The room was silent. The others knew they were witnessing a choice humiliation, fodder for backdoor gossips. Imperceptibly gaining control, Sujata drew herself up. “In two seconds you’ve been kind and cruel to me. What am I supposed to think?”
“Think yourself lucky,” Kumbira snapped. “Try that.” She turned her attention back to the others. “Now go back to your dinner, all of you. And don’t stink up your breath,” she warned.
Sujata remained standing there, her gaze locked on Kumbira.
Impudent girl, Kumbira thought. Still, she had some backbone, and the old woman wouldn’t want that to be totally crushed. “You’ve got breasts like a suckled sow. Go to your room and take some ice water to firm them up with. It’s going to be a long night.”
There was general tittering, and Sujata gasped in embarrassed hurt. She turned and fled the room. Kumbira didn’t watch her go. She had done Sujata a secret kindness by driving her away, and none of the others suspected it. Kumbira’s role wasn’t to bring Siddhartha and the girl together, but at least she could keep the greedy hands of other men off her.
Kumbira walked toward the window and wished she were watching Siddhartha in his glory. Cheers and applause rang once more from below. It must be past midnight. She smiled and thought of how proud the old king must be. And how drunk.
THE GREAT FEAST had wound down. The bulk of the guests had already retired or collapsed in a stupor. It was only a few hours before dawn. Siddhartha stepped over them and left the tent without his father noticing. The king sat in a heavy drowse, his head lolling on his chest. Siddhartha had made a show of drinking to every raucous toast but had actually sipped very little. He needed a clear head to make good his escape.
Tonight, after all the years of being kept like a nightingale in a gilded cage, he would be free. Excitement coursed through Siddhartha. He hurried back to his apartments and didn’t bother lighting a candle. He’d lived all of his life inside these rooms and could make his way around them in the dark. Moving quickly, he packed a traveling sack, rolling a few clothes inside. He didn’t know what to take or how much. He didn’t want to be recognized as the king’s son, so he packed rough breeches and shirts that he wore in the stables.
He slid his sword through his sash and secured it at his hip. All the travelers he’d talked to had agreed that the roads were dangerous. He’d share the common risk of being robbed, but if his identity were ever discovered, there would be the added one of kidnapping for ransom. He added some bread, dried fruit, and what few coins he possessed. Inside the palace walls he had never needed money; outside them he was genuinely poor. The coins came from Channa and various young nobles in games of chance or when he sold them trinkets he knew his father wouldn’t miss.
Just as he was finishing, the ponderous closing of the main gates reverberated inside Siddhartha’s room. He ran to the window and peered out. Moonlight burned cool against his bare skin. Below in the central courtyard the guards staggered to their posts, proving that the liquor had made its way to the barracks. The new arrivals shot the bolts on the gates; the noise was as loud as an ax splitting wood. Those portals had stood against armies who had fought against his father, as witnessed by the hacked scars that decorated their exterior.
Siddhartha heaved the laden sack over his shoulder and fled, going quietly down the stairs. A throbbing drummed in his ears. Only a short distance on, he paused and heard muffled voices through the walls. It sounded like men arguing. Siddhartha shifted the sack’s weight and pressed on. He kept his hand on his sword hilt so it wouldn’t strike anything. Dark shadows filled the hallway; the torches in their sconces had long guttered out.
Then a sudden movement in the shadows sent him into hiding against the wall. Siddhartha went flat and stopped breathing. The cold stone wall leached the warmth from his body. He watched intently for a while before relaxing enough to start breathing again. But as he started forward, the shifting shape returned like a shadow puppet against a dark screen. This time he saw that it was a woman. She was slim hipped and moved quickly on light feet. Her face and glowing eyes were visible for a fleeting second in a bar of moonlight.
Sujata?
She paused as if she could hear him thinking her name. What was she doing here? Siddhartha started to softly call out, but before he could, she turned and ran down the hallway as if in a panic. Siddhartha’s escape plan vanished from his thoughts. He let his sack slide from his shoulder to the floor and ran after her.
As he rounded the next corner he saw the figure-he was certain now it must be Sujata-disappear through a doorway. He followed her into the royal gardens, not daring to call out, knowing that amours were taking place in hidden nooks among the camellias and roses. The gardens had been designed by his mother. Maya had intended them to be a place of eternal fascination, and the centerpiece was an intricate knot, a maze crafted with topiary dragons and elephants, along with fabulous sea monsters like the magan and the mythical karaweik bird of hypnotic song. The sweet smell of night blossoms thickened the air. Sujata paused at the entrance to the maze and looked back over her shoulder. Her expression was inscrutable.
“Wait!” Siddhartha raised his voice, more intent on the fleeing girl than on preserving his anonymity. He tried to use the tone of command that his father had mastered. Instead, Sujata vanished into the maze.
Siddhartha was helplessly drawn; he ran toward the entrance and ducked inside. The tall walls of the maze closed in around him, and the darkness became more complete. He ran, listening for her footsteps, shifting through twists and turns to follow the sounds she made. Then they stopped. If she had been as close as he thought, Siddhartha would have tripped over her by now. Footsteps sounded to his left, on the other side of the hedge wall. He tried to slip through the tangled growth, but the greenery was packed too tight.
“It’s me, Sujata. Stay where you are. You’re safe.”
Siddhartha put his hand on the left wall of the maze. It guided him back to the last turn, and this time he took the route he’d passed up before. At that moment the moon disappeared behind a cloud, and in the darkness he ran into somebody blocking the way.
“Sujata?” he whispered.
Her voice came back, and it was very close. “How fitting. You’re lost in the maze of your mind, and now you’re lost in this maze.”
Siddhartha was startled by Sujata’s arrogant tone, but it was definitely her voice. “I saw you running away. Are you in trouble?”
“I’m never in trouble. I make trouble.”
Sujata’s voice had deepened, and despite his attraction to her, Siddhartha instinctively took a step backward. His eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he perceived that the figure before him was not the curved, slim-hipped girl.
“Who are you?” Siddhartha’s hand went to the hilt of his sword, though he wondered how much use a weapon would be against a magician, if that was what he was confronting. Canki had told him that such beings existed and must be countered through ritual observances that made a person immune to spells and malevolent magic.
“I can be her if that makes you more comfortable. I can be whoever you imagine.” The shadowy figure stepped closer, and there was no doubt that its voice was now a man’s.
“Have you hurt her? Where is she?”
The stranger drew himself up; he smoothed his long-nailed fingers against the sides of his robe. “How do you know I’m not her? How do we know who anyone really is?”
“I’m going back.” Siddhartha made a move to leave, but the stranger’s voice spoke again with a peculiar allure.
“You think that if I take her shape she must be in danger? You could be right. The greatest danger she faces right now, however, is from you.”
Siddhartha’s temper flared. “Deceiver! Whoever you are, either fight me or leave me in peace.”