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When she sat down at her usual place beside Tran, she knew something was not right. The entire dining hall was abuzz with talk, which was not unusual, but that night there was a tightness pervading the air. Isla caught a few words here and there, but she was far too exhausted to attend to anything but fragments of conversations. The mention of a boy, and a room splattered red.

'Where have you been all day?'

Writing letters to Bartol. Visiting Rinju.

'Probably in the palace kitchens again.' Phrae snickered. 'That, or off visiting the broodmares.'

Isla threw her a wicked smile then, and Phrae made a quick study of her fried rice. It was a vicious thing to call the early-bloomers, but Isla had discovered shortly after her first day that most of the other dhayang liked to be vicious to the early-bloomers.

'I did go to the White Asraam,' Isla said to Tran, 'to visit a friend.' It was their second break for the week, and Isla had promised to see Rinju, after all.

She had taken her to the crop of trees around the girl's asraam; so thick it may as well have been a small wood. She spent the day watching Rinju run, chasing her before she got too close to the consortial estates, and rescuing her off a tree when she climbed too high.

'I'm just like Murbei,' the girl had said, laughing all the way down. Maybe she would be better off turning into a mulberry tree, too.

'Have they taught her how to be a good, proper whore yet?'

Phrae did not choose the right time to test Isla's patience. 'Not as well as you can.'

'Girls.' Tran glared at them over her plate. She was a few years younger than Isla, but it was moments as these when she seemed deceptively older. Isla flushed; ashamed that she had allowed herself to stoop to Phrae's level. 'Now is not the time. Especially considering what's happened.'

'What happened?' Isla asked.

'If you'd been here, you would've heard the announcement this morning!'

'Phrae,' Tran warned. She turned to Isla. 'The Maha Rama's son has been murdered.'

Isla let her spoon drop. Who would dare do such a bold thing? How? Weren't princes meant to be closely guarded and protected? 'Which son?'

'No one will say for sure.' Phrae shrugged. 'But I heard it from the washer-women, and then from some palace guards –'

'Eavesdropped, she means,' corrected Tran.

'– and later I saw Rajini Dhvani ride out in a carriage with a whole retinue. Her residence is completely empty, now. It must've been one of the sons the Rama's had with her.'

Come to think of it, Isla did see something of a commotion that morning when Rinju had gotten close enough to the consortial estates – the three grand villas where the Maha Rama's Honourable Consorts were housed. They had heard the sound of a dozen horses, distant voices speaking in alarm, and atop the northernmost estate, a flag had been raised.

'The whole family was killed.' Phrae's voice seemed so far away. Isla turned her attention back to her and the rice that now lay cold on her table. 'The rajini's son, his wife, their child. All murdered in their beds. It was so bad, the whole house was covered in their blood.'

'Who could do such a thing?'

'There's no need to draw a fuss over it. Honestly, people are so dramatic. Princes are killed all the time,' said Tran. She lifted her glass of water and toasted them drily. 'Welcome to court.'

After dinner, Isla snuck away to the athenaeum. Tran might not have thought it strange for a prince to be murdered in his sleep, but Isla was in a position that made every rock and doorknob seem suspicious. Besides, if she wanted to find her enemy out, she had to first know her pool of suspects.

She had learnt a bit of the royal family during Master Chendra's history lessons. After long lectures on the past three generations of kings, Master Chendra would pull out a large tome from a glass case wedged between two windows.

The case was unlocked, but heavy to draw open. It stood just shy of the moonlight that came streaming in. Isla pulled the frame open and carefully lifted the tome. It had looked fragile when Master Chendra held it out for them to see, and there in Isla's hands, it felt more fragile yet.

The athenaeum was dark but for two or three lanterns a few other visitors had lit, and they were far and scattered. The room was large and spiralled over her head in a succession of tiers, though Isla imagined the royal library would be far more grand.

She took the book to the wide sill and opened it under the light of the moon. The first page folded out into a sketch so large, part of the parchment had to be held against the window whilst its lower half spilled to the floor. Isla studied the upper half, tracing the family tree until she found their current monarch.

His Highness, the Honourable Maha Rama Judhistir Ametjas.

Grand King to the Capradon of the Sea.

That amused Isla. Surikhand took the symbol of the capradon; for from above, the island supposedly looked like the giant beast with its wings outstretched. Isla thought it looked more like a stingray.

Around and above the Rama's name, many of his uncles', aunts', and siblings' had been burnt with what looked to be an incense stick. The mark of the dead, Master Chendra had told them. All of the Maha Rama's predecessors had long passed – and rightly so, for the Rama himself should soon be approaching his seventy-seventh year.

Isla continued to the name next to his.

Her Highness, the Honourable Maha Rani Andayu.

Her born-name had not been included. They struck it off a woman once she married a man. Below the queen and her husband's names was a long list of children. Her Serene Highness, the Mahasuri Renata ... His Serene Highness, the Maharaj Persi ...

On and on it went until Isla's head started spinning. She could not possibly remember all these names; and she was still on the Rama's first wife!

But most of his children had left the Grand Palace. The specifics were meticulously laid out in the following pages. Gone to follow their husbands; to lead as a provincial prince; to serve the realm as army men or squires; or to simply squander their wealth in far-off landholdings gifted to them from their father.

Whomever was her enemy, it had to be someone still in the palace. Why else would they have made Prijsti move to the palatial ring, and not to some landholding where they could better spy upon her? No. Her enemy was here.

An owl hooted from the boughs outside, as though in assent. Isla jumped and found herself staring right into its wide eyes as it hungrily watched Pepper scamper along the window.

'Don't you even dare think about it!' She hissed at the bird, even though it could neither hear her nor come anywhere close to Pepper through the window. The bird shook its feathers and preened. Isla turned back to the royal pedigree.

The Honourable Consort, Rajini Chei was listed as the king's second wife, with whom he only had one son. Even then his name had been struck off with incense, his death dating over a decade ago. If Phrae's gossiping was to be believed, Rajini Chei had been the Rama's favourite until it was clear she could not produce him another child.

His third wife was The Honourable Consort, Rajini Dhvani. The mourning queen. She had three children, and Isla immediately knew which one had died. Maharaj Kiaan. Her only son. They had not bothered to include his wife's name, but extending from a line under his was a small script that said, Maharaj Nor.

They had not yet been given the mark of the dead, as their murders had been fresh the previous night. Isla wondered who would have the task of leaving that circular burn. She scanned the page once more and found that all queens had sustained losses, even the Maha Rani. Some had even suffered numerous deaths. All but one. The fourth wife.

'The Honourable Consort, Rajini Amarin,' Isla read out loud. From her, the Maha Rama had another three royal offspring, two of whom were in the palace, and one – the former crown prince – who was abroad on some sort of emissary duty, she recalled.

She studied their birth years and found they were all still young. Maharaj Kiet was only four years older than herself; and the youngest, Mahasuri Jyesta, would be about sixteen.

Something suddenly dawned upon her.

The men had come for Prijsti four years ago, and even then, they had spent years in search of her. All a string of events designed to eventually send Haana to Elingar as Prijsti's daughter. A murder scheme at least five years in the making. At least I can't say they aren't dedicated. Isla did not know whether to be flattered or concerned.

She was getting sidetracked.

The point was, Rajini Amarin's children were too young to have plotted all this ... madness ... against her. If anyone had the resources and cunning to have arranged for such an intricate plot, it would be one of the queens, if not the Maha Rama himself. Rajini Dhvani's daughters were certainly old enough, but they had long left the palace to accompany their husbands.

And of all Maha Rani Andayu's children, Isla could only find two who were old enough and still lived in the palace. His Serene Highness, the Maharaj Andhika, and Her Serene Highness, Mahasuri Elya.

Isla took out a crumpled piece of parchment – leftovers from her long letter to Bartol – and wrote down her list of suspects. Once she was done, she looked over it to make sure she was satisfied. Seven names. Still too many than she would have liked, but it was a start.

    
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