"She is still insane," he muttered stubbornly. "This whole scheme of hers is insane. It… it…" He took a breath. "She is endangering her purity-her sacred lineage-for the sake of mere statecraft."
For a moment, Rao's usual wit returned. "A masterstroke, I admit, from the standpoint of gaining Maratha allegiance." Wit vanished with the wind; the deep scowl returned. "But it is still-"
"Stop it!"commanded Maloji. Suddenly, almost angrily, he seized Rao's wrists and jerked the man away from the wall.
Startled, Rao's eyes went to his. Maloji shook his head.
"You do not believe any of this, Rao. You are simply afraid, that is all. Afraid that what you say is true. Afraid that the girl who comes to you today is not the girl you longed for, but simply an empress waging war."
After a moment, Rao's eyes dropped. He said nothing. There was no need for words.
Maloji smiled. "So I thought." He released Rao's wrists, but only to seize the man's shoulders and turn him toward the stairs leading down to the city below. Already, they could hear the sound of the great gates opening.
"Go, go! It's long past time the two of you spoke." He began pushing Rao ahead of him. Majarashtra's greatest dancer seemed to be dragging his feet.
"And let me make a suggestion." Maloji chortled. "I think you'd better stop thinking of her as a `girl.' "
They were alone, now. Even Kungas had left the room, secure in the knowledge that his empress was in the care of a man who was, among many other things, one of India's greatest assassins.
Rao stared at Shakuntala. It had been three years since he saw her last. And then only for two hours.
"You have changed," he said. "Greatly."
Shakuntala's eyes began to shy away, but came back firmly.
"How so?" she asked, straightening her back. Shakuntala's normal posture was so erect that she always looked taller than she was. Now, she was standing like an empress. Her black eyes held the same imperial aura.
Rao shook his head. It was the slow gesture of a man in a daze, trying to match reality to vision.
"You seem-much older. Much-" He waved his hand. The gesture, like the headshake, was vague and hesitant. He took a breath. "You were a beautiful girl. You are so much more beautiful, now that you are a woman. I do not understand how that is possible."
There was perhaps a hint of moisture in Shakuntala's eyes. But her only expression was a sly smile.
"You have not changed much, Rao. Except there is some gray in your beard."
Rao stood as erect as the empress. Harshly: "That is only one of the reasons-"
"Be quiet."
Rao's mouth snapped shut. For a moment, his jaw almost sagged. He had never heard Shakuntala speak that way. The Panther of Majarashtra was as stunned as any of the pampered brahmin envoys who had also been silenced by that ancient voice of great Satavahana.
When Shakuntala continued, her tone was cold and imperious. "I do not wish to hear anything about your age. What of it? It has never mattered to me. It did not matter to me when I was a girl, held captive by Malwa. It does not matter to me now, when I am the Empress of Andhra."
She snorted. "Even less! No untested young husband would survive Malwa, so I would still be a widow soon enough."
Rao began to speak again.
"Be quiet." Again, Rao's mouth snapped shut.
"I will hear no argument, Rao. I will listen to no words which speak of age, or blood and purity, or propriety and custom. I have made my decision, and I will not be swayed."
Imperial hauteur seemed to crack. Perhaps. Just a bit. Shakuntala looked away.
"I will not force you into this, Rao. You have only to say-no. Refuse me if you wish, and I will bow to that refusal. But I will hear no argument."
"If Iwish?" he cried. Shakuntala's gaze came back to him, racing like the wind. In that instant, she knew the truth.
There was no hint of moisture in her eyes, now. The tears flowed like rain. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her. Her shoulders began to shake.
"I never knew," she whispered. Then, sobbing: "Oh, Rao-I neverknew. All those years-"
Rao's own voice was choked, his own eyes wet. "How could I-?" His legs buckled. On the floor, kneeling, head down: "How could I? I onlyonly-"
She was kneeling in front of him. Cradling him in her arms, whispering his name, kissing his eyes, weeping softly into his hair.
Eventually, humor returned, bringing its own long-shared treasure.
"You must be off," murmured Rao. "This is most unseemly, for a virgin to be alone with a man for so long."
Shakuntala gurgled laughter. "I'm serious!" insisted Rao. "People will say I married a slut. My reputation will be ruined."
She threw her arms around his neck, kissing him fiercely, sprawling them both to the floor.
"Gods above," gasped Rao. "Iam marrying a slut!"
Shakuntala gurgled and gurgled. "Oh, Rao-I've missed you somuch. No one ever made me laugh so!"
She kissed him again, and again, and again, before pulling her face away. Her liquid eyes were full of promise.
"We will be wed tomorrow," she decreed. "You will dance the greatest dance anyone ever saw."
He smiled ruefully. "I will not argue the point. I don't dare."
"You'd better not," she hissed. "I'm the empress. Can't even keep track, any longer, of my executioners. But there must be hundreds of the handy fellows."
Rao laughed, and hugged her tight. "No one ever made me laugh so," he whispered.
Seconds later, they were on their feet. Holding hands, they began moving toward the door beyond which Kungas and an empire's fortune lay waiting.
At the door, Rao paused. A strange look came upon him. Shakuntala had never seen that expression on Rao's face before. Hesitation, uncertainty, embarrassment, anxiety-for all the world, he seemed younger than she.
Shakuntala understood at once. "You are worried," she said, gently but firmly, "about our wedding night. All those years of selfdiscipline."
He nodded, mute. After a moment, softly: "I never-I never-"
"Never?" she asked archly. Cocking her head, squinting: "Even that time-I was fourteen, I remember-when I-"
"Enough!" he barked. Then, flushing a bit, Rao shrugged. "Almost," he muttered. "I tried-so hard.I fasted and meditated. But-perhaps not always. Perhaps."
He was still hesitant, uncertain, anxious. Shakuntala took his head between her hands and forced him to look at her squarely.
"Do not concern yourself, Rao. Tomorrow night you will be my husband, and you will perform your duty to perfection. Trust me."
He stared at her, as a disciple stares at a prophet.
"Trust me." Her voice was as liquid as her eyes. "I will see to it."
"I thought I might try this one," said Shakuntala, pointing to the illustration.
Irene's eyes widened. Almost bulged, in truth. "Are youmad?I wouldn't-"
She broke off, chuckling. "Of course, you're a dancer and an acrobat, trained by an assassin. I'm a broken-down old woman. Greek nobility, at that. I creak just rising from my reading chair."
Shakuntala smiled. "Not so old as all that, Irene. And not, I think, broken down at all."
Irene made a face. "Maybe so. But I'd still never trythat one."
A moment later, Shakuntala was embracing her. "Thank you for loaning me the book, Irene. I'm sorry I took so long to return it. But I wanted to know it by heart."
Irene grinned. She didn't doubt the claim. The young empress' mind had been trained by the same man who shaped her body. Shakuntala probablyhad memorized every page.
"And thank you for everything else," the empress whispered. "I am forever in your debt."
As Irene ushered Shakuntala to the door, the empress snickered.
"What's so funny?"
"You will be," predicted the empress. "Very soon."
They were at the door. Irene cocked her head quizzically.
Shakuntala's smile was very sweet. Like honey, used for bait.
"You know Kungas," she murmured. "Such a stubborn and dedicated man. But I convinced him I really wouldn't need a bodyguard tonight. I certainly won't need one after tomorrow, with Rao sharing my bed."