Third Daughter (The Dharian Affairs, Book One) by Susan Kaye Quinn Page A

mission. In spite of the unexpected beauty and lightness of their means of transport, the Jungali remained barbarians, ones who would likely slit her throat if they knew her purpose. She might mock Janak for his overcautiousness, but she was also concerned about the dangers that could be found in the mountains of Jungali.
    Not least that their young prince might discover she was a spy.

People choked the streets, spilling from doorways and leaning out of windows to catch a glimpse of the prince bringing his bride-to-be home to Bajir. The prince told Aniri the capital city was named Bhakti, which meant devotion or loyalty. It wasn’t as large as Kartavya, Dharia’s capital, but it seemed to hold just as many citizens, as if the entire population of her capital were squeezed into a quarter its size. Bhakti perched at the edge of a mountainous plain that overlooked a thousand foot abyss. Aniri imagined the white granite walls surrounding the city kept out the cold winter winds as well as other Jungali clans. In between drafts of fresh mountain air, the city was squalid with the smell of coal smoke and too many bodies.
    And the colors! They were an assault on the senses as well.
    Buildings were stacked one on top of another, every surface painted green or yellow or blue—especially blue, as if the Jungali had pulled down the vibrant clear sky above them and splashed it on the walls. Lines of wash were strung between the buildings, across streets and to lampposts, tying the entire city together with sheets and cloaks and bloomers that fluttered like brightly colored flags. The rooftops were so close together they formed a maze where one could run from house to house and never touch the ground. In fact, a small flock of children was doing just this as the royal entourage paraded through the streets. Aniri gasped and thought one of them might fall, but they clung to the edges and waved to the prince as he passed. He smiled, waved, and shouted something to them in a language she could not understand.
    When they reached the prince’s palace, the white granite was a relief to her eyes. The glittering rock rose and fell in graceful, pointed arches and domes that were reassuringly strong and clean. During their passage through the city, she thought perhaps the panic had finally caught up to her because it had become increasingly difficult to breathe. But the prince calmly assured her the air was thinner so high in the mountains, and she just needed breathe more deeply and perhaps limit her movements for a while to acclimate to the change.
    Her panic eased. When they arrived at their appointed room, Priya helped her dress and ministered to her hair. Eventually, Aniri calmed enough to feel presentable for the engagement announcement to the prince’s people. She couldn’t think of them as her people—that wasn’t her mission and hopefully never would be. She needed to test out her mother’s aetheroceiver, but that would have to wait. The prince expected her in his receiving room in advance of the announcement.
    She had brought several outfits worthy of a Queen, but was frankly confused as to which would be best. Priya selected the least ornate among them for this first appearance, and Aniri trusted her judgment. The Jungali wouldn’t approve of a preened peacock from the rich Dharian countryside below, but the dress was still undeniably Dharian: silk skirts draped in lace, a formal corset, and a sweep of silk clinging to Aniri’s shoulder. She had thought the plum-and-cream fabric colorful before, but now it seemed dull compared to the riot of color outside the palace. She wore no veil, not wanting to appear already the bride, so Priya pinned her hair into a simple crown of curls with a single pearl hanging to her forehead.
    She hoped her attire would meet the approval of the prince’s subjects.
    When they left for the prince’s receiving room, Priya and Aniri took care to move slowly and keep their breath. Janak hovered close