A Princess for the Witch Doctor (Legends of Rahasia Book 3)

Chapter Fifty-Three

I dig my hands beneath the mask at my chin, my face slick with sweat. I pull the mask up and over my hair, coiled and hidden beneath a pinned-back scarf as the other male dancers wore. I ignore the gasps of the courtiers, fanning themselves from all the excitement and the heat. Harto's removed his mask too and is standing behind his own circle of guards. His face alone, the slack jaw and widened eyes. That confusion's almost worth having been killed for.

            "Now yours." I gesture to the would-be murderer's mask. I manage to wheedle it from him, and I'm shocked to see the grimacing face of a young boy. He looks like a farm boy even, just weaned from his mother's breast. 

            An assassin.

            He spits at me, but I'm still stunned. I stabbed a boy who's my age, or possibly younger.

            A boy who tried to kill a king.

            Sultan Raharjo pulls me upwards, his fingers drifting along my arms. "Princess Arnina, I do not know how you managed to sneak in amongst the male dancers, but I could care less. Right now, you are my savior, and should be treated as such." He bows over my hand, pressing his forehead to the tips of my fingers in the sign of ultimate respect and deference. For once, everyone in the court goes blessedly silent.

I wish they hadn't. It makes me feel, if possible, even more uncomfortable.

"Why did he try to kill you?" I whisper, just loud enough that my words do not carry.

His gaze narrows in on mine. "Unimportant." He raises my hand in his, and everyone in the court room applauds. "From now on, Princess Arnina shall be Champion of two Empires. Rahasia, and Jiwa! For her risking her life for mine, the one-month time limit shall be lifted. A truce between our kingdoms. We shall work together to find the Dukun's name."

      But there's something in his words that's hollow.

      Rehearsed.

***

      When the feasting and revelry dies down, the sultan pulls me aside. Everyone already knows I have his favor, but this is different. Not a mere passing fancy.

      "You planted that boy, didn't you?"

      Sultan Raharjo laughs loudly, and I feign a smile. Like we're telling a grand joke, and in some ways, we are.

      "He received a handsome sum for services rendered." He turns to me, smiling like the cat who got the mouse. "And now, I can send your uncle back."

      "And me? Can I go back?"

      His smile grows, long strands of dark hair falling slightly over his face, making him appear shy as a schoolboy. But he's not a schoolboy.

      He has far too much power for that.

      "Why would you go back, putri?"

      I see what you did, Sultan Raharjo. You might have let my uncle go, but you just put another prisoner in his place, all in the name of diplomacy. My walls are larger, but still, I'm chained here. Until what? Until I find the witch doctor's name?

      Until I become another oddity in your garden?

            "I thought you'd appreciate it, my making you a hero." He frowns, his eyelashes fluttering innocently, brushing against his cheekbones. "I wanted to give you something, to say that I'm sorry."

            I smile, tuck my fingers beneath his chin to tip up his chalice, pressing my nails against the rim of the glass, brushing the soft edges of his lips. He gasps, taking a drink.

            "I am my own maker, Harto." He looks at me then, truly looks at me. Power's shifted in that move. "What a pity I don't yet know what to make of you."

            I leave him there, stunned, as I go back to my rooms. Zahra says nothing as I collapse onto the bed. She only extinguishes the candles, and we listen to the crackle and hum of a damp violet nightfall, together.

***

Readers,

Oh, I'm having fun with this.

-Sophia