This felt different from their stolen kisses in the jungle or in the healer’s tent. They were in public. What if someone saw them? True, he wasn’t dressed as a Senap, but what if Aahal or Bhandu were in the crowd?
Someone bustled into them, and Esha fell back against Kunal with an oomph. Her skin was warm, warmer than a summer sun, and her soft curls tickled the bottom of his nose. She tilted her head up at him, mischief in her eyes.
“Crowds,” Esha said, wrinkling her nose. “Stay close.”
The Chinarath was exactly as he had imagined. Bright and joyful, with a cacophony of multicolored clothing and patterned art, the latter done by the ladies of every household in the morning to ward off evil spirits. He walked past one of the houses, the bright pink and cerulean rice on the doorsteps used to intricately create a design of a lotus in a lake. He wondered if anyone might teach him this style of art, so different from the oil paints he loved.
Music thrummed through the air, the steady rhythm of hand drums punctuating the notes of a multitude of veenas. Despite the encroaching drought, the citizens were celebrating. Perhaps they didn’t want to think of the date juice in their hands instead of the traditional sugarcane, the crop now decimated up north. Or perhaps this was their show of hope. Colored glass shaped as mangoes and dried herbs hung over the doors of homes and the streets covered in twinkling diyas and garlands of marigold and jasmine. The old traditions were still alive.
Kunal’s stomach gave an aching groan as he was bombarded with the smells of spicy fried chickpea fritters and syrupy fried milk-dough.
“This is your first time seeing this, isn’t it?” Esha sent him a bemused look.
“The Fort didn’t really have celebrations like this,” he said, eyeing a bright pink sweet shaped like a rose.
Esha stepped forward and exchanged a few coins with the sweet seller, handing Kunal the rose. He reached for it, but she lifted it away at the last second.
“I demand payment,” she said, staring him down.
“Oh? So generous, you are.”
“I’m extremely generous, soldier,” she said, the tone of her voice changing. “In many ways.”
Kunal flushed. She always managed to make him feel like a young boy again. He leaned forward, drawing close to her ear.
“I prefer lemon boy,” he said, grabbing the sweet from her hand. “If you’re determined to not call me by my name.”
She laughed, her entire face lighting up like one of the flickering lamps surrounding them.
“Some things never change.”
“Some things do,” he said, pointing between them. He bit into the sweet, and it tasted as pink as it looked, like a creamy rose dipped in spirals of sugar.
“You’re quite the warrior poet,” she said. Apparently, he had said that last part out loud. “I love that about you.”
His brain sputtered at her words. Love? No, she had just said she loved that about him. Him being a poet. That was all.
“You’re a bundle of contradictions, Kunal.”
“So are you,” he said through a mouthful of the sweet. “It’s why we’re suited.”
“Oh? We’re suited?”
“Yes,” he said as if he had just decided, though he had determined it the minute he had turned around in the jungle weeks ago. “We understand each other.”
“My lady’s maid understands me.”
“We challenge each other.”
“That is true.”
“We’ve made each other grow. Look at us together now.”
“Haven’t particularly enjoyed the growth part,” she quipped. “Life was easier when I hated all soldiers.”
“And we found each other again,” he finished. “Lemon boy and demon girl.”
“Demon girl?” she said, looking affronted.
“That’s what the maids called you, didn’t you know?” he said as innocently as he could. It was the truth, actually, though it had been said with affection. Esha tried to look angry but was unable to keep from sliding into a smile.
“Fine. Lemon boy and demon girl.”
“I’ll allow our circumstances aren’t the best,” he said slowly.
Esha gave him a look, picking up a set of bangles and inspecting them. She put them down with a shake of the head and selected long, forest-green emerald earrings instead, tapping the gems.
“Our circumstances aren’t the best? That seems like a massive understatement. I had to lie to my lady’s maid to get clothes for you so we could sneak out of the palace, hide from our teammates—not to mention our countrymen—and enjoy a few hours together.”
“I said I’ll allow our circumstances aren’t the best.”
And they weren’t. It had been only a few weeks ago that Kunal had wondered why the gods had put Esha in his path, when theirs were destined to cross but never travel together. But things had changed.
The team had accepted him, a Fort soldier, and there were peace talks between their nations. He couldn’t help but hope that the rift between their nations would truly heal and they’d not have to hide anymore. What had been a fantastical dream seemed . . . possible.
“But we’re here now.”
Esha tilted her body toward him, looking up at him through her lashes, and he felt as if he were about to come undone.
“We are.”
Esha felt her body move instinctively to match Kunal’s.
“How has it been, by the way? Being back at the palace?” she asked.
“Different.”
Kunal paused and took her hand. The contact sent a spark of fire through her body.
“In a good or bad way?”
“Just different.” He sighed, looking up at her, his amber eyes resembling burnished gold in the pale moonlight. He traced a pattern over her knuckles, weaving his fingers through her own. “Haunted.”
Esha gave him a wry smile. “Everywhere I go, I feel as if I’ve been there before, only to remember I have.”
“I don’t even remember much, just flashes. But I keep wondering, keep wanting to know more—the palace was my family’s residence for years. It would’ve been my home.”
“It is your home.”
He shrugged, looking away for a moment. “Perhaps. I still have so much to learn about my past. About my . . . new talents.”
“One step at a time, Kunal.”
His fingers hadn’t stopped trailing her skin, but his eyes grew darker.
“No more talk of the past or the unknown. I don’t want to waste our time. Not when I finally get you to myself for a few hours,” he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
“You know I’m one of Harun’s advisers now, right? I’m an important woman. Sought-after. My time is highly valuable.”
He grinned, pulling her closer as people moved around them. They were just two more besotted lovers in the crowd, and people rolled their eyes but moved away. His hand was splayed across her back, like embers against her skin.
“Did I mention I’m a prince?” he said, his voice low.
“Oh, really?”
“Long-lost. Apparently, that beautiful palace is my home.” He pointed at the outline of the Pink Palace in the distance.
“Is that supposed to impress me?”
“Does it?” he asked, cracking a smile.
“I think you’re going to have to try a little harder.”
It felt as if something was pulling her toward him, an invisible thread that kept being tugged between them, insistent, demanding. Kunal said nothing, simply staring at her, sending shivers down her spine.
“What, no clever retort, soldier?” she teased.
“You’re just so pretty,” he said softly.
Esha had heard more elegant and intricate compliments, but the sincerity with which he said it—the way his voice lightened and his eyes became butter—did her in. She drew closer to him. It never ceased to astound her, this connection between them.
“Watch out!”
A young girl and two of her friends barr
eled into them, pushing Esha over into Kunal’s arms. They stopped and turned around to apologize, but then proceeded to giggle at them.
“What’s the hurry, little one?” Kunal asked.
“The dancing! It’s starting!” she said, hastily adding, “emenda.”
“Then I suppose we better follow her,” Kunal said, a gleam in his eye.
They were thrust into a large circle of dancers, chaotic and full of life. Even by Esha’s standards, Kunal picked up the rhythm of the dance quickly. The circle moved together as if they took the same breaths, bending and bowing and jumping in time, the men across from the women.
Kunal’s face was so bright he was channeling the sun, his eyes wide like he never wanted to stop drinking in the scene around him.
Her heart pounded as the music started to crescendo and partners drew closer to each other. Kunal pulled her in, after a quick look at the other dancers. She reveled in the feeling, the closeness of his body, and the warmth of his touch. The way his hips brushed her own.
The music dipped and, soon, came to a close. They let go of each other and she instantly felt cold without his warmth. The drums started up again, and Esha checked the sky and the nearest sundial. Their time was almost over.
Esha dragged Kunal out of the crowd despite his protests.
“Where are we going? There’s more dancing.”
“But if we’re dancing we can’t do this,” she said in turn. Esha pulled him into an alleyway and stood on her toes to kiss him.
“An alleyway?” he said.
“Old habits die hard.”
She pulled him so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, his stubble against her lips, her neck. The heat between them intensified and twisted, turning from a low simmer to a raging flame.
She winced suddenly, a slight pain lancing up her torso where her wound was. He pulled back immediately, brushing the hair away from her face.
“Too much?”
“Never.”
He raised an eyebrow. “If you’re in pain, tell me.”
“It was nothing,” she said, before pulling him back in. “We don’t get these moments very often, Kunal.” She grinned against his mouth. “So please shut up and kiss me.”
He did as she asked.
The next day, Esha woke up to the sound of Aditi’s struggled breathing.
She quickly dressed and opened the door to her sitting room, where Aditi was dragging in a huge basket of lily and jasmine garlands—and mangoes.
“For you, my lady,” she said. “From an admirer?”
Esha smirked but said nothing, and Aditi handed her a letter. Aditi whistled an old Jansan love song, and Esha shook her head.
She unfurled the note, sinking into the armchair that looked out a tall window and into the courtyard below.
When I think of you, Esha, I imagine the monsoon.
Warm and life-giving. Fierce and powerful.
A contradiction, just like a warrior poet.
Esha smiled to herself, rereading the note again.
A monsoon.
She flipped her knife and cut into a mango, carving off a huge chunk. Perhaps they were well suited.
Chapter 14
Kunal followed the other Senaps into the locker room of the stadium, marveling at the pink sandstone courtyard and the spiraling, white marble citadel that loomed over it.
The Mela had officially begun, and with it the city was changed. The festivities had started yesterday, during Chinarath, and the city hadn’t stopped celebrating since. It had taken Kunal almost half an hour extra just to make it to the locker room of the stadium from the palace, winding his way on the Queen’s Road through the procession of people dancing and whooping, waving the flag colors of their favorite house or guild.
The qualifiers had been in the palace courtyard, but that day’s archery event would be in the ancient stadium, built by the Jansan queens during the Age of Dreams.
A thrum of excitement shot through Kunal at the prospect of participating in such an old tradition. His uncle had never allowed him to, which he always believed was because his uncle thought him unqualified or a disappointment.
Now he wondered if it was to keep him hidden. He’d never know. But Kunal did know he’d have to be careful, good enough to win but forgettable enough that he didn’t draw attention. His life was at stake—if his parentage was discovered it would make him a target. Vardaan would want him dead, and Vardaan’s enemies would want him as a pawn.
Kunal dropped his pack on the sandy ground and grabbed a cloth with which to clean his bow. He set to work checking the tightness of the string and ensuring each of his arrows was properly fletched.
He strategized ahead, laying out all the various ways this part of the mission could go wrong. There was calm in those moments. He could feel his breath coming a bit easier. Satisfied that everything was in order, he slung his bow across his shoulder and walked out to the small courtyard to the left of the locker room, where there was a water pump. Kunal pumped water into a thick stream, taking a drink and splashing his face to cool down.
“Thirsty?” someone said. Kunal shot up, his hand on the knife in his waist sash.
He’d recognize that voice anywhere.
“What are you doing here?” Kunal moved backward, making sure his back was to the wall.
Laksh followed, raising an eyebrow at him. He came out of the shadows, an uttariya thrown over his head and across his shoulders, hooding his face.
“Not much of a welcome for one of your oldest friends.”
“Friend is an interesting term, Laksh,” Kunal said.
“I saw Alok earlier. I’d suggest a reunion, but somehow I don’t think you’d be agreeable to one,” his old friend said, taking a step forward.
Laksh was the same, and not. His voice was rougher, but he had that same look in his eyes, as if the world were a joke and if Kunal came just a little bit closer, Laksh would let him in on it.
Or stab him in the back.
Kunal could make out a faint line of purple across Laksh’s temple, reaching down his face, neck, and collarbone. Laksh noticed.
“That was a gift from your lady friend. That poison was quite difficult to find an antidote for.” He grinned, but it wasn’t a pleasant one. “I’ll have to thank her for that in person.”
Kunal’s body stiffened at the thought of Laksh anywhere near Esha. The first pricking of shifting closed in on him, and Kunal hummed to himself in his head to calm down.
“What do you want?”
“Were you always this bad of a conversationalist, Kunal?”
He growled at Laksh in response. The former soldier sighed and moved closer to Kunal, his hands up.
“I’m not here to hurt you. I came to help.” Laksh looked Kunal up and down. “You might need it. You don’t know what’s in store for you during the Mela.”
“Archery.”
“Always so literal. Did you notice that Vardaan mentioned ‘additions’ to the tournament? Did you wonder what they were?”
He had, in fact. But he wouldn’t let Laksh rattle him again.
“I just want to help you win, Kunal.”
“Just? I’m learning there is never ‘just’ anything with you.”
Laksh laughed. “I’ve missed you. You were always the moral compass for me, did you know that? Even though you were dutiful, you never went to excess. You didn’t enjoy the horrible things you had to do, unlike some others.”
“I still did them,” Kunal said. “It doesn’t make it right.”
“Nothing was ever right at the Fort. The only thing good about my time there was you and Alok.”
There was a sincerity to Laksh’s voice. A moon ago Kunal would have said with full confidence that he would know when Laksh was lying. That Laksh would never lie to him. But Kunal no longer trusted himself when it came to his old friend.
“I wish I could believe you, Laksh. But I’ve seen you lie easier than breathe.”
“I haven’t revealed
your true identity yet,” Laksh said, as if it should absolve him. “I haven’t told my leader—”
“Dharmdev.”
“—or anyone else. Do you know why?”
Kunal wanted to hear Laksh say that he hadn’t told them to protect him. But there had to be more. He looked closer at Laksh, inspecting his clothing, the gauntness of his face, the way he leaned to one side.
“They won’t let you back,” Kunal said, throwing out a wild guess.
Laksh flinched. “We were brothers once. I haven’t revealed you, believe me or not, because I still care for you, Kunal.”
“Brothers do not lie to each other.”
“Is that so?”
“Don’t mock me, Laksh.”
Laksh sighed. “You make it too easy.”
He grinned, but Kunal glared back.
Laksh’s face twisted. “Have you considered how I might feel? You’ve deserted, and yet you joined the Blades. You’re willing to forgive Dharkans like the Viper, whose mission it was to kill your uncle, but you haven’t forgiven me. Your brother in arms. Your own kind.”
“We’re all descended from the same gods.”
“And how little that matters in the real world.”
“I don’t want this world, then. I want to build a better one,” Kunal said.
“Then let’s build a better one.”
Kunal was about to retort back but hesitated.
Laksh swooped in. “Let me help you. Let me show you we can work together. You shouldn’t trust the Crescent Blades.”
“I trust them more than you right now,” Kunal said, but the vehemence he had before was fading the more Laksh spoke.
“You wound me,” Laksh said, clutching a hand to his heart. His eyes hardened. “That Esha, she is a beautiful girl. Quite a catch. I’m assuming you’d do anything to keep her safe.”
“She doesn’t need anyone’s help for that.”
Laksh waved a hand. “Yes, of course. But unforeseen things happen all the time, right?” He paused, letting his words sink in. “You’ve entered the tournament. Win this round. You can make an excuse to your Blades, slip of the hand or whatever.”
“And why would I do that?”
“I’m sure you can think of a few reasons, Kunal Samyad. Have you had a chance to talk to the king recently?”
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