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

Chapter Thirty-Eight

      "Putri..." Dark eyes peering from behind a mask. He holds up his hand with a grimace, placing it against my own.

      His thumb is missing now. A rasping voice in the darkness.

      Behind him, a humanoid figure rising. Long, black hair. Fanged teeth and a bloody maw. Laughing. Laughing. Laughing as she watches me, even with her head tilted at an unnatural angle. I pray she cannot see me.

      "Find my name." He gasps. "Or she will have you all."

      The demon queen turns fully to me then, parts her lips, and screams.

***

      I wake up feeling as though the world is falling apart around me. When I grasp for someone, it's Zahra. She throws my ceremonial kebaya, tunic, and bangles to the bed, abandoning it all to clasp my hands in hers.

      "Hush, amira, I thought some rest would let you sleep off the traveler's fatigue." She presses her hand to my forehead, and I stare upwards into her clay-colored eyes. When I look at her, it could be the golem blood, but I feel grounded. More connected to the earth. "But, if you're sick, I can call one of the servants and tell them..."

      I swallow, hard. Pushing away my fancies of Rangda coming for me. Pushing away my nightmares. "I've already messed up enough. Nothing will keep me from that dinner."

      I strip off my armor, but I still leave the belt, hidden as it is against my hips. Ode's dagger stays with me, even if Baqir can't. I look in the mirror, see kohl-lined eyes and dark hair piled in a bun, sweet with mint-scented water. I blink, and the strange girl in the beautiful orange-gold batik blinks before me.

      "A princess." Zahra remarks. "You finally look like one."

"Shut up." I mutter, shoving her halfheartedly. I saw something in her eyes in the reflection of that mirror. Something, I don't know what, changes.

***

      The table's carved of polished wood, the legs forming the feet of lions, the top covered in dragons. Piles of fresh fruit and fish heap the surface, fresh rambutanwith pulpy juice that sticks to your fingers. Dragon fruit that melts like a summer's day. Durian that smells sour but tastes creamy and sweet. Roasted fish, rice dripping with oil, and carafes of hot jamu, tea, or juices complete the dinner.

      I'm glad for the custom of food here, that accepting it is seen as gratitude to your host. I pile my plate often and abundantly, digging into tender fish meat, drowning it in sambal that clears your sinuses and scrapes your tongue raw.

      "I'm glad you like our food." Sultan Raharjo leans in closer to me, his black hair smoothed past his shoulders. The hooped gold earrings glint in the candlelight, accentuating his eyes and smile.

      I swallow, mimicking his smile with a poorer one of my own. My cheeks ache from the exhaustion of it. "I love your people too."

      His smile doesn't waver, but some emotion in his eyes flickers. He leans back, nibbling on a peeled rambutan, the spiky shell discarded in his bowl. "We have that in common then." He takes some more rambutan, peeling it for me, his nails digging into its flesh. He holds it out, and I move to take it with my left hand.

      A gasp round the table. But he doesn't waste a moment. He leans in closer, smiling still, like it's our own personal joke. "It's considered very rude to use your left hand here, Princess Arnina. Be careful."  He catches my right hand in his, like it's a dance, rolling the fruit into my palm. He doesn't break eye contact until I look away, still grinning at me. He laughs, and the people at the table laugh with him.

      "Why help me at all?" I lower my voice, so only he can hear. A dancer slides into the room, bowing to the king before setting out into a smooth routine. "You imprisoned Boaz, the half-brother to our Emperor Consort. You could have me imprisoned right with him."

      "I could also start a war right now, but we're both refraining from that course of action, aren't we?" He stares at me, and I stare back. My smile drops from my face, and his softens to a thin-lipped smirk. "I had no choice. Someone had to take the fall when the riots broke out against my people in your imperial city. Your uncle was a diplomat. You, on the other hand, are a warrior." He takes a long swig of jamu, the scent of hot ginger pervading the air. "I respect that about you. Sincere. Even if your manners ring false, your words ring truer than most."

      "Is there something else besides that sincerity you admire?" I challenge, not really sure why I do. I wish Zahra was here. To bring me back to earth, and to keep me there.

      He peers into my eyes, searching still. "I'll tell you when I find out what exactly it is."

      The night goes on, and the dinner lasts even longer. When I walk back to my rooms, Zahra sees my exhaustion and gets me to bed as quickly as possible.

      "Did you start a war?" Zahra asks, washing her face and getting a new basin of lemon water for me.

      "Not yet." I groan, my words muffled by my pillow.

      She smirks back. I've had enough of damn smirking, smiling, giggling, and beaming for quite some time, thank you. "Give it time."

***

Readers,

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-Sophia