Free Sword of the Deceiver by Sarah Zettel Page B

able to come near Natharie on the whole, long voyage. Divakesh had managed to keep them firmly apart. Samudra had thought if he had tried to see the princess at midnight, he would find Divakesh standing sleepless beside her. But he had tried his best to watch over her, and it had been a surprising relief from the tedium of the voyage to do so. She was a beauty, yes, but it was her calm, her strength, that drew his eye again and again.
    “I tried,” Hamsa was saying as she twisted her staff back and forth. “But … I fear being what I am, I gave her little comfort.”
    The self-reproach in those words was bitter and plain. Samudra shook himself from his reverie and touched Hamsa’s shoulder. “That the Awakened lands fear sorcerers is not your doing.” This was not all that lay under her words, and they both knew it, but still, she gave him a grateful glance. “She will have to be shown there is nothing …”
    A figure in grey stopped to make obeisance before him. Samudra glanced at it, nodding reflexively, and then saw it was Lady Usha, the steward of the
zuddhanta
. They were opening the last of the long line of boats, and permitting the passengers to disembark. A gaggle of young women stood at the foot of the walkway. A few were women of rank, dressed in bright colors. Gold and jeweled brooches ornamented their hair. More gold hung from their ears. Others were more plainly dressed and sparingly ornamented.
    As Samudra watched, Princess Natharie descended from her barge. She looked dazed but proud. She had not yet seen Steward Usha striding toward her, nor had she seen the gold and silver chains that Usha’s servants carried.
    But Samudra did. He shoved Rupak’s reins into the groom’s hands and started after her. But the crowd closed in again behind the steward’s train. By the time Samudra had threaded the maze of startled humans, nervous horses, and heaped goods and palanquins being slowly forced into a rough line, Usha had finished shackling the servant girls together with the silver chain and was turning to Natharie.
    “No,” he said.
    The steward turned and saw who had spoken. She dropped quickly into the salute of trust, but not before he saw her square her shoulders, ready to assert her authority in this matter.
    “Princess Natharie has come to serve her land among us freely and with honor,” Samudra said, raising his voice to make sure Natharie could hear him. He met her eyes, and tried silently to tell her that he had been there all along, that he would not let anything happen to her. “There is no need for this ceremony.”
    What is happening here?
Natharie’s eyes were cool, her anger plain, and the sight of it tore at his heart.
    Usha looked up, saw that he was serious, and covered her eyes again. “As you command, my prince.” She moved away, but Samudra did not miss the hard and appraising look she gave Princess Natharie.
    Nor did Natharie miss it. Clearly, she strove to remain calm, but her nervous glance kept darting from him and Hamsa to Divakesh where he stood with the priests, casting his long shadow over the slowly forming procession.
    Samudra opened his mouth, searching for something to say, but before the words could come, a hoarse shout broke over the continual noise of the docks. “My prince! Prince Samudra!”
    Samudra turned. A large, shirtless man, sweat gleaming on his deep brown skin, elbowed his way through the crowd, earning shouts and curses in response. He knelt on the dock beside Samudra’s horse and held up a fold of paper sealed in green wax. Samudra recognized the man as belonging to Commander Makul’s household. Makul was Samudra’s own battle-father, who taught him much of the art of war and the work of soldiering.
    Makul? What is this? The message should be from Tasham
.
    Samudra dismounted to accept the message. He broke the seal and read:
    My Prince
,
    Captain Pravan returned yesterday from facing the Huni in the mountains. He was defeated utterly and over