will feel pressured to hear us out. We’re in no position to bark demands or expectations.”

“Is it not our allies’ obligations, to uphold our familial oaths?” Ptolemy grumbles. “You’ve reminded me enough times, that the royal blood of Kemet flows through our veins just as much as-”

“But our claims to the throne are meager. We don’t have the sway of authority and right that our parents, or their acknowledged heir, would. And even if Cearion were here, he’d be without a throne to bargain with.”

“So?”

“So alliances do not come cheap,” Helios concludes. “Until recently, the mutual military might, financial stability, and global prominence of Kemet and Indrira meant that remaining allies was the best option for both. Now, all we’ve come to barter with are hopes and promises that we may not be able to keep. Honoring oaths is respectable, but if breaking them will protect his empire, then it will make sense for the maharaja to dismiss us…if not worse.”

Noting how Ptolemy’s face pales, I think to offer her some form of comfort, when I spot Raja watching Helios from the corners of her eyes. Face mostly concealed by the waves of her dark hair, she studies my brother with an expression I cannot read.

Until she realizes that I have noticed her.

“Continue your lecture at another time,” she says. “It’s been a long while since I left home. I would like to greet His Majesty and my son sooner rather than later.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Helios says, while Ptolemy rolls her eyes.

“With every passing day, our kingdom falls deeper into Roma’s grasp,” she mutters. “Yet greetings are your priority?”

“Mind your tongue,” Juba says, his voice sharp. “To explain things bluntly: your status as a royal child means nothing here. If you insult the maharaja, his family, or his empire, he will command that you be punished. In such a circumstance, to allow you to live would be a rare kindness.”

“I am a contender for the throne of Kemet-.”

“You are a contender for a throne that has most likely been shipped off to Roma, where it will serve as kindling for Gustavian’s kitchen fires.” Lowering his voice, Juba’s words turn icy. “You are nothing, Ptolemy. Nothing more than a child at the mercy of a vicious and cruel world.”

Ptolemy clenches her fingers into Helios’ shoulders, anger raging in her eyes. Flinching, Helios catches my gaze with a deep frown. We both know that Ptolemy has always struggled with her education. But to show this great an immaturity—this total inability to comprehend how dire our circumstances are!

Her ignorance is disturbing, and her arrogance more so. For just as Juba said, it takes very little to earn the wrath of one who holds power over you. I fear for Ptolemy if she does not come to understand that, before it is too late.

Such fears hound me as we continue forward, fading only when the stench of the moat becomes too choking for my thoughts to keep straight. By the time I see the massive, brown-sloshing expanse of water, my eyes are burning. I gag from the steaming reek, choosing to hold my breath for as long as I am able, before gasping in another putrid gulp of air.

Helios bites his lip, face red and eyes watering. Ptolemy buries her nose in the collar of his tunic, tears streaming from her clenched eyes.

When I look to Juba, his head is high, the only indication of his discomfort being the slight twitch of his right eye. I recall similar stenches rising from vents leading to the underground sewers in Roma. Juba must be accustomed to it, though as I pat his arm, I hope that he can understand my concern for him.

Brows drawn, he watches me a moment, then smile and nods forward.

I follow his nod to a long, wooden bridge some feet away. Beyond it high, square towers rise not from the stone wall I expect, but a wall of dark wood. Slits in the boards glimmer with the reflection of sunlight off dozens of arrow heads, which I assume are strung and awaiting the command to fire.

Thankfully, as we cross to the large, open entrance to the city, no such command is given. And by the grace of all the goodness in the world, when we step onto the wide, crowded street beyond the gate, the stench of the moat does rapidly fade. In its place drifts a waft of spices. Sharp, pungent, and sometimes sweet, the scents mingle and shift with each passerby.

I awe at the sight of veiled women with lush, dark hair hefting large, clay jugs upon their heads. Children run at their sides, weaving around the legs of the adults, whooping and laughing as they go. On straw mats at the street corners, men with their heads wrapped in white turbans sit sucking in huffs of smoke, from the long cords of silver hookahs.

Lining both sides of the street, set before an expanse of flat-roofed, red-stone buildings, merchant tents crowd every possible space. From beneath their colorful awnings, wears of all kinds are displayed. Fruits of purples, reds, and greens. Clothing of shining satin and dyed linen. Delicately carved brushes and polished, copper mirrors.

Everywhere I look, I see the bustle of a thriving city! It reminds me, with a painful tug at my heart, of the former liveliness of Alexandria.

Leading us through a maze of streets, around high buildings, and under bridges of arched stone, Raja brings us to the high, speared iron gates of the white building I has noticed earlier.

Two guards, taller than any men I have ever seen, step forward. Long spears in hand, their heads are wrapped with black turbans, which match their tunics and shalwar. Around their necks rest pendants of gold, engraved with Indriran letters.

“Make way for Her Serene Highness, Rajkumari Raja Indrira!” Mrunal commands in a shout. “Kneel in reverence, or else forfeit your lives!”

Immediately the guards take a knee with heads bowed. Raja straightens, her carefree demeanor lost beneath a cool, mature grace. Without a word, she moves a step forward and pauses. The guards rise. One rushes to push open the gates, whilst the other runs inside, quickly vanishing among the many doorless halls I spot beyond the many arched entrances of the palace.

“Come,” Raja commands, without looking back.

Across a wide yard of lush, green grass, we follow a stone path to the largest of the palaces’ entrances. Passing beneath its arch, we step into a labyrinth of high pillars and intersecting halls. The marble floor is cool beneath my feet, reflecting the rainbow of emeralds, rubies, and pearls which sweep down the pillars, cast by the sunlight which pours in from the many glassless windows carved into the stone walls.

Several minutes pass before we find ourselves in a square courtyard, which features a large pool under which black and white tiles depict a scene of the sea. Raja pauses.

“Escort them to a guest chamber,” she says to Mrunal. “Summon maids to help them bathe and change into more appropriate attire. I-”

“Your Serene Highness,” an approaching guard says, dropping to one knee when he reaches us. “His Esteemed Majesty has summoned you and your guests to the throne room. I am to bring you there without delay.”

“All of us?” Raja asks. “Did word of our arrival precede us?”

“His Esteemed Majesty knows all, Your Serene Highness.”

I expect Raja to tsk of click her tongue, but her expression remains blank.

“Very well, then.”

“This doesn’t bode well,” Juba whispers to me. “If he’s had time to prepare for our arrival, then we’ve no advantage of surprise.”

“If he dismisses us, we must set our sights on hunting for Cearion,” I whisper back. “If he shows intent to take us prisoner, we must have a plan of escape prepared.”

Juba glances around. “This palace is designed to confuse invaders. We are too deep inside, to stand a chance of running away.”

“When night falls, our chances become grater.”

“Perhaps. Unless the maharaja sees fit to ensure that we cannot escape.”

There are too many terrible possibilities for how he might do just that. So I banish the thoughts before fear can overwhelm me. Focused on Raja’s back, I grow more conscious of our appearance, and why she’d ordered that we be bathed and given fresh clothes.

As a whole, we are covered in dirt, dust, and sand. Ptolemy’s hair is a knotted mess, I am shoeless, and the boys look like common street urchins. And no matter how high Raja holds her chin, the trailing stench of elephants emanating from her, does everything to destroy her regal image.

What gull must it take for such an eyesore of a group as we, to march in, greet Maharaja Ashoka, and claim ourselves royalty only slightly his lesser? If I were him, I might weep with laughter.

“Keep your mouth shut, Ptolemy,” Helios warns, eyes ahead as we come into a long, shadowed hall. “Not a word, no matter what.”

“When you enter, take to your knees,” Raja calls back to us. “Bow your heads and do not dare lift your eyes until given permission. Do not speak without permission. All who come before Maharaja Ashoka Indrira, are at his beck and whim. Do not forget that.”

“Halt!” our escort shouts, stopped before two massive, golden doors. Turning on his heel, the man knocks twice, steps to the side, and falls on his knees with head bowed.

As the doors soundlessly sweep open, Raja strides forward so smoothly, it is as though she floats. I cannot help but stare, until Juba nudges me with a nod. Cheeks warm, I take all of five steps before a vision of splendor stops me in my tracks.

Spanning rows upon rows, golden carving glitter from the walls, broken only by narrow, glassless windows and rich tapestries. Golden pikes topped with golden candles line the room, their wax carved to look like pale flowers. Gems form patterns in the domed ceiling, leading up to a massive chandelier of what looks to be solid gold. From it dangles pearls and diamonds, which cascade toward the floor just above a single, highbacked throne.

Cloaked in tiger pelt and robes of crimson silk, a man with a long, white beard and dark brown skin sits watching us, his old eyes dark in contrast to the red turban adorned with white feathers, atop his head.

“Bow in reverence of His Esteemed Majesty, Maharaja Ashoka Indrira!” Mrunal declares.

I fall to my knees, unsure if I do so out of respect or from sheer breathlessness at the grandeur around me. Head bowed, I can barely see Juba and Helios at my sides, and desperately hope that Ptolemy is bowing correctly, behind us.

Glancing forward, I am surprised to see Raja on her knees as well. A long, tense minute passes, before a gruff voice commands, “Rise, Rajkumari.”

Raja stands.

“Speak.”

“Greetings, Your Esteemed Majesty. Having returned from afar, I, Rajkumari Raja Indrira, am home at last.”

The maharaja huffs. “And were you successful in your ambitions?”

“Perhaps. I will know once one of the guests I have brought back, has tended to the yuvaraja.”

“Their qualifications?”

“Immediate recognition of the symptoms described, as well as a potential antidote upon his person, Your Esteemed Majesty.”

“You wager your life alongside his, for sharing such private information about my heir,” the maharaja warns. “You wager the lives of all who kneel before me, as well. Do you dare accept the consequences of such a gamble?”

“I dare,” Raja replies. “I will accept any punishment regardless of success or failure, Your Esteemed Majesty.”

Maharaja Ashoka tsks, then bellows, “Bring in the yuvaraja!”

I hear the doors open behind us. My heart sinks, as no sooner does Helios lift his head. He moves to peer over his shoulder, pauses, and whips his eyes back toward Raja.

“Hey!” he shouts, scrambling to his feet.

“Helios!” I cry, a wave of cold dread washing over me. Reaching a hand out, my breath catches as Juba throws himself over me.

Shoving Raja off her feet, Helios sends her sprawling across the floor seconds before an arrow pierces the spot where she’d stood. It barely misses his leg as he turns, hurdling across the room, over our heads, and toward the door.

The whistle of another loosed arrow pierces the rising shouts of a swarm of guards. It flies over us, landing with a deafening thwack lost beneath the sharp inhale of a gasp.

Juba sucks in a breath, his hands thumbling to hold me down—to keep me from looking back. But nothing could do so. Not now. Not when I know with all in me, that the gasp belonged to my precious twin.

“Helios?” I ask, craning my neck back to see his arms out wide, his body shielding a cowering woman who clutches a bundle of golden cloth to her chest. “Helios?”

Swaying, he lowers his arms, and as Helios’ legs give out, he crumples to his side upon the floor. Protruding from his back, the long stem of an arrow juts from a spot just below his shoulder blade. A pool of red beings to swell around the arrow, ruining his tunic as it seeps toward the floor.

The sight twists my stomach.

“Helios,” I gasp, blinking fast against the tears flooding my eyes. “Helios—Helios!”

***