Rajasthani Moon (7 page)

“Would you be willing to let me look at them? Maybe I can help.”

For a moment, Cecily forgot that she was naked, bound, a prisoner of these two men, and recently used as their whore. She saw only a problem she thought she might be able to solve.

The brothers stared at her. “What kind of trick is this, Cecily Harrowsmith?” Pratan asked. “How can you help?”

“And why would you want to, in any case?” added Amir.

“I have considerable linguistic skill, as you may have already noticed. I’ve never seen the language of Queen Ziya’s people, but it might be similar to some other tongue with which I am conversant.” She paused, holding first Pratan’s gaze, then Amir’s, letting them feel the force of her self-confidence. “And as to why—well, perhaps if I can assist you, you might do the same for me. Purely self-interest, I assure you, but I believe you can understand that motivation.”

Everything she said was true. They nodded in acquiescence, first Pratan, then Amir. She just didn’t tell them the whole truth. They would have thought her weak.

She wanted to help Pratan escape his terrible fate because she couldn’t bear the sorrow she saw in their eyes.

Chapter Nine

Cecily looked up from the volume spread on the table in front of her and rubbed her temples. After nine hours’ poring over signs and symbols in books so fragile she scarcely dared touch them, she had an infernal headache. The scent of mouldy leather and the parchment dust hanging in the still air didn’t help, either.

At least she was unbound—other than the collar—and alone…although she suspected Amir had ways to spy upon her from a distance, anywhere in the palace—lenses, mirrors, peepholes or periscopes. After Cecily had enjoyed breakfast and a sorely-needed bath, Sarita had delivered her to the library. The wizened and taciturn man who served as librarian—Gopal, Sarita had called him—had spent a quarter of an hour pointing out the shelves that housed the disgraced queen’s books, then had left Cecily to her research.

Initially, she’d been able to make little sense of the multi-level script that flowed across the pages of Ziya’s books. Then she’d seen it was a possible variant on Brahmi, the ancestor of Devanagiri and Tamil alphabets, with extra ligatures and syllable-length marks. Assuming a homology gave her some clue to pronunciation. Following her hypotheses had led her to the conclusion that the language was actually quite similar to Kashmiri, which wasn’t surprising given its northern origins.

By this time the sun had been high. Sarita had arrived with lunch, in a somewhat better temper than Cecily had seen her previously. Perhaps Amir had given her some carnal attention.

“Have you made any progress?” Sarita had inquired.

Cecily had chewed and swallowed a spicy mouthful of cauliflower curry before answering, “Some. I believe I can read the script. Now I need to find the books that deal with magic. That’s a challenge.” She’d indicated the ten shelves that housed Ziya’s volumes. “The Rajah’s mother was obviously quite a reader.”

Sarita had nodded but hadn’t seemed inclined to answer. Cecily consumed another few bites of her lunch.

“He misses her anyway.” Sarita spoke so softly that Cecily could scarcely make out what she’d said.

“What?”

“My Lord Amir misses his mother, even though he knows she was wicked. He was five when she was executed.”

“Every child loves his mother. And no one is totally evil. Queen Ziya probably saw herself as defending her own future and that of her son.”

“Perhaps. I worry sometimes that Amir inherited some of her darkness. He can be—cruel…”

Cecily’s eyes had met Sarita’s. A new understanding had passed between them. “Yes,” she’d agreed. “I’ve gathered as much.” She took another bite. “How long have you known the Rajah?”

“Almost all my life. My father rules the state of Maharashta, an important ally of Rajasthan. Amir and I were betrothed as children—before Pratan was born.”

“Betrothed! But—are you his wife, then?”

The despair Cecily had seen in Sarita’s eyes made her wish she had held her tongue and her curiosity in check.

“Alas, no. My Lord Amir no longer believes in marriage, or in sexual exclusivity. When time and maturity revealed his brother’s evil destiny—well, the Rajah decided he did not wish to repeat his father’s mistake.”

“I suspect that the marriage between Amir’s parents had nothing to do with the tragedy. The Rani would have been equally jealous had she been the Rajah’s concubine.”

“Perhaps. Still, her status as the father’s legal spouse gave her a certain power over poor Lady Chameela. Amir is determined not to give that kind of power to any woman. Not even someone who worships and obeys him the way I do.”

Cecily had not pursued the conversation, which obviously caused Sarita far more pain than her master’s evil toys.

* * * *

She laboured all afternoon, until she began to regret having volunteered to undertake what was starting to seem like an impossible task. In fact she had succeeded in finding two books she was fairly certain were grimoires, but none of the spells she deciphered seemed to have anything to do with shape-shifting.

The sun had set hours before. Through the window, high up near the ceiling, Cecily caught a glimpse of indigo sky and a sliver of moon, just a bit fatter than it had been the previous evening.

She leafed through the pages, scanning for the words she thought would translate as ‘wolf’ or ‘beast’. The letters swam in front of her. She raised her gaze to the moon to rest her eyes, then turned the next page.

A half-sheet of parchment, crumpled and stained by mould, was tucked into the binding. Her heartbeat quickened as she extracted the fragment and smoothed it out on the table. There was writing on the sheet, dark-blue ink inscribed in a strong, graceful hand. In contrast to the book itself, the inserted page was in Hindi—in rhyming verse.

The moon is ripe on Abu’s heights.

Before the beast a virgin lies

A full and willing sacrifice

To end his wild and bloody nights.

She is impaled, her body torn,

Opened to his fierce desires.

In blood and seed the wolf expires,

Leaving the man, in lust reborn
.

A sense of triumph filled her, driving out her exhaustion. This was it—it had to be. The references to the moon, the prominence of the words ‘wolf’ and ‘beast’… Plus the fact that the hand was clearly feminine, and far more modern than the antique book in which the sheet had been tucked away.

The stanza was far from clear, but it appeared to describe a ritual that would banish the curse, leaving the man ‘in lust reborn’.

Pratan and Amir would both be so pleased.

On the other hand, it might be to her advantage to not reveal the secret just yet.

Cecily was about to tuck the parchment into her bodice. Then she recalled how ephemeral her clothing seemed to be in this environment. As an alternative, she studied the verses until she had committed them to memory. Then she returned the parchment to its original home between the pages. After closing the volume of magic and replacing it upon the shelf, she pulled the cord that would summon her captor.

Sarita arrived in a matter of minutes. “Are you finally finished?” Her petulant expression suggested that her earlier mild temper had evaporated. “My Lord has refused to dine without your company. Come on—you’re keeping him waiting.”

The courtesan grasped Cecily’s arm, dragging her towards the door.

“Ouch! You needn’t be so rough.” Cecily shook off the other woman’s hand and massaged her temples. “I’ve a devil of a headache, and I’m as eager to eat as the Rajah. Don’t be so cross, Sarita. I’m trying to help your Lord and his brother.”

Sarita’s face softened a bit. “Did you find anything useful?”

A half truth is always better than an outright lie,
Cecily reminded herself. “I’m not certain. Perhaps. I have some promising leads, but I need to investigate further.”

“I do hope you are successful. Perhaps then my Lord Amir will allow you to leave.”

“Sarita, please understand, I’m not your rival for Amir’s affections. I don’t want him. I’d leave in an instant if I could, without looking back.”
Another half truth.
She didn’t trust the devious prince in the slightest, but she’d miss his physical attentions.

“What you want doesn’t matter.
He
rules us all—you as well as I. And he finds you amusing—and arousing. That much is obvious. However, if you manage to free Lord Pratan from the curse, the Rajah will owe you a debt. Although he can be cruel, he’s also an honourable man.”

“Well, we shall see. Meanwhile, shall we go off to supper? I’ll try to convince Amir that you should join us…”

Sarita’s eyes narrowed. She nodded in cautious thanks, then started to open the library door.

Like a bolt of dark lightning, a shadowy form hurtled through the entrance and bore her slender body to the floor. Sarita’s shriek was cut short as the weight of her attacker drove the breath from her lungs.

A hulking, black-furred creature pinned the woman to the ground. He slashed her sari with brutal talons, until her clothing hung in shreds upon her nakedness, then clawed at her thighs. Blood streaked her ivory skin. A feral growl rose from the swarthy figure’s throat as his hairy back arched above Sarita’s fragile frame, hips pumping blindly. Cecily glimpsed vicious, yellowed teeth under an elongated snout and red-veined eyes that burnt with madness.

“Stop! No!” Cecily seized a handful of the monster’s tangled black hair and pulled as hard as she could, trying to drag him away from his victim. He shook her off like a dog ridding himself of fleas, so that she tumbled onto the floor beside them, then he returned his attention to the girl stretched beneath him.

Sarita whimpered in terror. The beast raked his claws across one breast, leaving a trail of red behind. His powerful buttocks flexed as he tried to impale the girl with his hugely swollen penis. The courtesan struggled beneath him, desperate to avoid that terrible weapon. He’d tear her apart if he succeeded in forcing that rod into her body.

All this happened in a matter of seconds, but to Cecily it seemed much longer. The sensation of temporal dilation was familiar from her martial arts practice. She considered her options with clarity and precision, every detail and nuance of the situation obvious to her heightened consciousness. If the beast was flesh and blood—as he certainly seemed to be, given that enormous erection—she could employ a Tibetan
tserchok
manoeuvre to temporarily disrupt his nerve function. On the other hand, she didn’t want to endanger Sarita. At the moment the creature appeared focused on sexual satisfaction, but if her blow fell even a millimetre off target, Pratan’s lust might change to murderous rage.

Somehow she had no doubt the beast was Pratan, transformed by the dead queen’s curse. Perhaps it was the lush, jet-coloured locks that tumbled down his back. Perhaps it was his wild ferocity as he attempted to fuck the woman trapped beneath him. In any case, that complicated matters. She needed to help poor Sarita, but she didn’t want to do permanent damage to the handsome brigand, if only to save her own skin. Amir would scarcely be sympathetic if she killed his brother.

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts and come to a decision. As she moved, the silver ornaments dangling from her ears brushed her neck.
Silver!
Immediately Cecily recalled her hermeneutic studies, in particular the fact that silver was anathema to most shape-shifters. Of course, Pratan was a special case…but she did not have time to ponder the alternatives and the risks.

Drawing the silver wire from her pierced lobe, she rose to her knees. He still had not succeeded in penetrating Sarita, who rolled weakly back and forth while he stabbed his pelvis in the general direction of her slit. Gripping her shoulders, he tried to hold her still. His nostrils flared, drinking in the scent of his prey.

Slightly behind him, out of his direct line of sight, Cecily leant forward, considering where best to strike. His hard muscles would simply bend the thin needle of silver. Finally, taking a deep breath, she brought the bauble to his neck, just below his ear, and pricked the tender skin.

The beast that was Pratan roared and reared back on his haunches. His eyes were smouldering coals as he fixed them on Cecily’s face. He reached for her, jaws dripping, talons painted with Sarita’s blood. Cecily twisted away, aware that she was too close to escape.

Then, just as she was anticipating the pain of his fangs entering her flesh, Pratan slumped into an unconscious heap. For a moment he lay there, still and monstrous. Then he began to shift back to his human form. His distorted muzzle receded and his handsome features reappeared. His gnarled paws became hands. The black hair that had covered the beast melted away, leaving only the familiar curly patches on his chest and at his groin. His massive erection shrank to more human proportions, though his cock was still engorged.

The highwayman prince lay naked on the library floor, his eyes closed, his face peaceful and composed. He might as well have been sleeping. Indeed, it might all have been a dream, save for the bleeding, naked young woman stretched out beside him.

Cecily helped Sarita to a sitting position. The sobbing girl clung to her, apparently in shock.

“Shh… It’s all over, Sarita. Don’t worry, no one is going to hurt you…”

“Oh, by the gods…”

Cecily rocked the other woman, stroking her long, silky hair and murmuring comforting nonsense. She was acutely aware of Sarita’s scent, a mix of orange blossoms and sandalwood. She could smell Pratan on the girl’s skin, too, a wild animal musk familiar from her own coupling with him, but far more potent owing to his beast form. Despite their near escape, or perhaps because of it, her nipples pebbled under her blouse. The beast’s lust had been fearsome and disgusting, inspiring only horror, but now, triggered by relief at their safety, she felt a stir of arousal between her thighs.

Sarita inhaled a deep, shuddering breath, and released her hold. She fixed her eyes on Cecily’s. Cecily wondered if the courtesan could sense the signals of her growing excitement.

“Thank you… Thank you for saving me.”

Cecily shrugged. “Amir would never have let me go if I had allowed you to come to harm.”