Esha ran as fast as her lungs would allow her, sliding down and under to send three arrows deep into the beast’s belly.
She landed on the sand heavily, grunting as every bone in her body rattled against the ground. Her vision swam, but she was able to look up to see Kunal still holding on to the now-wounded animal. It looked like he was speaking to the animal, subduing it.
To anyone else it looked like Kunal was going to be the new favorite.
The lion tamer. The Archer.
Esha groaned, getting to her feet as four sharp conchs blew.
She drew a bloody hand against her brow as she looked over to see the other lion, badly wounded in the corner. The other group of fighters was scattered, a number on the ground with injuries. A few were slowly getting to their feet, while two didn’t look as if they’d ever get up again. Their blood stained the sand.
Esha staggered up, making sure her turban was low as she glanced up at the royal boxes.
This was only the first competition of the Mela.
What did Vardaan have planned next?
Chapter 16
Kunal strode out of the stadium wearing a new black armband that signaled he was a Mela champion. He also had a new name from the crowd, who had dubbed him “the Archer.” As if he needed another problem.
The arena was emptying out below, after the competitors had been named and heralded. Fifty in total, and Kunal had caught only some of their names—Tushar Inyar, Punohar Pramukh, Narotham Suresh. Chand made it through, as had Esha. But she’d disappeared before the heralds could discover the young man’s name and add him to the next competition’s list, the mace fighting.
Kunal walked toward where the nobility and merchant boxes would empty out, hoping Esha had made it back before anyone realized.
“Senap Kunal,” a voice called out. Kunal turned to the prince.
Harun caught up to him quickly, with Arpiya, Esha, and the rest of the team trailing behind. Esha was in a fresh sari now. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but he was glad she had made her way back. She had told him she had been working a lead in the city when she had gotten into a spot of trouble and ran into the waiting hall. But she skirted around any specifics.
Not that he was one to comment on hiding something. Her disguise had been enough of a distraction that he had been able to put off her questions about his stunt.
“Congratulations on an incredible feat of archery,” the prince said loudly, as other nobles passed. Once they had turned the corner, the prince’s face transformed into fury.
“What in the Moon Lord’s name were you doing? What happened to our plan to not draw attention to you?” the prince whispered through gritted teeth. Even the rest of the team looked grim.
“It was probably just an accident, right?” Aahal said.
“An accident? He was leading from the first round. If I knew you wanted to show off, I wouldn’t have put you in,” the prince said.
Kunal looked to Esha, who was still silent, a vacant expression on her face.
“It wasn’t just your call. It was Esha’s too.”
At her name, Esha woke up. “Harun, it seemed like a mistake,” she said.
“Am I the only one who thinks a mistake like that is impossible?”
Bhandu raised his hands up a little, looking at Kunal. “It seems unlikely, cat eyes.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Esha said. “I’m not happy he disobeyed a direct order, and it does change our plans. But maybe not for the worse. He’ll have more access now. Kunal, do you realize that your name is already on everyone’s lips? They’re calling you ‘the Archer’—after the mythical Archer who slew a dozen lions.”
“Didn’t he die from a snakebite?” Bhandu whispered to Arpiya.
Arpiya shushed him.
Kunal blinked rapidly, the realization finally hitting him. It was the last thing he wanted.
“See, he didn’t think of the prestige. He didn’t try to sabotage,” Arpiya said. “I think.”
“I didn’t,” Kunal replied. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“I do,” a deep voice said, approaching from the shadows. The man had thick black hair, with a white streak through the left side, and a sharp gaze like Harran steel. He wore an opulent, jewel-encrusted crown. “I know what came over him.”
“Father?” the prince’s voice questioned.
The others immediately dropped into bows with their palms together, but King Mahir held up a hand and they rose.
“Your sense is usually keener in these matters, Harun. Have you really not seen it? Or felt it yet? I’m surprised. Something must be on your mind.”
His son looked at him in confusion.
“He’s one of us, son. More precisely, he’s one of them. A Samyad.”
A ripple of shock went through the team. The prince looked horrified. He must have realized this meant they were cousins.
“I thought there was something off about him, but I assumed it was because he was a soldier,” Harun said.
“How did you know?” Kunal asked, his voice quiet.
“It’s the song of your blood. We can hear the songs of other blood that is akin to ours. Yours is fast, fierce, free. The song of the Samyads and the eagles of Naria.” King Mahir pointed at his hand. “Put your weapon away.”
Kunal hadn’t even realized he was gripping it. Esha stood still, looking between the two of them but saying nothing.
“Cat eyes? Is what?” Bhandu said.
“I’m sure Kunal had a reason for not telling us,” Aahal asserted.
Kunal gave Aahal a small, grateful smile.
The prince was silent, and his eyes weren’t on Kunal. They were on Esha. “I’m sure he does,” he said. “Apparently, honesty is an easy currency with this team.”
King Mahir put a hand on his son’s shoulder, and the touch drew the prince back into himself. “His song is new, his power uncontrolled. The poor boy must be suffering. I take it you only recently discovered your parentage?”
There was no point in dissembling. “Yes, sir. Only a few weeks ago.”
The king stared at him for a few moments, and Kunal straightened, feeling as if he were at inspection at the Fort. They had exchanged only a few words, but Kunal liked the king. And anyone who could make the prince stop talking.
“Another one of our kind. We’re dwindling now,” the king said, wistfulness and a deeper note of sadness entering his voice. They all knew why, but it was easy to forget the Night of Tears had torn the fabric of an ancient family, one that had been entrusted with powers direct from the gods.
“Of course, if my son would give me heirs, I might not be so sad,” the king said, raising an eyebrow at the prince, who turned a bright shade of tomato red. Kunal didn’t miss the quick glance the king had thrown at Esha, whose impassive mask cracked.
Bhandu snickered a bit before Harun shot him an angry look.
“Father—”
“That’s a matter for another time. Harun, we must take Kunal under our wing.” The king walked over to Kunal, clasping him on the shoulder. “Who were your mother and father, child?”
Kunal felt as if he were eight years old again, arriving at the Fort and having to tell his story. He felt small, lost. Who were his mother and father? He thought he had known, but there was still so much he didn’t know.
“Nirbhay Hotha and Payal Dhagan—Payal Samyad,” he said quietly.
“Dhagan. Interesting last name choice for her.” The king’s eyes were kind. “Payal. She was a bright ray of sunshine and my wife’s source of joy. She loved her sister, and she would have loved you, nephew.”
Nephew.
Kunal swallowed heavily, suddenly overwhelmed. The king’s words were like water in a desert. They hit him in the depths of his soul, where he believed he would always be alone.
“I can’t let your power grow like a weed, Kunal. It’ll be a danger to everyone if you’re not in control.”
A danger? Kunal wanted to ask more, but the king pulled
away. “Report to me tomorrow, early morning. I’ll put in a request for a personal guard while staying here, but it’s up to you to get yourself assigned. We’ll start lessons then.”
Kunal nodded and the king swept away.
Aahal and Bhandu looked to be bursting with questions. Arpiya was talking to Harun in a low voice. Farhan was standing close to Esha, who looked a bit struck, frozen even.
Kunal cleared his throat.
“Where should I start?”
Esha closed the door behind them, but Harun didn’t even wait.
“You knew,” he said, his voice low and accusing.
She thought about denying it, pretending that she had been as shocked as he was. But they had agreed to no secrets between them. She winced. No more secrets.
“I knew.”
“You knew, and you never mentioned. Never hinted. This wasn’t some cursed game. This is my sister’s life—”
“I weighed the benefits of you knowing versus the chance of you storming—which you are doing, by the way—and secrecy won out. There was nothing we could do with the knowledge, Harun.”
Harun looked as if he were going to tear his hair out. “Nothing we could do. Nothing we could do?”
“Nothing we could do with him that wouldn’t make the Blades lose our souls,” Esha said, her voice quiet. “What would we have done with him? Used him as a bargaining chip with Vardaan? It wouldn’t have worked, and we would have become as bad as him in the process. Worse even, for at least the Pretender King has had loyalty to his men.”
“You speak of loyalty, Esha, but I’m wondering if you know the meaning of the word,” Harun said.
Esha swallowed. “I deserve that.”
She reached for Harun’s hand before he could storm away, forcing him to look at her. He stared back, his long-lashed gaze unblinking.
“Harun, my loyalty is to Dharka, to you, and to him. Do you remember my stories of lemon boy? My friend from before?”
“Yes,” he said, some of the hardness in his mouth softening. “The boy who played Naran to your Naria.”
“That’s him.”
“That’s him?”
“Yes.”
His face tightened in disbelief. “Then you’ve been compromised since you met him.”
“That’s unfair.”
He refused to meet her gaze again.
“That’s unfair, Harun,” she repeated, angry now. “Just because I promised to keep someone else’s secret? I wasn’t compromised, I was trying to hold on to a bit of my past that was still alive.”
“I’m not faulting you for that—”
“Then what?”
Harun grabbed her arm, tugging her closer. “You and I made a pact, years ago, and it wasn’t just to the Blades or to Dharka. It was to each other. You will always be a part of the Blades. But do you even want to be?”
How could he even ask that of her? The Blades were her family. He was her friend—he was more than her friend. The ties that bound them were strong, laced with steel.
“Of course I do,” she said. She had never forgotten the pact they had made, under the banyan tree that stood proud in the center of Mathur.
Harun lifted her chin up with a finger, till their eyes were level. “Esha, you are the original Blade, steel forged from the fires of loss. But if you want something—else . . .”
Esha searched the depths of Harun’s gaze.
“I want to be here. I fought for years to see this through. But, Harun, it was Kunal’s life. You would’ve kept him in Mathur, and he deserved the chance to live. We’ve already been forced into roles, all of us.”
Harun should have known that more than anyone. But the openness in Harun’s face faded at the mention of Kunal’s name.
“You don’t know that,” Harun said softly. “You don’t know what I would have done. You assumed—but you’ve been gone often, Esha. Not everything has stayed the same. I haven’t. You certainly haven’t.”
“Harun, I—”
“I deserved your trust. But apparently, that has been given away to someone you’ve known for barely three moons,” he said, bitterness slipping into his voice. Esha saw him tucking it away, fighting to maintain his composure. Something he did as the prince, around people he didn’t care to let in.
She reached for him, but he pulled away.
“See to your soldier. Make sure he gets his training with my father so that he’s not a liability.”
“Harun, let’s talk about this—”
“No,” he said. “We needed to talk before. There’s nothing else to say now.”
He left the room without a single glance back.
Chapter 17
The Dharkan king’s quarters were magnificent, showered in pink marble, gold filigree, and encrusted rubies and emeralds. Kunal noted that there were no blue sapphires.
Kunal had convinced his captain to put him on the king’s guard, expressing a desire to prove himself as a new soldier. He knocked on the door of the inner chamber, and a servant welcomed him in. The king sat at a small desk farther into the room.
“Reporting for duty, sir.” Kunal pointed at the antechamber. “My partner is stationed outside, while I’ll be stationed inside for the morning patrol. Just to be extra careful.”
The king rose from his chair, tidying a few things into the drawers, and walked over, dismissing his servant from the room. A slight tremor ran through the king’s hand.
“I’m impressed. Hotha wouldn’t have trained you any other way.”
A mix of grief and betrayal hit Kunal, as it always did.
“You knew my uncle?”
The king nodded. “He was one of Vardaan’s closest friends. I also believe he was the worm in Vardaan’s ear before the coup. But that’s another matter I won’t burden you with.”
“I’d like to know,” Kunal said softly. “Not necessarily this, but I want to know more. I spent so many years unseeing and unhearing. I want to make up for it.”
King Mahir considered him for a moment before nodding. “Understood. But I can’t promise you’ll like what you hear. Come inside.”
Kunal put down his spear against the wall and followed the king’s lead in taking a seat.
“What do you know so far?” King Mahir asked.
“Not much,” Kunal admitted. “I began to shift only a few weeks ago.”
Kunal quickly summarized the discovery of his parentage and how his powers had grown over the past few weeks, leaving out any details as to why he was in Gwali or what the team was doing.
“You didn’t have your first shift until recently, yes? What caused it?” King Mahir asked.
“I lost control,” Kunal said. “My uncle had taught me that I must have control over myself at all times.”
“So this control that your uncle taught you. How did you employ it?”
Kunal considered the question. “It was like holding a tight vise around the neck of a snake. Hold it far away enough from you and you know it’s there, but there’s no worry of being bit. That’s how I experienced my emotions, as if they were the enemy.”
“But they’re not, are they?” the king asked softly.
“No.” Kunal’s fingers played with the fabric of his dhoti. “It wasn’t until I accepted them and felt them that I began to feel free, feel my power.”
King Mahir nodded, rising from his seat on the small chaise under the window. He tugged at a rope, and a curtain of silk tumbled down over the glass. He motioned for Kunal to stand up.
“The gods gave humanity the power to think and to feel, and when we cut off one of those two, we cut off a part of ourselves. What makes us human. In our case, it’s our connection to the land and its every inhabitant.”
King Mahir took a deep breath and let it out, repeating the process. When he looked up at Kunal, his eyes were the dark gold of a lion’s, and claws flashed dangerously where fingernails had been.
“You need control, but not over the parts of you that are human. Finding the connec
tion within your soul, your personal song, will allow you to pull on that connection when needed. As I’ve just shown. This is called phasing, being able to hold on to human and animal forms at once and at will. It’s difficult to master but essential.”
Kunal shifted his weight, uncertainty creeping over him. Could he do this?
“We won’t be starting with phasing, though. First, you’ll have to find your own song, your connection to the gods. Then you’ll be able to master your powers.”
“So far, whenever I’ve turned fully, it’s normally been out of my control. Why is that?” Kunal asked.
With slow precision, King Mahir began to transform his hands back. “Because you aren’t trained to find the balance in the connection. There’s a balance in everything—light and dark, sun and moon, fire and water. That same balance is in the land too, and we are the keepers of that. Our ability to shape-shift is a gift from the gods, but it is our burden too.”
“Burden?”
“You know about the ritual.” Kunal nodded. Everyone in the Southern Lands had some knowledge of the ritual, the blood sacrifice required to keep the land whole. “There is much to the ritual and the arcana of the ancients. It is our job to understand and protect that lore aside from maintaining the balance.”
“I thought it was just the scholars who studied it.”
King Mahir shook his head. “It’s passed down to every generation of Himyad and Samyad. It’s a sacred duty we have to our people. If we are to be the rulers of the land, shouldn’t we be the servants as well?”
Kunal felt himself nodding. The more he had considered his newfound heritage, and his old duty as a soldier, the more he had been wondering how they fit together. The nature of a monarchy was inherently unequal, the way Vardaan employed the term. But in the tales of old—or even of a decade ago—monarchy ruled hand in hand with the people. Local courts, tribunals, guild laws were all owned and perpetuated by the people.
The people were entrusted with their own governments, and the royalty was entrusted with their protection. And in his chest, Kunal felt a fierce need to protect, aside from the oath and role his uncle had forced on him.
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