Rajasthani Moon by Lisabet Sarai Page A

my form to rape a village girl and then rip her body to bloody pieces.”
    Pratan sank to the floor, as though he could no longer bear the weight of horror and guilt. Cecily laid a gentle hand on his arm.
    “You couldn’t help it,” she soothed. “You didn’t know what to expect.” She understood now the solitude of his life in the wasteland, the cage she’d seen in his mountain den. “You’ve paid for that unintentional crime many times over, I’m certain.”
    Amir swung himself out of bed and helped Pratan to his feet. “Don’t blame yourself, brother.” His voice was taut with anguish, too. “The fault lies with my damned mother and her evil magic. The blood you’ve spilled stains her soul, not yours. May she be reborn as a blind worm in a pile of dung.”
    “Sometimes I wonder what sins I committed in my past lives, to bear this burden now.” Pratan shook off his brother’s consoling hand, strode to the window and threw open the latticework grille. Sunlight poured unhindered into the room. “For more than a decade, I’ve hidden myself away, raging and howling behind iron bars whenever the moon was full. Once a month was bad enough, but now it seems the curse is tightening its hold on me. Will there come a time when I wear my beast-form every night?”
    Cecily’s chest ached with vicarious sorrow. She wanted to go to Pratan and enfold him in the comfort of her arms, but her bonds would not allow that. “Is there no way to lift the curse?”
    “Sorcery is forbidden in Rajasthan,” Amir thundered. His voice faded almost to a whisper. “Of course, it’s too late for that now.”
    “I’ve studied a bit about magic,” Cecily persisted, rising from the cushions to seat herself on the bed. “From an intellectual perspective only, of course,” she hastened to add. “My impression was that sorcery depends upon balance and contrast, that every charm incorporates its own undoing. There must be a way to counter this spell.”
    “My mother brought many books with her when she arrived to wed the Rajah. Perhaps the secret to unravelling her curse lies within them. I imagine they’re still in the palace library. Nobody’s opened them since her death. In any case, most are in her native language—the ancient tongue of the mountain dwellers, which might as well be gibberish to us.”
    “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