❖ QUEENKILLER, KINGMAKER Book 2 ❖
A year has passed since Isla rescued Tam Mai from the dungeons, but her sister's mind is still trapped and broken. There is only one person Isla knows can help her.
Meanwhile across the sea, a prince seeks justice f...
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'I hope you are better rested, Master Mandabu.' Kiet rose as the old servant entered his sleeping chambers, smelling a mixture of bath oils and the mild sulphur of the springs.
He motioned for him to join him at the table; a round mango wood, its surface chiselled in fine lines into the pattern of a sunray and coated in varnish. Together with a set of low chairs it bridged the wide space between his bed and the balcony.
Sindhu bowed before crossing the chamber, hesitating once he saw the table. A ceramic pitcher and matching cups waited upon a braided seagrass tray, surrounded by a wooden box to one side and platters of afternoon cakes on the other: a stack of creamy-white appam, a small basket of freshly fried spring rolls, and a serving of soft, pressed cassava cakes dressed in sweetened coconut shavings.
A farmer's treats, his mother called them; sold by old women who wandered street to street with a large basket balanced on their heads, or by loud hawkers in the busiest sections of the anterior ring markets. But as a boy, Kiet would always catch Sindhu during his breaks chewing on his cassava cakes. They were always a different colour. Brown like the dark palm sugar mixed into the cake base; green when added with a paste of pandan; or even red and sweet with dragon fruit or yellow with the slightest drop of turmeric.
It had been also Sindhu who gave him his first taste of the supposed commonfolk's cakes, and to Kiet they were just as delightful as the palace kitchen's pandan cakes or steamed buns.
Kiet sat, Sindhu following suit, choosing the seat opposite him and the balcony. Its glass doors were left open to cool the room, framed by gauze curtains that now fluttered in the gentle breeze. 'Have I interrupted your m-meal, maharaj?'
'Of course not. I called you here exactly when I needed you here. But I hope I've given you ample time to catch your breath.'
'M-More than enough time. Nothing quite revives like a hot ... bath during the tail-end of the seeding season.'
'Not even chilled rice wine?' Kiet lifted the small pitcher off its tray and poured Sindhu a glass. 'Please drink with me. I wanted to thank you for all your hard work. It could have not been easy, tracing down something the Rajini Chei herself interceded in to keep hidden.'
'It is my honour and duty, m-maharaj.' He took the cup in both hands regardless, lifted it, and drank. 'I am only sorry if it was not the answers you wished to hear.'
'Truly, I know not what I wish to hear. All I do know is that over these past two years have you done—time and again—the work of one without carrying officially its title.'
Sindhu paused between his sips, only his dark, sunken eyes visible over the rim of his cup. He looked tired, concerned, but Kiet knew not whether it was because he naturally looked that way, or because he knew what was soon coming.
'It is time to remedy that.' Kiet pushed the box from his side of the table until it sat perfectly central before his servant. 'If, of course, you are willing.'
