“I’m glad you agree. When we abandon our duty, catastrophe follows. It happened during the Blighted War and even ten years ago. Vardaan weakened the old bond, though mankind had been putting stress on it for decades, and the connection we used to have with the gods is now tenuous. I’ve been able to keep the bond together, barely, with my blood and the knowledge I’ve acquired about the original ritual. I’ve been searching for—” King Mahir looked away, his face blank when he turned back, like he had made a mistake.
“Your Highness?”
“Sorry, I got caught up in a memory. The privilege of the old,” King Mahir said with a chuckle, though he was barely over forty. Kunal saw it for what it was—a pivot—and allowed it.
“You’ve been able to shift under emotional duress, and you’ve noticed some of your senses and powers finding you, but you can’t control it. You must learn to connect to your powers, find your song. But once you start down this path, you won’t be able to turn away.” Kunal understood. He wouldn’t be able to turn away from his birthright anymore after this. He would be a Samyad.
“I’m ready,” Kunal said.
“Then let’s begin.”
Another party, another noble’s boring life story. Esha smiled and gave a titter of encouraging laughter, her eyes alight with feigned interest.
Esha fidgeted in her marigold embroidered sari, the thick gold belt around her waist digging in. Today’s party was hosted by the House Ayul, the room dripping with ribbons and saffron marigolds, one of the many parties held between each Sun Mela event. Aside from the nobles’ parties, a number of unofficial events had popped up around the city for the competitors who wanted to practice or for those who narrowly missed the cut. A grand time for those willing to gamble away their money—or for those who were there to facilitate it.
A hand tugged at her, and Esha spun around. Arpiya was decked in a peacock-blue sari, her short hair pinned up into waves that framed her round face.
“Lady Esha, I’ve been looking for you,” she said before offering her apologies to the nobleman.
“Thank you,” Esha whispered as they quickly walked away. “How could you tell I was dying to get away?”
“You were grasping your goblet a bit too tight. You know these ceremonial goblets are made of pure gold, right? They bend with pressure. That one will have the imprint of your fingertips for a while.”
Esha looked down at it and then at her. “Oh.”
Arpiya chuckled and beckoned at her to follow as she wove through the groups of people standing. One circle was full of young noble girls who looked infinitely bored, glancing at everyone with disdain over the rim of their chilled glasses of lassi. A Yavar warrior held court in another circle, telling the story of a battle with large hand motions.
Harun was in the corner, deep in conversation with Lord Mayank of House Pramukh’s adviser. He hadn’t looked at Esha the entire evening, barely nodding his head at her when she had entered the room.
It pained her to think that there was a wedge between them. She had assumed he’d be annoyed, maybe angry. But hurt? She hadn’t seen it coming.
He was right. She had assumed the worst of him. She was worse than the dirt on the bottom of a Fort soldier’s shoe.
Arpiya peered at her again, and this time, Esha didn’t have the heart to pretend that she was okay. Her conversation with Harun had been playing over and over in her mind.
“I told you to tell him,” Arpiya said. Esha could see from the way her lips were pursed that she was clearly trying not to say more.
“I told him what I thought was relevant,” Esha said.
Arpiya clucked her tongue at her. “You’re digging your heels in, and that won’t help anyone. Just apologize—”
“I did—”
“Spend some quality time with him—”
Esha turned red. “I can’t do that here,” she said quickly, and then thought of Kunal. “Anymore.” Or at least she thought. Kunal and she had never declared themselves.
Arpiya raised a single eyebrow. “I didn’t mean in that way. But interesting that your mind went there first.” Esha made a strangled sound. “Anyway, I just meant time. You keep sneaking off when you’re not on the mission. You think he hasn’t noticed? We all have.”
Esha closed her eyes. That had nothing to do with Kunal—she’d only seen him maybe once or twice and only for a few moments.
She had been trying to track the Falcon Squad after the archery event failure. How could she tell the team that? They were supposed to be focused on Reha, but Esha couldn’t get her parents’ killer out of her head. Her mission was to sneak them into the citadel, rescue Reha, and make alliances that would help them gather troops to put her on the throne. Not revenge.
She blew out a sigh, looking at Arpiya. “It’s not what you think.”
“Not my business what you do at night.” Arpiya leaned in. “Well, actually, I have so many questions. Is Kunal—”
“It’s not Kunal!”
“Fine, Harun—”
“Not Harun either!” Esha sputtered. Arpiya’s eyebrow rose even higher as she waited for a real answer.
Esha groaned. “It’s another man. The one who killed my parents. He’s in town for the Mela. I overheard that his squad, the Falcon Squad, was going to be the guests of honor when I went to meet the Scales.”
Arpiya’s eyebrow dropped, replaced by a look of such sympathy and love that Esha felt like breaking down and telling her everything. “I’m not here to tell you to do anything. However, if you asked, I would remind you that we all have our ghosts and nightmares, Esha. Every single one of us on the team. And we’ve each handled it our own way, which also means you can handle this another way. If you so choose,” she said gently.
“I can’t,” Esha said. “I made a promise to their souls in that dungeon in Gwali. Their deaths couldn’t have been for naught.”
“Didn’t they die to save you and the princess?”
Esha looked down at her goblet, the fingerprints now firmly dented in. “They shouldn’t have died at all.”
Arpiya reached over to grasp Esha’s hand, somehow knowing that she was struggling to hold back her emotions in that moment. They smiled at each other, and Esha was about to say something, consider that Arpiya might be right, when Harun crossed her vision.
Arpiya nodded at her.
“Go talk to him,” she said. “He’ll forgive you. He cares too much about you not to.”
Harun? He cared about her as much as he cared about anyone on the team. They had always edged around the issue of their feelings for each other. Every time she had tried to speak of more . . .
Esha shut down that line of thinking. There would be nothing between them if she couldn’t fix this. Esha hurried over before someone else took the open spot next to Harun.
Esha noted the position of the Yavar heir—Yamini—and Vardaan as she walked over. Vardaan had been mainly absent from the parties, causing the ones he was at to become spectacles—probably what he wanted.
Harun didn’t look like a prince tonight but a king in the making. King Mahir was there as well, the solidity and maturity of wisdom in his face. But Harun shone through, like a freshly polished pearl—their future.
He looked over to his right briefly, his jaw tightening as he spotted her.
“You’ve been a hard man to get ahold of,” she said in greeting, hoping to lighten the thick air between them. He was standing straight, his hands clasped around a goblet as he surveyed the room.
“Well, I am the prince,” he said, still facing outward. “I’ve been busy preparing for the first day of our negotiations.”
“And I’m one of your advisers.”
Something flickered in his face—disappointment?
“Is this official business, then?”
She was about to answer, but he didn’t let her start. “If it is, have you had a chance to spend time with Lady Yamini? Or with the Jansan nobles? There’s one from House Pramukh, Lord Mayank, who might
be amenable to our cause. He’s apparently the talk of the town—”
“Harun,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”
His posture sagged, and he finally looked at her. “I know you are. But it’s not that simple.”
“I know, you want to see action. And I’m working on it. I went to the library, and I think we might have information on the ritual soon—”
“Esha, that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what? We’ve had arguments before, we’ve played stupid games, and we’ve been able to get through it all, and that’s never been simple,” she said, unable to hide the frustration in her voice.
“This isn’t just an argument. You should know that,” he said, simmering.
“Then what is it?”
Esha wanted him to say it. If only so she could cursed well fix it.
“That you don’t know the answer to that question . . .” Harun sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
“Tell me what I have to do.”
“Esha, how can you not know how I feel—?”
His voice broke off as a shadow approached.
“Have I interrupted something?” King Vardaan walked up to them, waving between the two of them. Lady Yamini was behind him in an exquisitely painted sari, a few other Yavar at her side.
Harun straightened, and Esha turned to face the newcomers.
“No, of course not,” Harun said, his voice a tad flat.
“I heard from your adviser that there have yet to be formal introductions between you and the Yavar. I haven’t made your acquaintance yet either, my lady,” Vardaan said, a smile on his lips as he looked Esha over.
Something tightened in Harun’s body, and she resisted the urge to calm him. She could handle herself.
Esha bowed forward with her hands clasped in greeting to the king. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. And our most esteemed friend,” she said, turning to Yamini. Yamini bowed back in return.
“This is Esha Amara, the king’s ward and my longtime friend,” Harun said, a low note of warning in the way he said friend. It gave her a little hope that he was still using that word.
The king inclined his head at her in acknowledgment, his fingers lightly tapping the goblet in his hand. “A pleasure.”
At that moment a nobleman walked over and bowed to them. Vardaan narrowed his eyes at the newcomer. He was a strapping young man with a strong chin and black hair that curled around his ears, one lone curl lying against his forehead. Esha’s gaze was drawn to the crest on his sword—House Pramukh.
This was Lord Mayank.
“I’m sorry to intrude, but I have yet to meet the esteemed Dharkan prince,” he said, placing four fingers against his chest. “I’m Mayank Pramukh.” He moved with surprising grace for a Jansan.
“Neither of you intruded at all. My prince and I were just arguing over whether the jaggery dates or mango custard was better. I think it was the custard, but my prince disagrees,” she said, tossing a look at Harun.
“I’d have to agree with the prince, my lady,” Lord Mayank said. “Though I’m not fond of disagreeing with someone as beautiful as you.”
Esha smiled.
“My lady,” Esha called to Yamini. “What are your thoughts?”
She pondered the question. “I’d have to agree with you, Lady Esha.”
“Two to two. Your Highness?” Esha said, turning to look back at Vardaan, keeping up this little game of courtiers. He hadn’t stopped looking at her, something thoughtful in his eyes.
Her heart stopped. Did he recognize her as the girl in the dungeons, the one who was thought to have helped the princess escape?
Esha kept the fake smile on her face. Someone brushed her hand, and she didn’t look, already knowing by the shape of the calluses on his fingertips that it was Harun. It tugged her back into her body and out of her memories.
“I’d have to agree with you, my lady. Mango custard has been one of my favorites since I was a young man. It seems we have something in common.”
Esha demurred, trying to look pleased at the notion, before turning to Harun. “Looks like the mango custard has won, my prince.”
“Looks like it has. I suppose you’ll want my jeweled dagger. I’ll send it to you by servant tonight.”
Esha tried not to look surprised. She always forgot how good Harun was at these games—with a few words he had revealed her strength, accepting that she was right and indicating that she knew how to use a dagger and understood its worth. “I’m looking forward to it, my prince.”
“And why would someone as lovely as you need a dagger?” Lord Mayank asked. “I’m sure you’d be able to cut through your enemies’ hearts with one sharp glance.”
Vardaan lifted his goblet as if toasting to the words. “What poetry, Mayank.”
If Esha wasn’t so annoyed at the idea that a woman wouldn’t need to be armed, she might have been charmed. Lady Yamini stiffened at Vardaan’s toast.
“The Yavar believe every woman should be armed.”
Lord Mayank dipped his head. “I was merely trying to give the lovely Lady Esha a compliment.”
An adviser showed up at Vardaan’s elbow, and he excused himself for a moment.
“Lady Yamini, I would love to hear more about the Yavar training camps for girls. Would you care to take a walk? Lord Mayank, you’re welcome as well, unless you’d rather stay here with the men. Don’t want you to get cut by my gaze,” she said softly.
Lord Mayank choked a bit on his sip of wine, and Harun reached out to hit him on the back, hiding his grin poorly.
“I would love to,” Yamini said, depositing her goblet on one of the trays.
Esha was burning to know what Harun had been about to say before they were interrupted. But more than ever, Dharka needed a united front.
So Esha held out a hand to Lady Yamini as she approached, a smile high on her cheeks.
A curved blade hovered in the darkness above Esha’s head, like an executioner’s tool.
Bronze cuffed hands held her back, her screams rending the air, but she couldn’t break free. She couldn’t run to her parents, and she drowned in her agony as she watched the soldier blink his owl eyes and move with focused precision forward. She kicked and bit and snarled, and when the inevitable came she tried to avert her eyes, but the hands kept her still, pushed her head forward.
Esha saw and heard it all. The slow, graceful way her mother fell into a heap, as if she had only gone to sleep. Her father’s cries and how they faded into silence.
How everything went breathlessly quiet.
And the soldiers turned toward her, dark ichor eyes burning beneath their bronze helmets. And General Hotha, smiling.
A scream tore from her throat, piercing the silence.
She would make them pay. She would find every one of them and watch—
Movement jarred her awake, and Esha shot up, grabbing the knife under her pillow.
Aditi gasped. “My lady.”
Esha recoiled. She scooted back into her covers, shoving the knife under her pillow again as if Aditi could unsee it.
The girl stared at Esha.
“You were having a nightmare, my lady.”
Esha pressed a cold hand to her face, calming the rage in her blood.
“Another minute and you might’ve woken up the whole wing.”
“I’m sorry, Aditi,” Esha said. “Thank you.”
Aditi nodded, averting her eyes as Esha rose out of bed.
“My . . . sister. She gets the dreams too. Terrors, more accurately.” Aditi hesitated. “Are you all right, my lady?”
Had she revealed anything? Esha’s mind shifted through five different lies she could tell, but she was tired. And heartsick after another reminder of her unfulfilled vow to her parents.
“No,” she said quietly. “I’m not.”
Aditi sat on the bed next to her and laid a light hand on Esha’s shoulder.
“Let me get you some tea.”
Kunal ma
rched down the palace pathway to the outer wall. He’d been annoyed since he awoke—perhaps from disrupted sleep due to carousing champions or from not having a moment to himself.
If it wasn’t the new patrol schedule, or meeting requests from houses that wanted to sponsor him for the Mela, then he was in training for the Mela—locked in a room with the king. He already felt as if he was connecting to a past he thought he would never know. And that was due to King Mahir’s generosity.
The more time he spent with the older man, the worse he felt about leaving King Mahir in the dark about their plan to rescue Reha. He’d tried mentioning his concerns to Esha in one of their notes, asking what their plan was, but she hadn’t responded—in fact, she had completely ignored his question.
It was beginning to feel like there was a growing list of things Esha was holding close to her chest since the jungle. Since she had reunited with her team—and with Harun. Alok said Kunal was just being an arse because he was used to being in charge and in the know.
Which only annoyed Kunal. The king had a right to know his daughter might be alive. It was as simple as that.
Kunal took up his post outside the western outer wall. He set his spear on the ground, trying to calm his mind as he waited for the morning patrol to come. Footsteps pattered across the stone, and Kunal straightened, relieved to hear the soldiers approaching.
But it wasn’t the footsteps of soldiers. Laksh moved into the light, and Kunal let out a deep groan.
“What? Thought I forgot about you?”
How was it that Laksh was able to keep finding him? Was he being followed? Or did he have access to the Senap’s patrol schedule?
Laksh’s face had gained back some of its fullness, but that hunger was still in his eyes.
“Tsk. No need for that.” Laksh smiled, thin as ice. “This is a quick meeting. You might actually enjoy it.”
“Unlikely,” Kunal said.
“Are your manners always like this? No wonder the Viper has been spending more time with the prince.”
He narrowed his eyes at Laksh, trying to figure out what he was playing at, but the man’s face remained mostly impassive. Just that infernal smirk.
The Archer at Dawn Page 14
