St. Helena was a thriving port, but it wasn’t England. Sarani wouldn’t be able to hide there, not for long anyway. Rubbing clammy palms on her trousers, she almost jumped out of her skin when a large shadow loomed beside her. Her kukri blades were in her hands before she recognized the man.
The duke’s laconic quartermaster.
“Planning to gut me from navel to nose, Princess?” Gideon asked.
She tucked the weapons back into their sheaths. Gideon was huge. She doubted she could reach his chin even with the tip of her blade. He looked like many of the men from her homeland, with rich dark brown skin that gleamed in the sun, but his huge height and blue eyes made her wonder if he was mixed with some kind of Nordic Viking. His bald head was shiny and dotted with sweat.
“No, and don’t call me that.”
“Why?” the large man said. “You are a princess. Pretending you are not serves no purpose.”
It does when people want you dead.
“Regardless, it’s just Sara now. Did Asha return to the cabin?”
“No, she wanted to watch the sunset.”
Sarani turned her head to where Asha sat cross-legged on the deck, her lips rolled between her teeth, and stared out to sea. She’d just finished playing the shehnai and was now focused on the glimmering ocean.
The maid looked up, her eyes caught on the sky, her jaw sagging with wonder. “It looks like Joor,” she said.
Sarani felt something tug on her heart, her eyes flicking to the sunset. It did look a little like Joor. An explosion of red, orange, and gold, like the sky was on fire. The slightest hint of a storm blackened the edges, adding an unusual depth to the striations of color. She drew a ragged breath, letting nature’s beauty sink in for a scant moment, though the anxious pressure in her breast didn’t abate.
By her count, they had a week left to get to the coaling port at St. Helena. She’d overheard Gideon saying that they’d caught some favorable winds, which had cut the journey short a few days, and the captain’s judicious use of his steam propellers had helped. However, if that shadow of a ship caught up to them, she knew she would be bringing trouble to Rhystan and his men. She had to know what that ship meant, and what better time than the present to ask the man who could give her answers.
“Is that vessel following us?” she asked Gideon, sidling over to him.
Unreadable eyes met hers. “Why?”
“Rhystan, er, the captain said something the other day, that it might be the navy.”
“Perhaps.”
Sarani waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. She resisted the urge to kick the unhelpful giant in the shins. “Are you expecting trouble?”
“It’s not for you to worry about.”
Oh, you have no idea, you big, uncooperative lump.
She sensed she wasn’t going to get anything out of him, at least not about that ship. Or anything about this ship. Or Rhystan, or why the British navy could possibly be tracking them. Or any useful information at all. Her eyes narrowed with sudden suspicion, recalling the crates in the hold that were sectioned off and padlocked.
“What cargo does the Belonging carry?”
Gideon grunted. “What?”
“If this isn’t a passenger ship, what does it carry?”
The man had the audacity to smile, or offer what passed for a smile anyway. It was more of a grimace on that taciturn face. Sarani knew that whatever he was going to say was going to aggravate her even further. She wasn’t wrong. “Ask the captain.”
“Fine, I will.”
Knowing Asha was safe with the ogre, even though Sarani wanted to kick him in his truculent shins, she decided to make her way down into the hold. Not to see the crates in question and assuage her curiosity but to feed the livestock and clean out the paddock. Anything would be better than thinking about what that ship on the horizon meant. Even shoveling piles upon piles of smelly dung.
She should have known Vikram wouldn’t let her go so easily, not when he’d murdered a maharaja without a qualm. Sarani feared for Asha’s family and the rest of her handmaidens—she hoped they were safe—and she worried for her people because Vikram would be looking out for himself, not them. Her father, for all his faults and concessions to the crown, had tried to keep Joor’s interests at heart. Even her loathsome engagement to Talbot would have been a necessary evil.
Though it had only been a few weeks, she felt the loss of her father keenly. While she knew Western traditions of mourning meant she’d be garbed in black for months, her people treated death differently. Their cultural and religious traditions were tied up in rebirth, what they called samsara. She hoped her father would have been cremated—not even Vikram would provoke the gods, despite his certain hand in the maharaja’s death. And initial mourning would have lasted thirteen days, whereupon she would have worn white, not black, to honor him.
Sarani glanced down at her stained clothing. Not that she had a choice now. She didn’t have a garland of flowers or anything on her person, but she offered up a simple chant in her heart for him. Her moments with him had been precious, if few later on. As a child, she had memories of him carrying her on his shoulder, tossing her up into the air while she giggled and gasped for breath, and him pointing out the movement of the stars. Sarani stopped on the lower deck and caught the first glimmers winking in the distance. He’d taught her about the constellations, the positions of the planets, and their meanings from ancient Indian scriptures called the Rigveda.
“It’s called science of light,” he’d explained once.
Perched high on his shoulders, she’d wrinkled her nose. “Why, Papa?”
“The planets are constantly in motion, and on the day of someone’s birth, their destiny is written. We offered water and light for blessings on yours.”
“Papa, did my stars say I would be big and strong like you?”
“You will be a force, little one.”
The memory made her chest ache as Sarani stared up at the darkening, purplish sky above the ship. She wondered if this journey—and his death—had been foreseen. “I miss you, Papa,” she whispered.
With one final look to the brightening stars, Sarani swallowed down the lump in her throat and headed down to the pens where she grabbed her trusty shovel. Her shadow, Red, trailed her at a discreet distance, staying away as if sensing her morose mood. The cheeky boatswain had always accompanied her around the ship, but now he was extra vigilant. Her official guard, she supposed. Normally, Red was a chatterbox, but he hung back, content to keep an eye on her, and didn’t intervene.
Sarani bit back a curse. No doubt, it was a command from Rhystan…that she had to perform her duties alone. It wasn’t Red’s fault. In fact, in his defense, he had offered before, but she’d always refused. She wanted to pull her weight for the sake of the crew.