A Hundred Summer Suns II
As soon as Heather stepped into the council chambers, all eyes fell upon her. This was not a new occurrence; she was used to everyone staring by now, even if she did not like it. Today she had dressed to kill in a modern grey tweed pantsuit with black high heels but with a sari wrapped over top. A mix of both her cultures, just to make the traditionalists mad.
No one spoke to her as she made her way to her designated spot near Riya's side. Other more senior members of the court such as Janki and Rahul sat closer, of course, but Heather knew it was a great honor to be placed where she was, considering her circumstances. The Queen had yet to make her appearance, but this was not uncommon. The meeting would not start without the monarch present, a privilege Riya abused frequently in order to shout obscenities at the birds or savor an extra helping of breakfast.
That left plenty of time for Heather to orient herself and gather her wits. Today was a big day: her first real proposal. She had made minor adjustments and commentary on other matters of state these past months, but this was the first project she had taken on her own. It would prove her worth and usefulness to Riya, as well as secure her place on the council for many years to come. Succeed and her future was golden. Fuck up and she was back to where she started...or worse.
A servant came around and offered her chai, which she gratefully accepted. Chai was so much better here, pressed fresh and steamed properly unlike in Illéa where late nights meant boiling an instant packet in the microwave.
When the clock struck five minutes until council was supposed to convene, and Riya was still not present, Heather began to worry. Two minutes until council, and Heather had already nervously drank one cup of chai and was working on another. As the clock struck council time, Rahul strode through the door and all heads turned to him.
"Where is the Queen?" Heather asked.
"Her Majesty is very tired after the wedding. She is taking time to recuperate and has asked me to preside over the council meeting today." Rahul took his place on the throne, smoothing the ends of his sherwani so that he did not crease them when he sat, one leg crossed over the other, completely relaxed. He looked out at the rest of the gathered advisors. "I expect no one else to have any objections?"
No one spoke up. Many people gave sounds of affirmation. A couple even applauded.
One of the applauders was an older, portly man with a balding grey head and impressive mustache. Lord Vikash Subramani, if memory served Heather well. He had as many rings as he had fingers and wore an outfit finer than Rahul's in the traditional style. While impressive and also off-putting, the man himself was not what drew Heather's eye. No, it was the gentleman sitting to his right and slightly back.
The same man she'd slept with at the wedding.
It had been a whole week since and she hadn't thought of him. Now, he was there in HD technicolor. She'd never thought she'd see him again, thought he was some kind of dignitary visiting from an outlying province. She never would have taken him to bed if she knew -
"I call this meeting to order," Rahul announced with all the lazy grace of a spoiled princeling. "May the first item of business be addressed."
Much of council was just old men bickering at each other. There were few women on the board, most delegated to positions of secretary or scribe. Heather was one of three, maybe four who actually had a say (who weren't family - who were given seats but expected to do nothing with them). Riya had done her best giving women voices, but most women simply did not wish to participate. None of them held the fire Heather held. That her mother held.
Perhaps that was why Priya found it so easy to leave. There was so much more fire to be found in a country with youth and passion, compared to the stagnant patriarchy Heather found herself faced with now.
Bullet points and boxes were ticked as the to-do list unfolded. There was a lot to catch up on when one puts the whole government on hold for a royal wedding. By the time Heather was up, everyone had already been held hostage for an hour.
"The next order of business is one of infrastructure lead by Miss Heather Bloomsdale."
Heather gathered the few things she needed for the presentation: a pen, cue cards, and her clicker to control the slides as she flew through her presentation. She had planned on giving them the whole shebang, but everyone was hot and tired and sticky, including herself. She wanted out of there, so the abbreviated version it was. Even the abbreviated version was professional and comprehensive. She had spent hours agonizing over font size and wording and image placement. She lived and breathed this shit. It was going to be perfect.
"Lords and ladies of the council, thank you for your attention. I'd like to take the time to talk to you about something has plagued this country for centuries, and continues to affect the lives of millions to this very day: the caste system."
That had everyone's attention...attention that boiled down to narrowed eyes and pinched mouths, but Heather didn't let the negative expressions stop her. In fact, she expected them. Most things worth talking about were uncomfortable.
"My suggestion is radical: dismantle the castes and instead instate an equal-opportunity system amongst the lower classes so that they are afforded all the chances those born into higher castes enjoy. By the end of this presentation, I will convince you why this change is better for everyone in the long run."
Silence was deafening except for a singular voice. Not just any voice, his voice.
The man from the wedding had his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. He was laughing.
"Do you have something to say?" Heather demanded, calling him out.
Brown eyes met hers with hesitancy, then widened in recognition. He was soft, so soft, and not used to conflict. He had told her as much at the wedding. But that was before he had insulted her in front of her peers. Now, he could have his turn being uncomfortable.
"No, no. Nothing," he said quickly, not wanting to be dragged into the spotlight.
"Not nothing! We cannot disband the castes!" Lord Subramani roared, slamming his fist on the low table in front of him so hard the china rattled. He clearly was not afraid to speak up, and pointed one emerald-clad finger in Heather's direction, accusatory. "Just because your country dismantled its only means of structure does not mean we will dismantle ours!"
Heather's hackles rose in defense. Nothing set her off more than being cast as an outsider.
"India is my country."
"Lord Subramani is right," Rahul agreed, bringing and end to any more debate. "The castes have kept our country together long before Illéa was conceived and they will keep this country going long after Illéa falls to its own avarice."
"But - "
"Perhaps the girl wonders what will happen to her once our beloved Queen is no longer here to entertain her ridiculous notions," Lord Subramani said, gleeful in his bigotry. "Society is not kind to those born of beggars and whores."
"My mother was the daughter of the Duchess!"
"And she turned her back on your mother, just as we all did when faced with such blatant disgrace. Priya made her choice, and she died for it," Rahul said carelessly with the conviction of a conversation complete. "Now, that is enough of that. We will forget this silly idea of equality and chaos."
Rahul flicked his hand, dismissing Heather back to her seat.
Heather obeyed, fuming as she sunk into the soft, beaded pillows. She kept her eyes on the table, on the ring her teacup was making into the ancient wood, chai long since gone cold. The spices still tickled her nose; she blamed them on why her eyes watered and definitely not the humiliation running through her.
Had Riya presided over this meeting, things might have gone differently. Sure, Heather knew it was a long shot. To enact such a change took time. She had a ten-year plan untouched in her file folders. Rahul would sooner see them burnt alongside his evening incense than read a single line. Riya, on the other hand, would have at least given Heather the courtesy of entertaining the idea even if she had no intention of carrying it through.
That was the difference between mother and son. Riya knew what it was like to struggle, to claw, to work your way to the top through nothing but your own grit and determination. Rahul only knew what was handed to him on a silver platter. Heather often wondered why Riya did not pass her throne to Janki, why she would leave her country in the hands of a man who did not bleed for it as she had. Heather knew now that Riya was the exception to the rule, an immovable object placed on the throne through a series of perfect coincidences (and some alleged premeditated murders).
India would remain a traditional country. Not even Riya could change that.
And where would that leave her? Stuck in a court with an uncle who could not stand her, who would not listen to her, who refused to respect her. Relegated to the background of society to be married off like a good daughter ought. Homeless, friendless, miserable.
Heather would rather die first.
As soon as business was concluded, Heather shot up from her seat. She needed to get out of there. Breathe some fresh air and go for a walk. Cool down, even when it was impossible in this damn heat.
Escape was not so simple. Someone had followed her out the door.
"Personally, I think your dream of integration is inspiring," her shadow said. Heather ground her teeth together to keep from screaming, and the bastard took her silence as a cue to keep going, bulldozing his way forward. "A little rough around the edges, maybe idealistic in the implementation, but that doesn't mean - "
She stopped short and turned on him, shoving a finger into his chest. He had the nerve to look affronted.
"Are you making fun of me?" Heather snapped.
His eyes grew comically large, his stance the equivalent of a puppy with its tail between its legs. "Excuse me?"
"By sleeping with me. Did you know who I was? Were you just having a laugh?"
"I thought we were having a good time."
Heather scoffed and rolled her eyes. She didn't have to spend a moment more in this man's presence. As she turned and walked away, she felt anger crawling its way up her chest. Because the truth was, he was right. Heather was having a good time...until she found out who he was. She didn't like being made a fool of, and that was exactly what he had done.
"Hey! Wait!"
The bastard was running after her. For some unknown reason, she stopped and waited from him to catch up. Why did she keep giving him chances? It definitely didn't have anything to do with those big, brown eyes. Or how good he looked in navy blue. Definitely not.
"I'm sorry. I should have told you my name," he apologized. He even sounded sincere. Too bad Heather had already graduated from her father's academy of gaslighting. "It's Siddhartha Subramani."
"Too little too late."
"I'm trying to apologize."
"And I don't want to hear it." Heather pinched the bridge of her nose. It was too early in the morning to deal with this. She wished she had more experience with one-night stands so she could make this as brief and painless as possible, but she wasn't that type of woman. At least, not until him. "Listen, we had a good night. Really fun. But I'm fine leaving things at that and never speaking again. Clearly we would never work out."
Siddhartha had the nerve to look offended. He crossed his arms over his chest. "What does that mean?"
"It means, if that little display in the Council was any kind of hint, that fundamentally we are two very different people, and personally I would not like to spend my time around elitist, misogynistic assholes."
"Ten minutes of listening to my father and suddenly you know everything about me and my ideas?" That cute, puppy-like demeanor darkened. Anger on a face so pretty was almost comical. Heather could tell he wasn't used to arguing. "Am I really so terrible of a person for wanting to keep things the way they are and not wanting to upend the lives of hundreds of thousands of people on the whim of someone who's lived here six months?"
"Do you repeat everything your father says, or are you capable of any independent thought?"
"It is possible that I agree with my father. Did you think of that?"
"You don't. Not always," Heather replied with surety. "If you did, you wouldn't have chased me down to apologize. And you wouldn't look so wounded in the eyes."
And what beautiful eyes they were. He had complimented hers the night they met, but blue eyes were always met with poetry and fine lies. Real beauty was found in brown eyes as rich as the earth and dark as sin.
They were standing close to each other, growing closer. When did that happen? When did she get so near to him that his lips were but a hair's breadth away? His skin was warm and she could smell his cologne, spicy and rich like cloves and cinnamon. He was staring at her mouth, and it would be so easy to lean in and -
Voices down the hall grew louder, closer, reminding Heather that this was a very public place in a very conservative land. If someone were to catch her this close to a lord...the aunties would have enough scandal to last the year.
"Learn to cultivate your own opinions, Lord Subramani," Heather said as she collected herself and stepped out of his orbit. "Otherwise the only thing that lies between those ears is an empty echo chamber."
What a pretty echo chamber, she thought. Then immediately shoved those thoughts into the back of her mind where she would suffocate them with lack of attention.
"Lord Subramani is my father!" he called after her.
Not the satisfying last word she wanted, so she would have to settle with knowing she looked fierce and untouchable walking away.
.o.O.o.
That evening, Heather had to suffer through family dinner.
Everyone sat on beaded cushions, legs crossed and comfortable, as they passed large dishes of fragrant food around. There was more than enough to feed an army, but Heather knew meals were more about presentation than anything else. Hemali and Ananaya saved Heather a seat next to them, already deep in conversation. They greeted her as she sat, passing over a tray of pani puri with sweet chutney and tangy water for dipping. Heather's mouth watered, her stomach growling as she accepted the food.
Naina was absent as was expected, her spot already replaced by a cousin Heather didn't know the name of. Heather missed her fiercely, even if they didn't always get along. She wished wedded bliss was everything Naina hoped it would be. Maybe Naina didn't miss them at all.
Luckily, Rahul was not in attendance, and the low table was large enough that most of the family members Heather did not like nor cared to put forth effort into speaking with sat at the opposite end. That meant that everyone and everything Heather wanted was right beside her. Everything except the garlic naan half way across the table and rapidly disappearing.
"I heard you caused quite the uproar in council today," Hemali commented, scooping another bite of curry into fresh naan. "It's all the aunties can talk about."
"The aunties weren't even there," Heather replied, keeping her focus on the food and not on her cousin's own brand of prying. "Besides, they need better topics of conversation. I should be old news by now."
"Cousin, you're never old news," Ananaya laughed, as if this was the stupidest thing Heather could have said while confirming all Heather's worst fears.
"All I'm saying is perhaps you should start small. Maybe think about opening a park or throwing a holiday party before changing everyone's way of life, you know?" Hemali continued, lost in her rambling. "That way, no one starts to think you're reaching for the crown."
"I do not want to be queen," Heather replied quickly, aghast that was even on anyone's mind. Was that really how everyone saw her? As a power-hungry grasper? "Why would anyone even think that?"
"Well, it wouldn't be the first time, now would it?"
That...that hurt. Heather flinched at the words, shocked that such terrible things could come out of Hemali's generous mouth.
"Oh, come now cousin. We know your intentions are good, but think of how it looks to everyone else," Hemali sighed, waving her hands around a she spoke. She was such a dramatic orator. "You aimed your sights on the King of Illéa, failed, and now you've come to India to try your hand at another throne. Everyone knows grandmother is old. It's only a matter of time before - "
"Hemali," Ananaya hissed. She was superstitious in some ways and didn't like when people spoke ill of the family.
It didn't matter. Heather knew what Hemali meant: it was only a matter of time before Riya died and left her throne to a new generation. Heather didn't like to think of that time, a time without Riya's caustic wit or sharp tongue or scathing remarks. As horrid as the woman could be, she was the only one Heather could rely on here. She was the only one who understood.
Clearly her cousins did not.
Heather pushed her plate away and stood from the table.
"Excuse me, I think I've lost my appetite."
No one tried to stop her. She was seated on the end, so there wasn't even anyone to step over, not a single barrier between herself and the door. All the better. At least Heather was spared the pain of knowing if, had she been closer to the center, anyone would have tried.
.o.O.o.
The next council meeting opened with Rahul's intolerable face. As if Heather wasn't having a bad of enough week.
"The rani is not feeling well again, so I will preside over today's business."
Heather tried not to let her anger show, but that was hard to do when she was so close to the source of her displeasure. Lord Subramani, on the other hand, looked absolutely peachy. His insufferable son sat beside him and kept his eyes on his docket, reading pensively as if he needed to capture ever word. What was it with him? Was he trying to impress the council with this show of studiousness? Surely they didn't elect people based on their brains. If they did, half these old men would be fired.
As much as Heather glared Siddhartha's way, he would not raise his head and meet her eye. He was doing it on purpose, Heather was certain.
Since morons were governing for the time being, Heather tuned the conversation out and focused on her own projects. Just because Riya was out and her last idea had been shut down before it was given the chance to spread its wings and fly, didn't mean that she didn't have other ideas lined up. In fact, she had a whole spread sheet of alphabetized projects in five different sectors from public welfare to the arts. All could be achieved if everyone agreed to stick to a strict thirty-year plan. The only hiccup was getting these conservative old bastards to agree...
"Heather."
At the sound of her name, her head snapped up. Apparently her uncle had been trying to get her attention for some time.
"Glad to see we have your full attention," he quipped, pleased to have caught her out on less than perfect behavior.
"Perhaps council is not the place for a woman of such fickle constitution," Lord Subramani suggested with a smug grin.
Heather grit her teeth and willed her rage to subside. She would not engage with this asshole, no matter how much she wanted to jump across the table and show him exactly how fickle her constitution could be when it was tearing his throat out with her fresh manicure.
"Yes, Uncle?"
"I have given your proposal some thought."
"Oh?" Heather braced herself for what would come next. Probably something snide and terrible. "I thought you had dismissed it."
"Parts of it had merit, especially the bits about economic stimulation."
So, he had read her entire proposal then. That shocked Heather considerably. Why would he do such a thing?
"I would like you to continue your work on that particular facet."
"Of course. I'll push it to the top of the list."
"I would like you to continue your work on that particular facet...with Lord Subramani's son."
Heather must have misheard. All the blood rushed to her head.
"Excuse me?"
"He is a budding young member of this council, just as you are. I'm sure he could use a guiding hand from someone as much experience. And who knows, perhaps you could learn a thing or two from him as well." The more her uncle spoke, the more Heather saw red. She didn't need a fucking partner, especially not to give that partner experience. She wasn't a fucking babysitter. "And it just so happens his region would be most affected by the changes you propose. Perhaps seeing the people whose lives you intend to change would bring things into better focus."
Rahul spoke with such patronizing, it was as if he wanted Heather to change her mind. As if he had planned all this as a lesson to humble her. As if he wanted to see her climb great heights only to take pleasure in watching her eventual fall.
The pencil in her hand snapped in her grip. The sound echoed across the room. Everyone stared at her. She stared at her uncle.
"No."
Such a simple word with so much power. It soured Rahul's superior air immediately. He frowned deeply, the rest of his loyal councilmen gasping and whispering amongst themselves. Heather could almost hear their thoughts.
What will Rahul do? How will he respond? If he cannot bring his own family to heel, how can he be expected to lead a nation?
That was his problem to parse. Heather had had enough bullshit for one day. She gathered her things and left without being dismissed. Insult on top of injury. Good. Let him lick his wounds for a while.
"Wait!"
Once more, she was being followed by Siddhartha Subramani.
"I don't care what my uncle professes, I will not work with you. I've worked by myself since I was eleven and I've done just fine on my own."
"So you would defy your king?"
"I would defy a prince," Heather corrected. Fuck her uncle and his inflated ego and outdated views, strutting around like he already ruled the place. "Between him and Riya, I know where my loyalties lie. To call him king before his time is treason to the queen."
They turned at a stairwell and Siddhartha caught her arm before she could ascend. Not roughly, not with any sort of malice. Just a stopping motion to get her to turn and face him. He didn't seem upset, nor offended. He didn't look the least bit angry. He was just soft...and fascinated. As if Heather was a puzzle he couldn't quite piece together.
"Last time, you offered me a bit of advice. Allow me to return the favor."
"I don't want your advice."
"I'll give it anyway," Siddhartha pushed forward, more concerned than fascinated now. "We all know the rani has served this country long and served it well, but no reign lasts forever. It would do you some good to play the prince's games, even if you don't like him much."
"I've spent my whole life playing mens' games, being pushed and pulled in whatever direction they want." Terrible memories rose to the surface of Heather's mind, memories of cell phones and prison cells and bombs. She lowered her voice, a threat and a warning. "I refuse to do it again."
Perhaps this was the moment Siddhartha finally got it through his thick head that Heather was not someone to challenge. Perhaps this was the moment when he finally backed the fuck off and let her breathe. He was always so stifling, his very presence enough to heat the room to a boiling. Heather hated that he made her this way, that he continued to make her feel this way even after he gave her distance.
"There you are!" Janki cried, rushing over to Heather's side and pulling her away from Siddhartha, a blessing and a curse.
"Your Highness," Siddhartha said with a bow, just as surprised at her sudden presence as Heather was.
Janki spared a single second to glance between he and Heather, wondering just what exactly was going on, before tugging on Heather's arm. "I need to speak with you. Urgently."
"Okay, okay, I'm coming," Heather replied, trying to keep up with Janki's hurried pace. Usually her aunt moved slowly, never in a hurry. She was hurried now, turning corners at a speed that had Heather tripping in her heels. Heather wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, though. She was grateful to have been saved from more tedious conversation with Siddhartha.
Why they had to have this urgent conversation in a sitting room half a wing away was a mystery.
Janki paced around the tiled floor, pulling shut the curtains and checking hiding places to make sure they were well and truly alone. It was unsettling to say the least.
"What's all this about?" Heather asked as her auntie shut another door just to reopen it and poke her head around the corner. "Have you heard from my grandmother?"
"No, no word from the Duchess," Janki said distractedly, shutting the door and locking it this time.
Heather's heart sank. She had been writing to her grandmother since her arrival in Jaipur, sending a letter a week on top of calls that only went to voicemail. The Duchess was old and had dementia, or so Heather had been told. There wasn't much left of her, hadn't been since Priya died. The loss broke her heart. Heather wanted to mend some of it before it was too late, but the Duchess was old and didn't travel and didn't like guests. And her family was all too keen on pretending that the branch of the family that produced Priya Bloomsdale didn't exist.
Heather was the exception. She had made herself the exception, with Riya's blessing.
"It's the Queen," Janki spluttered, her voice wobbling with her bottom lip. "She's had a stroke."
The news knocked the wind from Heather. She was glad for the settee to catch her, falling bottom-first into the cushions as her world tipped upside down. The last time Heather felt this lost, there had been no one to catch her and nothing to slow her fall. She had landed hard on her knees at the Convicting, streamers of confetti and laughter to mock her pain as she lost everything she had ever known.
India was supposed to be different. Everything was supposed to be better this time.
"How is she?"
"Not well." There were dark circles under Janki's eyes, poorly disguised by heavy foundation. She looked as though she had been crying. "This night very well may be her last."
Heather couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe -
"She...she looked fine at the wedding. Everything was normal."
"The doctor said that at her age these things just happen," Janki explained with a shrug, thin shoulders shaking under the effort to act normal. "There was nothing we could do, nothing to stop the bleed. It had been building for quite some time."
Logically, Heather knew Riya was old. Everyone said so, including the woman herself. Riya did not fear death; she feared nothing. She was the Viper of Rajasthan. She would fight death head on with a sword in each hand and a pistol at her hip. Riya was invincible.
Riya was dying.
"I can't help but feel that I made this happen. That this whole thing is my fault."
"No, darling girl. No."
Janki rushed to Heather's side and pulled her to her chest as if Heather were her own child. She ran her fingers through Heather's hair and soothed her as the tears came, silent and streaming down her cheeks. Heather hated crying, hated how this was how her body handled stress, handled anger, handled pain. She had tried her whole life to be strong, to keep going when everyone else couldn't. If she was good for only one thing, it was holding everyone else up. Now, she couldn't even do that.
"My whole life is cursed. Only bad things happen when I'm around."
Her mother died. Her father turned into a monster who used and abused her. And Kaden...well...she had done enough damage there to last ten lifetimes.
Perhaps her family was right to shun her. Perhaps they could sense the diseased, rotten thing inside her that turned everything to ruin.
"I am a superstitious woman, but even I can tell the difference between a curse and the natural way of things." Janki took Heather's hands in hers and held them tight. "My mother is old. Her days were numbered, her sands in the hourglass laden on the bottom with a few scant grains up top. You are a young woman who has had terrible, horrible things happen to her. That does not mean you are a curse. Time is the only villain here."
.o.O.o.
In the dark of night, Heather sat on top of her bed and stared at the wall. She'd watched the shadows dance across the plaster as evening stretched into night and the final embers of the day extinguished themselves in an ocean of night. The whole palace was silent, each and every breath held for the moment news about Riya's condition would break. No one knew whether to laugh or to cry, to mourn Riya's life or to celebrate it.
Heather didn't think Riya would want everyone to cry at her funeral. She'd want dancing and drinking and perhaps a hunt. She did love to shoot things.
Heather tried not to think about Riya in the past tense already, but it was hard to think otherwise. Every situation she'd ever been in ended in tragedy. This one would be no different. She couldn't even pretend for Hemali and Ananaya's sake. They had come to her room earlier, sobbing and wailing with an exaggeration best saved for the soap operas they adored. They left less than an hour later when they found that Heather had no tears left for them to steal. She had wasted them all on Janki's lap. They would not come again until the news broke, whatever it may be.
Now, Heather was alone. There was a man in her bed, naked and softly snoring, oblivious to the island she had barricaded herself on. What a blessing it must have been, to be so unhindered by loneliness. Another reason to hate Siddhartha Subramani. But Heather could not bring herself to hate Siddhartha, not in this moment, not when he made her forget being alone, at least for a little while.
Alone was her default. Alone was her comfort and her curse. Alone swallowed her whole and held her in the pit of its stomach, darker than the midnight hour with no stars to see her way out.
The only light came from the dampened glow of her cellphone indicating she had a new text. Only one person would text at this hour.
I'm coming
It wasn't a surprise to hear from him. Royals ran in tight circles, and the passing (Riya wasn't dead, not yet) of one was international news. It wasn't a secret. Still, seeing his name pop up on her screen sent her heart racing.
Her previous text, i miss you, still sat untyped right where she left it a week ago. The urge to press send was strong. Because she did miss him. She missed him so much it was a physical hunger panging in the core of her, leaving her in agony the longer she ignored it.
If he were here, he'd know exactly what to do. He'd hold her like on the night of the anniversary of her mother's death. He wouldn't let her be alone as she lost another person. He knew loss too deeply to let her suffer this loneliness. No one knew loss quite like Kaden Schreave.
His loss is your fault, her conscience screamed. You can't want what you already threw away.
But he was already headed her way. She could imagine him dropping everything and boarding a plane, showing up on her doorstep by the morning hours. She could imagine how he'd look, exhausted and bedraggled - much like he had that night in the rain - but still so pleased to see her. She could imagine the way he'd fold her into his arms and keep her close like she never left him heartbroken.
Fantasies were nice. Fantasies weren't reality.
Kaden couldn't come back. He was married; she was healing (kind of - it was hard when all the coping mechanisms used to replace the old ones kept breaking). That wouldn't be good for either of them. They made their choices. She needed to tell him no.
Priya Bloomsdale had thrown her whole life away to be with a man.
Look at how well that turned out.
.o.O.o.
Riya passed the next morning.
No one had to tell Heather. She hadn't slept the whole night, keeping silent vigil on her balcony, shielded by the thin linen of her curtains. She had pretended to doze when Siddhartha woke, pretended not to hear him slip from her room like a thief in the night, back to being enemies. At least he had spared her that goodbye. She spent the following hours gathering strength to face the goodbye that truly mattered.
From her perch, she could see down to the courtyard below, could see the frenzy of guards that scattered across the grounds just as the sun rose bright pink over the horizon line. The world was too quiet, too still. Heather had felt that stillness before, the day her mother died.
It was strange, the things she remembered about that day. She remembered waking up to a sparrow at her window. She remembered brushing her hair and pulling it up in a ponytail, not a single strand out of place. She remembered the star pin on her backpack. There was toast for breakfast, and Brice had complimented her blazer - one of her mother's old ones, ironed crisp and scented with her perfume.
Most of all, Heather remembered the look on her father's face, drawn thin not with sadness but with rage as he told her that her mother wouldn't be coming back. Not now. Not ever.
She tried not to compare traumas, to rank which loss cut her deepest. She amassed a collection of little hurts, only to be turned over and inspected in the darkness of night or the breaking of the dawn. Only then could those hurts be hers in this world where people were constantly watching, waiting to see which loss would send her crumbling.
A knock on the door drew Heather from her counting.
The person on the other side didn't wait for permission to enter. Not that Heather would give it. Her voice wasn't keen on working at the moment, trapped behind the lump in her throat, as hard and large as the Hope Diamond.
Out of all the visitors to have, Janki was the least offensive. She was a vision in white - the traditional color of mourning - like a ghost haunting the room. Heather's tears had long since dried, sadness replaced by a cold void of emptiness, a chasm that just kept growing the more she kept living and people kept leaving. Janki's tears were still fresh on her cheeks, brimming in her eyes. Heather wondered if this was her aunt's first loss, if she had ever felt this pain before.
Jealousy, irrational and fierce, flit through Heather. What a privilege to go so far in life without grief to taint you.
Wordlessly, the two women wrapped each other up in their arms and held on tight. Heather felt like her world was spinning out of control, like the earth had opened beneath her feet and was sucking her down to the deep dark below. Only Janki kept her upright, as the tears came was holding Janki as well, keeping steady as she shook and shook and shook.
"I'm sorry," Heather mumbled into Janki's shoulder.
"I am too," Janki replied, pressing a wet kiss to the crown of Heather's head.
Then, she pulled away and pulled something out of the depths of her sari: an old, worn journal. She held it out for Heather to take, which Heather did with great confusion. The queen had just died, Janki was in the midst of grieving, and she was giving Heather a gift?
"There are things I had sworn never to say, memories I promised never to unearth," Janki said cryptically, sadly. She looked at the journal with such regret, such apprehension. "Now that my mother has passed on from this world, I am free from those promises."
There was nothing particularly special about this journal. It was thick and leather-bound, soft to the touch and engraved with an intricate mandala. A ribbon held the two faces together, and when Heather pulled the bow undone, it revealed a stack of a dozen-plus odd letters. Underneath the letters started entries in a very familiar hand.
Heather nearly dropped the journal on the floor out of sheer shock.
"This diary belonged to your mother. Out of respect for her, I never read it."
Heather shut the journal closed with a snap. It smelled like dust and ink and aging paper, but it also smelled like her mother's perfume and the jasmine from the trees outside.
"Why are you giving this to me now?"
"My giving this to you is many years past due. I should have handed them over the moment Priya passed, but I feared what your father would do. I feared for what would happen if Rahul or my mother found out I had done it." Janki paced towards the balcony, pulling back the drapes so that the view to the courtyard was unobscured. The sun was rising at a steady pace, constant despite the turmoil of the world it illuminated. "I was a coward, in many ways as you will no doubt come to find out. Priya was vicious, as unrelenting on paper as she was in speech. I have no doubt that diary paints us all in a very unflattering light...as we should be."
"What if I don't want it?"
"Burn it. Throw it in the river. It is yours to do with as you please."
"And if I still have questions about what's inside?"
"I could only speculate," Janki said with a shrug. She looked Heather in the eye with so much remorse. "I would tell you everything. Anything. All you need to do is ask. But - " she placed her hand over Heather's and gave it a squeeze. " - I would rather your mother told you in her own words."
There was only so much turmoil Heather could take in one day. This one day that had been one of the longest and hardest in recent memory. How many more burdens would she be asked to carry before Riya was put in the ground?
"Is this some kind of penance?" Heather asked, hating how small she sounded, how absolutely raw. "Because I can't be your absolution, auntie. Whatever my mother said about you, she's dead. I can't forgive that."
"I know, sweet girl. I know." There was a part of Janki, no matter how small, that died along with some small spark of hope. Heather might have looked like her mother, but she was not her mother, no matter how hard Janki wanted that to be true. A cruel truth to bestow upon someone who had just lost so much, but a necessary one. "We will all have to live with our choices. At least I can feel right about this one."
There was nothing left to say, and Janki left Heather to her private grief.
By now, the sun had risen fully. There was not a cloud in the sky. It was going to be a beautiful day.
Heather would see none of it. She shut the curtains and sat in the shadows as she lost herself in her mother's words, giving life to secrets that should have stayed buried.