I Shall Rewrite the Stars

Chapter 8

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I look to Juba, unsure how to respond. What can we say to this person? Jambudvīpan emissaries have always been fiercely protective of their empire, but for a common woman to draw a blade against a handful of foreigners is absurd!

Or perhaps…perhaps this is just how a Jambudvīpan acts on their own soil. We may not have been paraded into these lands as slaves, but that doesn’t mean its people owe us hospitality.

“Why should we answer to some loud-mouthed commoner?” Ptolemy scoffs, earning a pointed glare from our brother.

“Don’t insult the person holding a weapon, you fool!” he hisses in a pathetic attempt at a whisper.

Juba’s shoulders slump, a look of sheer exasperation weighing his face, and I can only shake my head. As far as first impressions go, we’ve made a mess of this one.

Yet to my great surprise, the woman doubles over in laughter.

“What a spoiled rajkumari you are,” she gasps, and straightens with a grin.

“You can tell that she’s royalty?” Juba asks, then says to me. “Rajkumari is the title belonging to the maharaja’s daughters.”

“I see,” I say, though thanks to years of studying, I already know.

“Soaked as it may be, the lot of you are draped with fine fabrics and precious jewels,” the woman explains. “Clear skin, soft hands, and not a scar to be seen upon the girls. The attitude of the little one only confirmed my initial suspicions.”

“Yet you still raised a blade at us,” Juba presses.

“And I shall keep it raised until you’ve made clear exactly why foreign royalty have entered Jambudvīpa uninvited. Or would you prefer to speak with the Kshatriya, instead?”

“The Ksha-what?” Ptolemy mutters.

“There’s no need for that,” Juba insists, and I nod.

“We really were shipwrecked…in a sense,” I say. “We are survivors—for all we know the only survivors to have escaped the Romasian assault on Kemet. Admittedly, we’ve no idea where we are right now. But our destination is the capital of Jambudvīpa: Pataliputra.”

The woman’s smile falls. “I see. You wish to seek sanctuary with the maharaja, then?”

“Not exactly. By command of our pharaohs, we seek the aid of our oldest ally. But if he will not offer us soldiers, then we were instructed to beg for his wisdom, instead.”

“If what you say is true, then you’ve no right to seek an audience with His Esteemed Majesty.”

“And why is that?” Helios demands.

The woman tips her chin up, her arms crossing beneath her chest. “This empire is far greater than Roma, but they are still an…annoyance that hounds the western border. By coming into our lands, you give them reason to become far more than a mere annoyance. You endanger countless lives for the sake of your self-entitlement. You are a risk we’ve no good reason to take.”

“Roma has its sights set upon this empire, regardless,” Juba says. “As Emperor Gustavian’s exclusive slave, I’ve stood behind his throne during countless war meetings. As such, I can assure you that he will eventually strike Jambudvīpa regardless of any foreign royals who may or may not be here.”

“Are you serious?” Helios balks. “Does he aim to take over the world?”

“Why would he speak openly of a plot to attack Jambudvīpa, but not Kemet?” I ask. “He couldn’t possibly have done it on a whim.”

“It would be like him to do just that,” Juba grumbles. “The man is insane. He’s wise enough to achieve his goals by any means necessary, but a monster nonetheless.”

“Look at me,” the woman commands. “Swear upon the high spirits—bet your eternal souls on your word and tell me honestly: is what you say the truth? Roma has conquered Kemet, and seeks to conquer Jambudvīpa next?”

In the Romasian fashion, Juba presses his closed right fist over his heart. Head bowed, he says, “It is. The pharaohs Cleo and Antonius have fallen, and Kemet now rests in the grasp of Roma.”

The woman looks to me. “And you? What is your oath?”

I cross my arms so that my closed fists rest against my shoulders, but keep my chin high. “As the eldest daughter of pharaohs Cleo and Antonius, I, Selene ny Kemet, do swear upon the oath that binds our kingdoms: all we have said here is true.”

The woman closes her eyes, takes in a slow breath, and sheaths her blade. Pressing her palms flat together in front of her chest, she bows her head. “I am the only daughter of Maharaja Ashoka te Jambudvīpa: Rajkumari Raja te Jambudvīpa,” she says. “His Esteemed Majesty knew you lot were coming, and sent me to assess your character. As such, from here onward I will take responsibility for and escort you to him.”

“How could he have possibly known we were coming here?” Ptolemy asks, flinching when Helios smacks the side of his head into her own.

“Apologize,” he snaps. “You were too rude, Ptolemy.”

“How was I to know that she’s a Sat-Nesut of Jambudvīpa?”

“It’s fine,” Raja says, her hand flipping in dismissal. “I take no offence from the tantrum of a child. Though if she were grown, the situation might be different.”

“I will still apologize on her behalf,” I say, and bow my head. “My sister has been deeply upset by the devastation of our homeland. Please forgive her for speaking out of turn.”

At the sight of golden slippers before me, I lift my eyes to Raja’s—or at least, I try to. Leaning in close, she stares at my forehead with a deep frown.

“I’d thought this a bindi of some sort, but it looks more like a faint remnant of henna,” she mutters.

“Pardon?”

“It wasn’t there before,” Juba says, drawing my eyes. “There’s a faint crescent moon between your brows. Its points are directed toward the sky.”

I raise a hand, but feel only skin beneath my fingers. “How strange. It must be a sign of Isis’ blessing—”

“You were blessed by the moon?” Raja cries. “I’ve heard that all members of the royal family in Kemet receive blessings upon adulthood.” At my nod, she humphs. “You are fortunate, and I am jealous.”

“You’ve not received a blessing yet?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I have not received the honor, but my son will, someday. If he survives long enough.”

“You’ve a son?” Helios asks. “You don’t look any older than we are.”

Raja laughs outright, a sly smile lifting her lips. “My, what a charmer you are. I shall accept your compliment.” Then over her shoulder she shouts, “You may join us, Mrunal. I’m certain now that they’re no threat to us!”

From behind a large boulder to our left, a man steps out of the shadows. Sheathing a curved sword, he lifts his head high, his dark eyes weary beneath a tuft of curly, deep-brown hair.

“Are you certain, Highness?” he asks, crossing his dark arms over an emerald tunic similar to Raja’s, and shifting his weight from one black-cloaked leg to the other.

“Are you questioning me?” Raja asks teasingly. “I am far too busy to play games, you know.”

Mrunal smiles. “I suppose so. Given this surprising development, am I to assume that we will be returning early?”

Raja’s shoulders sag. “What choice do we have? Our attempts to find a cure have proven useless. We’ll have to try searching in the east next time.”

“Are you ill?” I ask, and note the weariness in Raja’s gaze when she looks at me.

Pursing her lips, she seems to consider her words before she speaks. “As a fellow rajkumari, I believe you will understand the deep secrecy surrounding what I am about to say.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know, but I will regardless. Perhaps upon hearing my story you might propose a solution that I’ve yet to consider.”

“I will say now that I know little of the medical arts,” I admit, and look to my right. “But Juba might.”

His lips press into a line. 

Does it bother him that I know of his medical interests? In our past life he did tell me it was a dangerous hobby of his, to sneak medical scrolls from the royal library and study them under the cover of night.

“I know a bit,” Juba admits after a moment, to which Raja hums.

Glancing away, she presses a hand to her stomach. “My son is the yuvaraja, the crown prince who will one day rule as Maharaja of Jambudvīpa. However, he is only three years old, and has fallen gravely ill. I fear for his life if a cure is not found soon.”

“Was he born frail?”

Raja shakes her head. “He was born strong as an elephant! But this past spring he began to weaken. His balance failed and he toppled over when walking. His pupils became large and he cringed away from the light. Now his headaches rage, he can hardly move from his bed, and—”

Raja pauses, her eyes and teeth clenched tight. Mrunal sets a hand on her shoulder, squeezing until she looks at us again.

“It sounds like a common form of poisoning in Roma,” Juba notes, whilst I spiral into the clutches of a nasty memory.

In a small room of damp stones that reeked of mildew, I’d lain on my back, breathing heavily and delirious from fever. At my side, Juba had sat with a damp cloth in hand.

‘Curse Octavia,’ he’d seethed, and set the cloth across my brow. ‘To use Strychnos of all things—has she no shame?’

‘It’s not the first time,’ I’d whispered, barely clinging to the waking world. ‘If not for the illusions of Mother, and the vile dizziness, I wouldn’t mind this so much.’

Juba had gritted his teeth. ‘Do you not understand that you might die? You—oh, save your breath, Selene. You must focus on recovering, alright? I forbid you to die!’

I’d smiled then, as my eyes fell shut. ‘As you wish.’

The memory fades, leaving me shaken. “He’s right,” I say. “Strychnos does seem the most likely culprit.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Raja says, and hisses the word, “Strychnos. Are you certain? Do you know a cure for it?”

Juba frowns. “There’s a small chance we might use the seedless Calabar Bean to cure your son. But understand this: Strychnos is a highly toxic poison, and prolonged exposure can kill a grown man in mere days. Even if I treat him, I can’t make any guarantees about saving your son’s life.”

Raja huffs, and the curved tip of her golden shoe stamps down to elicit a gray puff of dust. “I am not foolish enough to pray for miracles, Romasian. I seek opportunities—in this case, one to save my son. If you are the chance I have been waiting for, the first I have come across after so many long months of searching, then I will follow you to whatever end.”

Juba slips a hand beneath his scarf and plucks a scarab amulet from beneath his tunic. He clicks it open, checks the contents, then closes it with a resigned sigh. “I keep vials of antidote to a number of poisons in here, just in case. But it’s not nearly enough in the event that the Calabar Bean does prove useful. There’s a high probability that you’ll have to send someone to gather more for further treatment.”

“And?”

“Given that the bean can only be found deep within the borders of Kemet, it will be more than difficult to retrieve.”

Mrunal tsks. “If your cure works for the yuvaraja, His Esteemed Majesty will stop at nothing to get boat-loads of it. Even reclaiming Kemet would not be beyond his considerations.”

“That’s true,” Raja says, and throws her arms wide. “Congratulations, you’ve earned my approval. Allow me to officially welcome you as guests to Jambudvīpa.”

“Thank you,” I say, unable to shake the feeling that this welcome isn’t as warm as her smile.

The maharaja is a man wise enough to have earned Mother’s dying praise, and for all the confidence Raja speaks with, I can’t imagine his daughter is as frivolous as she lets on. The hard look in her eyes, the way she insisted she would be the one to end our lives if need be, and the fact that she has only one guard who stands at her back even when confronting potential threats…

“If that’s all settled, can I ask you something?” Helios says, over the rumbling growl of his stomach. Pink-cheeked, he lifts a hand to the back of his head and grins. “Is there anything on this island to eat? I’m starving!”

Laughing outright, Raja strides past me to take Helios’ cheeks between her hands. “Of course there is,” she beams, and turns his head side to side. “So long as spices don’t frighten you, I shall order us a feast.”

Helios chuckles, insists that he’s unafraid, but not a speck of light shines in his eyes.

It breaks my heart to see him faking his usual cheerfulness.

Stepping back, Raja spins on her heel. “There’s nothing on this slip of an island, I’m afraid, but there is food on our Odam ship. So, come. We will cast off without delay, and if the winds are with us, we will arrive at the southern port city Chennai in one week’s time.”

“Should I escort you back or run ahead to prepare the crew?” Mrunal asks.

Raja spins back to face him. “Prepare the crew with all due haste. Then set to packing our belongings. I would like to be home again within a fortnight.”

“A lofty goal,” he snickers, but turns and runs off beyond the distant tree-line.

“Shall we?” Raja asks, and sets off at a leisurely pace.

“What an odd girl,” Helios mutters, waiting until Raja is a few steps ahead before he trails after her.

“The oddest,” Ptolemy agrees, and drops her chin to our brother’s shoulder.

“I don’t trust her,” Juba says to me, when there’s a bit of distance between us and the rest. “Either she’s too arrogant to think revealing such serious information about the heir is without its risks, or she truly believes we can be easily dealt with, should we prove untrustworthy.”

“I’d lean toward the latter,” I say. “In many ways, Raja reminds me of Octavia.”

“I was thinking the same.”

We’ve walked in silence for a long while when I release a tired sigh. Whatever new dangers we’ve welcomed, I can only push my body for so much longer before it’ll give out.

“If only this body were as conditioned to exhaustion as it was before I’d died,” I grumble.

“What an odd thing to wish for,” Juba notes, with a small smile on his lips. “Stay awake long enough to eat something, then get some rest. I’ll take the first watch.”

Something in my heart stirs at his offer, and I smile at the fact that we’re of a similar mind about keeping our guards up going forward. It reminds me of the team we’d become in our first lives, and fills me with hope for all that we might still become. 

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