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Authors: Colleen Houck
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shy, especially around men, and
that he should cease from making me uncomfortable and go and find something kingly
to do.
“Yes, Hridaya Patni,” he answered affectionately.
Chuckling, he gave me a wink, kissed his wife on the cheek, and whispered something
in her ear, making her smile, before leaving the room.
When he was gone and she’d made herself comfortable in her favorite chair, she beckoned
me closer. Before I’d even taken a step, I blurted, “You love him,” almost as an accusation.
“Yes.” She smiled and lifted her hand to me. “Is that so shocking?”
I took a few hesitant steps forward. “Men are…”
“Men are…what?” She took my hand and gently pulled me down to a pillow near her feet.
I wrung my hands, wondering how I could finish the sentence without offending her.
Finally, I said, “Men are not to be trusted.”
She laughed softly and then sobered as she studied my expression. Reaching to the
side of my head, she raised her eyebrows, asking my permission. At my nod, she carefully
detached the veil covering my face and cupped my chin. The gesture was kind and motherly,
and though I tried to contain my emotions, tears filled my eyes. For a long minute,
she looked at me. “Has a man hurt you, Yesubai?”
My body shook with little tremors, and when the words eluded me, she said, “Tell me.”
I knew that I needed to consider every word as if each one would lead to my death
and, what was worse, to Isha’s death, but being in her presence made me feel as if
hope was a thing I could reach for, as if there might be a happy ending somehow for
me. I licked my lips and began to speak, and so intent was our conversation that an
hour passed before I paused.
She listened with the kind of empathy I’d only experienced with Isha. When I was done,
she stroked my hair and said, “You will be safe with us, Yesubai. I promise you that
my son would never treat you unkindly. He will be patient with you. However, if you
wish not to wed at this time, you are welcome to stay regardless. I would offer you
sanctuary as I do my women. But I hope that you will consider at least meeting my
son before you decide.”
It was so easy. The kindness she showed made me feel all the more vile, all the more
duplicitous, for the things I hadn’t shared with her. If anything was sure, I wasn’t
worthy to be a member of this family. They were trusting, genuine, and without guile.
My father would destroy them, and if I couldn’t do anything to stop it, I would hold
myself accountable for their demise.
After I assured her that it was indeed my intention to ally myself with her family,
she uncovered a hidden doorway behind a curtain, saying that I could use it when I
needed to escape Hajari’s attention. It led out into the garden, and as I made my
way down the secret passage, I willed myself invisible and wondered if I had made
a grave error.
My father would be angry at my methods, but even he couldn’t deny the results. There
was, of course, the possibility that he would never find out. Rajaram’s wife had agreed
to hold my confession in the strictest of confidence. Still, I thought the potential
benefits outweighed the risk.
In order to garner Deschen’s sympathy, I’d told her of my father’s abuse. Not everything.
If I had tried to do that, it would have taken much longer than an hour. In actuality,
I’d shared not even of fraction of what I’d experienced at his hands. I didn’t disclose
his sorcerer-like powers or the fact that he’d threatened Isha’s life. I made no mention
of the poison secreted in my closet or the knives that fit into concealed pockets
sewn into my gowns.
All it took to make her my champion was to speak of my father’s anger. I told her
about the time he’d destroyed the nursery in a fit of rage over my crying as a baby.
That he had beaten Isha senseless for allowing me to make such a noise.
that he should cease from making me uncomfortable and go and find something kingly
to do.
“Yes, Hridaya Patni,” he answered affectionately.
Chuckling, he gave me a wink, kissed his wife on the cheek, and whispered something
in her ear, making her smile, before leaving the room.
When he was gone and she’d made herself comfortable in her favorite chair, she beckoned
me closer. Before I’d even taken a step, I blurted, “You love him,” almost as an accusation.
“Yes.” She smiled and lifted her hand to me. “Is that so shocking?”
I took a few hesitant steps forward. “Men are…”
“Men are…what?” She took my hand and gently pulled me down to a pillow near her feet.
I wrung my hands, wondering how I could finish the sentence without offending her.
Finally, I said, “Men are not to be trusted.”
She laughed softly and then sobered as she studied my expression. Reaching to the
side of my head, she raised her eyebrows, asking my permission. At my nod, she carefully
detached the veil covering my face and cupped my chin. The gesture was kind and motherly,
and though I tried to contain my emotions, tears filled my eyes. For a long minute,
she looked at me. “Has a man hurt you, Yesubai?”
My body shook with little tremors, and when the words eluded me, she said, “Tell me.”
I knew that I needed to consider every word as if each one would lead to my death
and, what was worse, to Isha’s death, but being in her presence made me feel as if
hope was a thing I could reach for, as if there might be a happy ending somehow for
me. I licked my lips and began to speak, and so intent was our conversation that an
hour passed before I paused.
She listened with the kind of empathy I’d only experienced with Isha. When I was done,
she stroked my hair and said, “You will be safe with us, Yesubai. I promise you that
my son would never treat you unkindly. He will be patient with you. However, if you
wish not to wed at this time, you are welcome to stay regardless. I would offer you
sanctuary as I do my women. But I hope that you will consider at least meeting my
son before you decide.”
It was so easy. The kindness she showed made me feel all the more vile, all the more
duplicitous, for the things I hadn’t shared with her. If anything was sure, I wasn’t
worthy to be a member of this family. They were trusting, genuine, and without guile.
My father would destroy them, and if I couldn’t do anything to stop it, I would hold
myself accountable for their demise.
After I assured her that it was indeed my intention to ally myself with her family,
she uncovered a hidden doorway behind a curtain, saying that I could use it when I
needed to escape Hajari’s attention. It led out into the garden, and as I made my
way down the secret passage, I willed myself invisible and wondered if I had made
a grave error.
My father would be angry at my methods, but even he couldn’t deny the results. There
was, of course, the possibility that he would never find out. Rajaram’s wife had agreed
to hold my confession in the strictest of confidence. Still, I thought the potential
benefits outweighed the risk.
In order to garner Deschen’s sympathy, I’d told her of my father’s abuse. Not everything.
If I had tried to do that, it would have taken much longer than an hour. In actuality,
I’d shared not even of fraction of what I’d experienced at his hands. I didn’t disclose
his sorcerer-like powers or the fact that he’d threatened Isha’s life. I made no mention
of the poison secreted in my closet or the knives that fit into concealed pockets
sewn into my gowns.
All it took to make her my champion was to speak of my father’s anger. I told her
about the time he’d destroyed the nursery in a fit of rage over my crying as a baby.
That he had beaten Isha senseless for allowing me to make such a noise.
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