Page 71 of The Burning Mountain
As always, her thoughts circled back to that row with Veer, which had ended spectacularly when she had let slip her true thoughts.
Mortification crept into her cheeks. She wished she could melt into the floor, disappear like grains of sand in the wind; that she could find a way to take those words back.
What had made her blurt out her feelings like that? And to a man like Veer, who specialized in verbal barbs. It was like handing a sword to a man who wouldn’t hesitate to use it to cut you down.
She didn’t even know she felt that way, that she was in so deep, until her heart spoke before her mind did.
And now she was cowering on an isolated balcony, avoiding everyone, like some kind of guilty prisoner, too afraid to face him.
His face, when she had made her statement, made the humiliation more acute. He couldn’t have appeared more shocked. Or appalled.
She glanced toward the ocean, hoping the calmness would rest her chaotic thoughts, but the ocean seemed like it was gearing up for a storm. Sharp gusts blew the long end of her wrap every which way, so she was forced to keep it tucked at her waist. In deference to her home, she had chosen to wear an off-white bandeau-type upper garment, with armlets and bangles along her arms and wrists, respectively. Her lower garment, elaborately pleated, sat low on her hips, cinched by a waist belt. A wrap covered the bare expanse of skin of her shoulders, but the gossamer fabric offered little protection.
Even the wind couldn’t seem to decide whether to blow hot or cold, because one moment it was warm and strong, drifting outward from the land, and then a stingingly cold gust from the darker parts of the sky over the sea intercepted it.
She badly needed some advice, preferably of the feminine variety. She missed her friends—Sameera’s sound logic and Kalpana’s stern counsel. She would have even welcomed her aunt’s confidence if it meant she could make sense of her feelings.
Overlying the red-hot fury that Virat survived despite all the havoc he caused, she also felt profound disappointment in Veer. That he chose to invite his friend on this quest despite knowing about the past.
And the ever-present fear that seemed to have lodged itself in her chest, knowing two of the people closest to her—her brother and Veer—seemed to be under his thrall.
In a few days, Veer and Bhupathi would start their journey on theGajagamini. Veer had sent Shota to her, to explain about the judicial amulets and why she was kept in the dark about Virat’s existence. Chandra had a vague recollection of theRajgarh magical amulets from her trial. But it made her head spin to hear Shota describe how they worked.
Shota had then informed her that she wouldn’t be going with them on this journey. She, instead, was to travel with the other princesses to Vivismati first and then accompany Vireni to Rajgarh.
She wouldn’t see Veer for God knows how long.
That thought made her more depressed than ever.
Restlessness bit at her heels like a bothersome dog. She couldn’t sleep properly.
Why was I hiding, anyway? What did I do that was so wrong?
She had a right to her feelings. And if he didn’t like them, well, she never asked him to reciprocate.
Before she could talk herself out of it again, she adjusted the gossamer wrap from around her shoulders and pulled it to drape over her head, deciding to visit him in his rooms.
The unhurried tread of someone coming made her turn. Shota was walking this way, frowning over something in his hands and, judging by his leisurely gait, had no particular destination in mind.
He stopped short when he spotted her and nodded a greeting. There was no other way to go but past her, so Chandra pretended she was staring at the sea, enjoying a bit of solitude.
He soon walked by but doubled back. She looked at him in surprise. “Did you want to talk to me about something?”
Shota handed her the manuscript he had been reading in answer.
Chandra took it carefully, noticing the leaves of it were dry and gray with age, almost ready to fall apart. “What’s this?” she asked.
She turned the pages of the manuscript, and the drawings jumped out at her. There were words written inPaliandShaurasenidialects. She flipped them faster, the familiarity increasing the unease.
“This manuscript details everything,” she said in a hushed voice. “Every location of the key piece and how to obtain it. Where did you get it?” She ran her hands over the last drawing—a waterfall set with numerous pillars at different heights on the stones. It was faded with age, the lines hardly visible, as was the text.
She knew Amaravathi was supposed to have a similar manuscript in their library, but it had been destroyed in a fire decades ago. The scholars still bemoaned the loss of valuable texts like the one she was holding even after all these years.
“Virat provided it,” said Shota quietly, watching her.
Chandra froze, suppressing the sudden urge to recoil from the manuscript. Her fingers curled around it, and she forced herself to relax them.
Shota watched her struggle intently.
