The Archer's Heart Read online

  the

  Archer’s Heart

  the

  Archer’s Heart

  by

  Astrid Amara

  Blind Eye Books

  blindeyebooks.com

  The Archer’s Heart

  by Astrid Amara

  Published by:

  Blind Eye Books

  1141 Grant Street

  Bellingham, Washington 98225

  blindeyebooks.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced

  in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except

  for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Nicole Kimberling

  Cover art, illustrations. and maps by Dawn Kimberling

  Proofreading by Tenea D. Johnson

  This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations

  are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people, places or events are

  coincidental.

  First edition September 2008

  Copright © 2008 Astrid Amara

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN 978-0-9789861-3-1

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2008922267

  This book is dedicated to Angus.

  Marhavad

  Chapter 1

  After five years in exile, the city of Prasta’s vibrancy overwhelmed Keshan Adaru’s senses. The sweltering streets boomed with festival music. Craftsmen and dancers mingled with pickpockets and scam artists and animal herders as they all plied their trades in the tight crowds. As Keshan drew in a breath of the humid air, the aromas of cheese, curry and roasting chicken mingled with the scent of a thousand holy juniper wood fires to make the city smell, for that one afternoon, sacred. Yet the sheer noise of the festival transformed what was considered a pious city into a place where the hot monsoon hung low and damp with the weight of unbridled revelry.

  The annual monsoon festival had swollen Prasta’s already burgeoning population. City hostels overflowed and the wide streets teemed with men and animals. Draya pilgrims and priests moved in violet-robed streams and both Suya caste craftsmen and lowly Chaya servants moved aside for Keshan and his brother. Hiding themselves in the deepest shadows of alleys and midden, the untouchable Jegora kept well away. They didn’t even dare to raise their eyes to meet Keshan’s gaze.

  Born to the lordly Triya caste, he and his brother Iyestar outranked even the Draya. Men hurried to drive their oxen aside and pilgrims bowed in reverence as Keshan’s chariot rolled past.

  Keshan’s older brother, Iyestar, nodded to the palace walls up ahead. “Who do you think is going to win Suraya?”

  Keshan shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s been years since I’ve been in the palace. I have no idea whose skills have developed since I was last here.” Keshan gripped the central pole of the chariot as it bounced over the rutted streets near the market. “I suppose she grew up to be gorgeous?”

  “She’s the sexiest woman in Marhavad,” Iyestar said. “Add to the fact that her father is lord of the wealthiest state in the kingdom, and you can pretty much count that everyone is going to be at the competition today.”

  “If either Yudar Paran or Darvad Uru win her, it will greatly improve their chances of being chosen as the next king, given Lord Nadaru’s political influence.”

  “Nadaru favors Yudar,” Iyestar told Keshan. “He is a traditionalist. He’s always been supportive of Yudar’s claim to the throne.”

  “Is Yudar any good at archery?” Keshan asked.

  Iyestar laughed. “Are you kidding? I’d be surprised if he could string a bow. He’s too busy reading his religious texts and passing judgment to spend any time with weapons.”

  Their chariot approached the western bridge across the Yaru River. The smells of fish and sewage washed over Keshan, quickly followed by the refreshing scent of jasmine, wafting from the palace gardens.

  “Of course, marrying Lord Nadaru’s daughter certainly wouldn’t do our family any harm either.” Iyestar looked wistful, then glanced to Keshan. “Do you think you might try for her?”

  “No. Darvad can have her, if he can win her.” Keshan shook his head. “I haven’t returned to Prasta to find another wife. I’m looking for a man.”

  Iyestar’s eye went wide.

  “Not so loud, Keshan!” Iyestar hissed. His gaze darted over the crowed as if anyone could hear them over cries of street performers or the booms of pilgrims’ drums.

  “It’s not what you think,” Keshan assured his brother. “At least not yet.” He couldn’t help but tease a little. “The man I need is the one from my vision. I will find him here. I know that much.”

  “I have no doubt that you are right,” Iyestar admitted. “But for your first day back from exile, could you at least try not to cause a scandal with talk of visions of the future and great uprisings against the Triya? The royal court is tense enough.”

  “Don’t worry,” Keshan replied. “I’ll restrict myself to an evening of harmless flirting.”

  “With women?” Iyestar asked in a whisper.

  “I told you, I’m not here for women,” Keshan said, just to see his brother’s reaction. He wasn’t disappointed; Iyestar looked like he’d bitten into a lemon. Keshan laughed and Iyestar sighed heavily.

  “I need a drink,” Iyestar decided.

  “Well, the palace seems as good as any place to have one.” The vast red walls of the palace loomed up before them. The chariot rolled across the steep bridge and they passed through the ornate brass gates of the western entrance. The perfume of the royal gardens floated down to Keshan.

  As soon as Keshan and his brother stepped from their chariot, Suya servants quickly led them through the halls and out to the verdant garden where Lord Nadaru Paria had chosen to stage the challenge for his daughter’s hand in marriage.

  An immense silk pavilion, festooned with pink ribbons and gold tassels, dominated the garden. Groups of Triya lords had already gathered under flowering shade trees.

  Many wore heavy bejeweled diadems as well as glittering, ceremonial armor emblazoned with their crests. Keshan and his brother had both decided to forego the hot confines of breastplates and diadems, choosing instead to adorn themselves with strings of abalone shell and pearls from their home in Tiwari. Keshan knew very well that the lustrous beads suited his dark skin and only heightened the impact of his short, black hair and dark eyes.

  Servants scurried between the crowds with refreshments and delicacies plucked from tables loaded down with sweet pastries, fresh cut oranges and fried cheeses with chutney. Iyestar immediately found the drink he desired, and handed Keshan a glass of wine. Keshan searched through the groups of men around him, seeking some sign that one of them might be the champion from his visions. A few were handsome but none held his interest longer than a few moments.

  Of the entire crowd, only two men stood out dramatically. Both were tall, with long black hair, and Keshan was certain from their features that they were brothers. The younger of the two was a muscle-bound giant; even his voice seemed too large as it boomed across the garden. The older brother was lean, almost delicate. An expression of regal disapproval seemed etched into his otherwise attractive face. Both wore the golden armor of royal princes.

  “Our Paran cousins,” Iyestar commented as he followed Keshan’s gaze. “The big one is Baram Paran, the other is Yudar Paran.”

  Keshan knew of Yudar. The Prince’s dedication to traditional law was unwavering. In his position as Royal Judge, Yudar’s rulings were mercilessly devout.

  Iyestar leaned close to Keshan. “Not the man of your future?” he whispered.

  Keshan laughed, pleased that his brother could tease him, even here in the palace,
where the holy laws were strictly enforced by both the Regent Mazar and the Royal Judge.

  “Let’s see if we can’t find anyone more interesting to introduce you to inside the pavilion,” Iyestar suggested.

  In the center of Suraya’s wedding canopy, dozens of red velvet chairs were placed around a pool of fragrant water. A glimmering gold bauble, cut in the shape of a fish, hung from silver wire above the pool. Even the slightest breeze caused the dangling fish to spin. Nearby, two soldiers guarded a table, upon which lay a heavy bow and a quiver of white arrows.

  None of the guests had taken their seats yet. They remained at the far end of the pavilion, enjoying both the shade and the cool breezes that fluttered through the silk walls.

  “There’s Darvad,” Iyestar said, pointing to a knot of brightly colored Triya warriors. It had been five years since Keshan had last seen Darvad Uru, one of the two men vying for the throne, and he hadn’t changed at all. He was darkly handsome, with a square jaw and broad, muscled shoulders. His golden breastplate glinted in the late afternoon sun.

  “He’s been asking after you for weeks now,” Iyestar said. He pulled on Keshan’s arm. “Come on, let’s say hello.”

  But Keshan hesitated. “Let’s not. Firdaus is there, and I don’t feel like having an argument without finishing my wine.”

  Iyestar frowned. “Darvad expects me to join him.”

  “Then go.” Keshan smirked at his brother. “I won’t get lost on my own, I assure you.”

  Iyestar raised an eyebrow. “I’m more worried you may lose your inhibitions and end up banished for another five years.”

  “I promise to behave.” Keshan knew his smirk wasn’t helping his argument.

  But Iyestar relented. “Stay out of trouble.” He left Keshan’s side and joined Prince Darvad and Darvad’s friends, leaving Keshan to stand against the garden wall and watch the congregation of warriors.

  Keshan didn’t have to worry about being left alone for long. Since entering the garden, he heard people whisper his name. He knew he had a reputation amongst the courtiers, and that the scandal of stealing Firdaus’ wife, five years on, was still a hot topic amongst the gossip mongers at the palace. Now that Iyestar was gone, small clusters of Triya noblemen and courtiers ventured over, to introduce or reacquaint themselves.

  The sound of a conch shell broke up the mingling, and everyone was instructed to take a seat.

  Keshan turned to follow the crowd into the canopy, when suddenly he saw a young man racing for the pavilion. Unlike the other Triya, who were dressed in their finest, brightest silks and armor, this man wore the plain dark cotton of a soldier. He vaulted over the flowering hedges, his short hair mussed, his skin flushed, and his vest open.

  Keshan stared openly as the man paused to straighten his clothes. Only then did he seem to notice Keshan watching him. He glared back.

  Keshan sucked in his breath in surprise. The man had bright blue eyes, a rarity in Marhavad. Along with his tall body and light brown skin, the man’s eyes brought an instant surge of arousal through Keshan’s body. It had been years since he had experienced such a sudden, overpowering attraction to anyone. The man continued to gaze at him intently.

  “Jandu! Get over here!”

  Prince Baram’s voice bellowed over the crowd. The handsome young man spun around. He hastily ran a hand through his mussed hair and rushed to join Baram.

  As soon as Keshan realized that this was Prince Jandu, Yudar’s youngest brother and fourth in line for the throne, disappointment flooded him. The Parans represented everything that Keshan had returned to Prasta to change. But even knowing that, desire fluttered through him, and Keshan decided that a little harmless flirtation might be fun after all.

  Chapter 2

  Jandu squared his shoulders and strode into the pavilion. It was a spectacle of shiny baubles and pearly saucers, pink ribbons and gold tassels. The scent of jasmine and freshly cut, ripe oranges filled the air—a heady assault after the dusty archery grounds that Jandu had only just left. He hadn’t meant to be late or to arrive dressed like some Suya soldier, but he had lost track of time in the midst of battle practice.

  Around him, Triya warriors decked in jewels and gleaming ceremonial armor watched him stride past with varying degrees of amusement, deference, and disdain. Every man he passed wore bright silk trousers or a long silk dejaru sarong. Absurdly bejeweled diadems sat atop their heads like flimsy helmets.

  Annoyance flared through Jandu. What was the point of all their gilded armor if not to remind them that they were born to be warriors? They were hypocrites, dressed in their gaudy armor and sneering at him, for coming late with the dust of a battleground clinging to him.

  Jandu held his head high, feeling proud of himself. Let them smirk. He could best every one of them on the battlefield and they all knew it. Jandu allowed himself a satisfied smile. Then he glimpsed his older brothers. Yudar regarded him with an icy glare and Baram looked furious.

  Jandu’s brothers rarely looked alike. Yudar was thin and fragile, with soft gentle eyes. Baram was enormous and pure muscle, with a face that was as broad as it was long and a fierce glower to his expression. But when they both disapproved of

  Jandu, they immediately resembled each other, eyebrows scrunched in unison, noses turned distinctly upward.

  Jandu bowed his head and quickly slunk to his seat beside Baram.

  “You are late,” Baram growled at him.

  “But I’m here,” Jandu replied.

  Baram shook his head. Yudar’s attention had already shifted to the man on his left. Sahdin Ori, one of Yudar’s staunchest supporters, whispered to Yudar about the new tax laws.

  Jandu scanned the crowd and watched the man he’d seen in the garden take the seat next to Iyestar Adaru. The two of them bowed their heads close as they talked. But then the man seemed to have felt Jandu’s stare. He glanced back to Jandu, making eye contact and smiling widely.

  Jandu leaned over to his brother Baram. “Who is that man?” he whispered.

  Baram frowned. “That’s Keshan Adaru. He’s our first cousin.”

  “I thought he had been banished.” Jandu stole another glance at him.

  “His five years of penance are over,” Baram whispered. “But I doubt he’s learned his lesson.”

  The low thrum of a gong resounded through the room, silencing all conversation.

  Lord Nadaru Paria stepped beside the archery target, his hands pressed together in the sign of peace. He was thin and bony, and had a neatly trimmed black beard and kind eyes. He smiled upon the congregation.

  “It is an honor to see so many of my fellow Triya lords and warriors on this auspicious day,” Nadaru began. “My daughter Suraya recently turned twenty four, and asked me to find a suitable husband for her.”

  Nadaru held out his hands and two servants opened the silk flaps of the pavilion. Suraya Paria entered, followed by her brother Rishak.

  Rumor had it that Suraya had been made from fire, and it seemed to be true, the way her dark eyes smoldered, the way her skin was a deep, fire-burnt brown, her hair a dozen shades of mahogany, darkening to charcoal, lightening to yellow. She was beautiful, and the men around Jandu immediately reacted. Baram shifted in his seat, and even Yudar stared salaciously.

  Suraya and Rishak stood at their father’s side. Lord Nadaru turned his attention back to the assembled Triya.

  “Suraya and I have chosen this challenge to test the intelligence, concentration, and skill of the greatest warriors across Marhavad. Whoever wins this competition shall have the honor of marrying my daughter.”

  The look of anticipation on the men’s faces around the room amused Jandu. Half of them looked at Suraya wantonly, like she was already their wife. And half of them were twice her age. Suraya regarded her suitors with a bemused expression.

  Nadaru went on. “Here you see a pool of water, reflecting a spinning target that has been mounted on the ceiling. Your goal will be to string the bow I’ve provided and shoot the spin
ning fish that his hanging from the disk in the eye. However, you cannot look at the fish. You have to look at the reflection of the fish in the pool to win.”

  The room erupted in noise as the men contested the plausibility of accomplishing such a task. Even Jandu questioned whether he could hit the fish in the eye, since the eye could not even be seen from this distance.

  Baram leaned backwards in his chair and glared at Jandu. “You know this challenge had to be chosen with you in mind, don’t you?”

  “Probably.” Jandu shrugged. “But I’m still not going to compete.”

  “Suraya might not get married at all now.”

  Jandu grinned. “Especially since I’m the only one who can hit that fish.” He stretched his back and prepared to watch joyously as the others failed.

  “Let the competition begin!” Nadaru called out. He handed his daughter an elaborate garland of orange marigolds for her to drape around the winner.

  Jandu looked to his left once more, checking on his cousin Keshan. Keshan met his gaze with a knowing look as if the two of them were sharing a secret joke. His lips were a rich red and sensual. He had gold hoop earrings, barely visible under the curl of his short dark hair. He wore the finest of Triya clothing casually, lounging in dark yellow silk trousers and a gold embroidered vest. Jandu couldn’t keep his eyes from dipping to the bright red sash, slung low across Keshan’s lean hips.

  Jandu suddenly didn’t care about the competition anymore. Keshan Adaru was infamous throughout Marhavad, and not just because his mother came from the enchanted demon race of the Yashva. Keshan had defied Firdaus Trinat, the powerful lord of Chandamar, by stealing the man’s bride-to-be and it was rumored that he had spent the five years of his exile in the demon kingdom.

  But what made Keshan most unconventional was that, despite being the son of a lord, Keshan consorted with people of all castes and creeds, going so far as to declare the time-honored caste system criminal. He had an open disdain for many of the Shentari religious traditions that Marhavad was founded upon.