He shook his head.
“I’m not a rebel, Esha. I’m not sure I can do this,” he said softly, revealing the fear that had begun prickling at his chest.
“You’re not. You’re a soldier. And that’s why you’re perfect for this role. Just be yourself.”
Kunal chuckled, but she could still see a flicker of worry in his eyes. Esha felt it too, a needling thorn under her ribs.
Chapter 5
Kunal strode toward the Fort, wincing as he rolled his shoulders. He hadn’t mastered landing when he flew and always managed to hit something—this time it had been a series of towering rosewood trees. He picked a few leaves out of his hair before he came into view of the Fort.
Kunal spotted two soldiers at the watchtower and raised a hand in greeting. Before he could even lower his hand, a conch shell was blown and two more soldiers ran up the gatehouse steps to the top of the watchtower, peering down at him.
They shielded their eyes as they looked at him and for a moment Kunal worried—would he be accepted back?
But then they waved him in, away from the official entrance.
He had barely knocked on the soldiers’ entrance to the Red Fortress when it flew open and he was barreled into. It took Kunal a few seconds to realize that he wasn’t being attacked but, rather, embraced.
Kunal patted Alok awkwardly on the back, unused to such affection from his friend. But gods above, was he happy to see him. Alok pulled away, coughing a bit as he straightened and pretended like he hadn’t just squeezed Kunal within an inch of his life.
“Kunal,” he said. “It is good to see you in fine health, comrade. Praise to the king that we received your hawk in time.”
Kunal raised an eyebrow at the formal tone and was about to remark on it, when footsteps turned the corner and Commander, now General, Panak appeared. It was quite the welcome party.
“Soldier, glad to have you back,” the new general said, echoing Alok’s words. “Especially after what happened to the other men on your mission.”
Kunal dropped to his knees, crossing an arm over his torso, four fingers to his chest. “General, it’s with my sincerest of apologies that I come back empty-handed. I’ve failed the mission, and I accept any judgment on your behalf for my punishment.”
Kunal had prepared for this. He hoped it would be something light—extra menial labor in the Fort or to the journey to Gwali, at worst a demotion. It was only now that his heart seized and he thought of all the other punishments that might be befitting his failure. Kunal had assumed his standing as a loyal soldier, as a recently made Senap, would help him. The Fort couldn’t afford to lose another soldier after losing three, but nothing was for sure.
“Kunal.” He looked up, startled by the use of his first name. “There was no failure. We sent you on an impossible task. Three of your fellow soldiers didn’t return, yet you were wily enough to escape. You’ll eat with me tonight at the main table and give me your full debrief.”
General Panak clasped Kunal around the arms and dragged him up to his feet. “And we’ll discuss your commission day tomorrow as well.”
He clapped Kunal on the shoulder once before turning away. “Alok, make sure this soldier gets a hot bath and food.” It wasn’t until the general’s footsteps faded away, disappearing into silence on the stone floors, that Kunal faced Alok.
“Has it been like this since I left?” Kunal didn’t try to hide the bewilderment in his voice. His uncle would’ve imposed some sort of punishment, even if it was light, simply to make an example of failure.
“Don’t be fooled,” Alok whispered. They walked down the hallway toward the training courtyard, where soldiers milled about. There was a lively lilt to the air, and Kunal realized what it was—conversation. They had never been allowed to have conversations during training.
Alok stopped in a small alcove that overlooked the training courtyard but was still half shrouded in shadows.
“If anything, the Fort’s become more dangerous,” Alok said.
“Really?”
“At least before, you knew what to be scared—to be aware of. This new veneer of being friendly, not just comrades, it makes me uncomfortable,” Alok said.
Kunal chuckled. “Well, there are a lot of reasons that could be true—”
“No, don’t be fooled. It seems the general has plans for you, or you’ve caught his eye. But things haven’t really changed around here. Punishments are just as arbitrary, but they’re no longer solely based on the rules.”
A rustle of feet on the stone moved up toward them. “Be careful tonight. I don’t trust General Panak.”
“Like you trusted my uncle?” Kunal said, a little more sharply than he intended.
Some of the tension in Alok’s shoulders dropped. “Don’t be a pillock, Kunal. Your uncle had his issues, but he ran this Fort like a well-oiled wheel. People understood their place, understood the rules.”
Kunal looked closer at his friend, saw the truth in his eyes.
“And you’re worried about what happens when highly trained and well-armed soldiers no longer understand the rules?”
“With clear rules, even unspoken ones, there’s order. I don’t know, Kunal. Something has changed.”
Kunal looked around, thinking back to the new feeling in the air. Change was a good thing, in his mind, especially after all he had learned about his uncle and the Fort’s role in Sundara and the Night of Tears. Maybe Alok was right. Or maybe he was being paranoid after being alone in the Fort for months.
It wouldn’t hurt to be careful tonight, however skeptical he was of Alok’s fear.
“I’ll be on guard during dinner, then, and I’ll report back to you,” Kunal said, unable to resist throwing in a wry smile.
Alok scoffed. “You’d probably get by pretty well in life answering to me.”
“You know, you sound like someone I met during my mission.”
“And from the look on your face, this is a person who didn’t make it into your notes back to me?” His voice was rather accusatory.
Kunal chuckled. “Oh, definitely not. She wouldn’t have liked that.”
“She?” Alok grinned, slow. “So you finally put that face to good use.”
“Not that again.”
Alok shrugged as if to indicate he couldn’t be blamed.
Kunal looked at his friend, his wide-eyed gaze, the perpetual smile that graced his face even when he frowned.
It was a familiar face. Home.
“Alok, I wanted to say—”
But Laksh had been familiar too. Kunal took another look, a longer one at his friend, assessing him like he would a battle plan. His friend looked a little worse for the wear.
Alok would be different—Kunal wouldn’t take him for granted, wouldn’t miss those signs. As it was, Kunal would need help at the Fort. Needed someone to confide in about Esha and the Blades and everything that had happened over the past two moons.
“Yes?” Alok prompted.
A memory of Laksh’s face, of him holding a knife to Kunal’s throat, stopped him cold.
“Nothing important. Glad to see you.”
Alok gave him a sidelong glance. “You too, Kunal. You too.”
Esha gently lowered her feet to the floor as shades of violet streamed through the thin canvas of the tents. She tested her movements, putting weight onto one leg and then the other. Her legs worked fine. A sharp pain stabbed into her as she accidentally twisted. It was just her entire torso that burned.
It had been a few days since Kunal had left, trying to make it to the Fort before the end of the moon cycle. If he missed his commission day, he wouldn’t be inducted into the Senap guard. Esha didn’t want to admit it, but she already missed his presence. She had spent the time since he left confined to her bed, alternating between replaying their goodbye and planning out the steps of her mission in Gwali.
The Sun Mela would be scheduled and set for them, with parties and competitions and events. Esha would have to make frien
ds quickly with the palace staff and find the best ways in and out, as well as be at court. Esha took another step, her body stiff from disuse. She had only gotten to the front of her tent when the flap blew open and Arpiya almost ran into her.
“And what do you think you’re doing out of bed?” Arpiya demanded.
“That isn’t really a bed. It’s hard as stone, and I’m sick to death of being cooped up in here.”
“I don’t care. Get back in there. I’m under strict orders to keep you rested. Do you want the wound to heal improperly and then to start bleeding through your sari during one of the Mela dance performances?”
“No,” Esha mumbled.
Arpiya gave her a look, her hands on her waist. “Then get back in bed. If Harun hears—”
“If Harun hears about what?” a deep voice asked. Harun’s head ducked into the tent.
“She got out of bed,” Arpiya accused.
Esha shrugged. “Would you expect anything else of me?”
Harun smiled. “No.”
Arpiya let out a deep, weary sigh.
“It’s okay, Arpiya. I came to get her anyway,” Harun said. He came in and took Esha’s arm, holding her up. His arm snaked around her waist, and despite her grumbles of protest, she sagged against him. The scent of almond oil, of Harun, enveloped her, and she felt herself relax. She’d forgotten what it was like to be back at home—or the closest approximation of it.
Arpiya came up on the other side of her.
“I can walk just fine,” Esha said in protest. Arpiya glared at her.
“I’m sure you can. But knowing you, you’ll reach for something or try to lift something, and then we’ll be back to stitching you up.”
Esha groaned but couldn’t help the surge of warmth in her chest at being so well looked after. Cared for.
“Fine, but you can only help me out to the campfire. I’ll struggle from there. I don’t want the squads to worry.”
Esha thought she heard Arpiya mutter “Too late.” The three of them somehow got out of the tent together and to the campfire. Arpiya moved away, already focused on something new, but Harun held on to Esha.
Esha looked up at him. “So why did you come to get me, defying your own order?”
His face broke into a grin. “I have something to show you.”
Arpiya bounced on her toes. “Oh! I have something too. I’ll be right back.” She ran away before either of them could respond.
“What is this thing?” Esha asked, letting Harun guide her through the camp.
“You’ll see.”
Harun kept his arm around her, and she glanced up at him. “You can let go now.”
“How do I know you won’t collapse?”
“It’ll take more than a knife wound to knock me out of the game,” she said. His hand tightened around her waist, pulling her close to him for a second, before he let go.
“All right, my little Viper. I’ll let you stumble across the rest of camp to assuage your ego.”
Esha scoffed, waving a hand. “I’ll need more than that for my ego.”
Harun laughed but stood aside, walking slowly next to her. He led her into his tent, evident from the regal lion crest and numerous red-and-gold clad guards outside, and toward the back, where a large mahogany table stood proud. A long scroll of paper, stained from age at the edges, was unfurled across the table, little figurines of silver on top.
“Remember that map we always envied in Father’s war room?” Harun bounded across the room.
Of course she did. That’s where she’d spent many a morning after archery practice with Harun, tracing her finger along the map and imagining all the wondrous places her father had gone, might have gone if he were still alive.
“Well, I stole it,” he said. A childish smile lit up his face as he waggled his eyebrows at her. She laughed, mostly at the expression on his face, one she hadn’t seen in years.
“And your father didn’t notice?”
“By the time he does, I’ll be long gone.” He grinned. “Plus, we have more use for it right now. It was just hanging there, dusty and unused. Thought I would give it a new home for a bit.”
“Obviously,” Esha said, grinning back. Harun had been a serious young boy—the events of his childhood had made him that way—but when he acted out, it had been legendary. Clearly, he hadn’t grown out of that yet. She was glad for it.
He sat down at the table, chattering with excitement about something on the map. Esha smiled and nodded, knowing she should pay attention. But really, she was just happy to be back and with her friend.
The mission to kill General Hotha had taken up nearly three moons of her life, and it had been shadowed with loneliness and fear, wondering if she’d make it back alive to even see her team again or if she’d die alone in Jansa. Meeting Kunal had changed all of that, and yet, Harun and the team were her family. It was a different sort of comfort.
Esha drew closer to him, looking at the map he had laid out on the table. She peered over his shoulder to get a better look when Harun turned suddenly to say something. Their eyes met, their faces only a hairbreadth apart. His eyes flickered down to her lips, and a memory of their last kiss flashed across her mind. It had been before her mission, on a rare cool night in Mathur on a balcony of the Palace, the river shimmering below them.
Arpiya emerged from the side room with an annoyed expression at that exact moment, coughing.
“The boys never clean the dust off their gear,” she grumbled. She glanced at them and then sighed wearily. “Can your reunion wait? I have something important to tell you.”
Harun’s cheeks reddened a bit at that, and he pulled back. Esha did too, wondering why she hadn’t before.
“Anyway. I sent out notes to the spymaster in Mathur and my contacts in Gwali the minute you came back. Their intel on Dharmdev is quite illuminating.”
Harun nodded at her to continue.
“Apparently, he’s been a figure in some of the smaller towns for quite a while. Made a name for himself by stealing from garrisons and taking down soldiers who were corrupt.”
“A regular folk hero,” Esha said.
“Kind of,” Arpiya said. “He’s won the support of some of the common people with the stealing and aggression, but there are whispers of them being radicals ever since he moved to Gwali and started gathering followers. I don’t think he’ll be content with stealing, not if the reports are true. He’s determined to take down Vardaan, put a new government in place. I believe it. This is a man who’s built himself into a folk legend without ever showing his face.”
“Sound familiar?” Harun asked, raising an eyebrow at Esha.
“So he has a group? How many? What’s the organization?” It couldn’t be too big or they would’ve heard more chatter from the Crescent Blades stationed in Gwali and the surrounding towns. Or perhaps he was just that good.
“Started out small, according to my contacts. But he’s been recruiting the smaller resistance groups, those that lost leaders during Vardaan’s last raid.”
“Taking a page from the Yavars’ book,” Esha said. The Yavar horsepeople lived in clans, separated from each other. But after the War in the North thirty years ago, one man had united them under his one banner.
“Because of that, Dharmdev’s numbers are strong. His followers call themselves the Scales of Justice.”
“Dharmdev’s Scales,” Harun said. “Catchy.”
“Organization is unclear, but I can confirm that he has at least a second-in-command. Don’t know how many are in his inner circle yet.”
“Laksh might have been,” Esha said.
“The soldier?” Harun asked. “If he escaped, he’s a liability. He knows your face, Esha. And the soldier from the caravan saw Kunal.”
That wasn’t even the worst of it, though she wasn’t about to tell Harun that.
“I have a plan to take care of it,” Esha said. She’d track down the soldier from the caravan in Gwali. As for Laksh, her poison-tipped knife woul
d have slowed him down, even though it had only grazed him. That poison worked quickly, and they’d be able to get to Dharmdev before he did.
“What are you thinking?” Harun asked her.
“The Scales tried to frame me—to draw me out or to distract Vardaan; it doesn’t matter. They put my life in danger, and they did it well. It took me almost two moons to unravel their scheme.” Esha hesitated for a moment, an idea hovering in her mind. She took the leap. “I think we should try to talk to them. They want Vardaan off the throne; so do we. We should at least reach out to them. See if we can be allies.”
And keep an eye on them. But she wouldn’t voice that thought, not when Harun didn’t know all that had transpired in the jungle with Laksh, or that Kunal was a Samyad, the heen rayan.
“Only you would suggest allying with the group that framed you,” Harun said, snorting. He moved a silver figurine across the board, placing it in Gwali from where it had been, languishing in the outer towns of central Jansa.
“Speaking of alliances,” he said. “We’ll need a few.”
“Noble houses will be the best, right?” Esha said, excitement filling her. She loved the thrill of the chase, but she also loved planning. Assessing and plotting and dreaming.
“Not the nobles. I hate working with nobles,” Arpiya said, groaning.
“Says the girl from one of the most blue-blooded houses in Dharka,” Harun said.
Arpiya glared at him. “I thought we agreed to never mention that.”
“If we want to be successful,” Harun said, “we’ll need political support, money—”
“And troops,” Esha finished. “All things nobles can give us easy access to. We just need one house, maybe two, in Jansa to support us. Perhaps Ayul or Rusala.”
“Maybe Pramukh,” Esha and Harun both said at the same time.
They grinned at each other. She had forgotten how easy it was with Harun sometimes.
“What?” Arpiya asked, exasperated. “I don’t speak Harun. Why do we need support? I thought we were rescuing Reha.”
“Yes. We rescue Reha, fix the janma bond, but then?” Esha said.
Harun stood up, taking the large silver figurine in the shape of an eagle and knocking over the small kinglike figurine that was in Gwali. He placed the figurine approximately where the Pink Palace of Gwali would stand.
The Archer at Dawn Page 4
