 Recorded books presents 1637 The Peacock Throne by Eric Flint and Griffin Barber, narrated by me, George Waddell. Part One February 1636 From the Rig Veda Flame burns it not, waters cannot overwhelm. Chapter One Agra, palace of Amar Singh Rathore, Johanna Rath stood in the stirrups and gave Azar her lead as they left their own half. The fierce little pony flowed across the turf like the wind. Enjoying the moment, the princess leaned over to strike at the ball, and instant later her mallet sent it spinning across to one of her new guards, Yonja. Bad pass, the princess muttered, seeing she'd sent the ball to where the Turkic warrior woman had been rather than where she was headed. But Yonja showed great skill as Damla and Roshanara closed on her, coming to a complete stop that would have sent a weaker rider over pommel, mane, and mouth to slap face first into the turf. Her opponents went by, forced by her sudden stop, to move aside or collide with the rump of Yonja's mount. The talented horsewoman wasn't done showing her skill, however she leaned well out of the saddle and clapped her mallet against the ball, sending it in a curving arc that straightened along the boundary line ahead of Johanara. Roshanara, the closest rider from the opposite team, snapped her reins against her pony's flanks and set out in pursuit. Johanara lowered her head and again led as our run. She had the straighter line and the faster horse, but Roshanara was smaller than her sister and hadn't been riding her mount all that hard until the last few runs of play. The other players were out of position and could only join the shattered encouragement from the gathered women watching from the shade of the gardens. The birthday celebrations for Nidira's son had gathered nearly every wife, mother, sister, and daughter of Darao's Umara to the gardens of Amara Singh, Rathore's palatial home, to participate, most of whom watched the two princesses compete. The distance between the two players and the ball closed with exhilarating speed, making Johanara's lips curved with fear of delight. Then the pair were riding flat out and side by side. The ball had stopped beside the boundary, meaning that Johanara could only strike at it while riding out of bounds and from the left while Roshanara had it on her right, strong side. Johanara quickly switched hands and dropped her mallet for the swing. Roshanara's quick overhand swing of the mallet clacked against the ball, sending it rocketing back the way they come. Johanara's mallet tangled with her sisters as the momentum of the smaller woman's swing carried the shafts together. The impact sent a violent shiver up the wood that stung Johanara's hands and wrenched her shoulder. Roshanara was even more affected, as she'd stood in the stirrups and used every bit of strength in her body to make the hit. With her swing stopped so abruptly, Roshanara lost control of her mallet and struck her pony hard on the leg, making it stumble. She overbalanced and started to topple sideways, away from Johanara. Johanara dropped her mallet and snatched at her sister, hoping to stay her fall. She missed, but Roshanara caught her outstretched arm and used it to lever herself back upright. As one, they slowed and turned back onto the field. "'My thanks, sister,' Roshanara said, cheeks still flushed from the exertion and perhaps Johanara reflected from sudden fear. Johanara nodded, feeling the now familiar surge of shame over the beating she'd given Roshanara the night her father's murder. She wanted to apologize what could not. To do so would be to admit everything that had happened that night, and that would only make her angry once again. Instead, Johanara nodded at the far end of the field, where Dambla and the rest of Roshanara's team were celebrating the final point, and said, "'Fine play, sister. You surprised me with that overhand strike. You delivered it so swiftly.' Roshanara's cheeks colored more deeply. It was my only good play for the entirety of the game. Better to properly seize an opportunity once than attempt to seize every chance, however small, and fail.' Letting the amounts cool the princesses rode in a slow, silent circle before Roshanara departed for the accolades of the gathered women. "'Sadness seized, Johanara. As you watched your sister leave.' Roshanara had been in virtual hiding since the night Johanara had attacked her, and only come out with the day's events at Nadira's insistence, and if Smita's spies and informants were to be believed, Roshanara hadn't been in contact with anyone outside the Heron precincts. Johanara dismissed as cruel rumour those reports that claimed Roshanara had not cried since that terrible night. Roshanara had never- Sample complete. Ready to continue?