The Archer at Dawn

by Swati Teerdhala

  “No clue,” she said. “I’m feeling rather stupid, actually.”

  “You? Never,” he said. “I’ve heard tales of you.”

  “And what might those be?”

  “Now, I can’t give away all my stories so easily, can I? You’ll never have a reason to talk to me again,” he said, smiling.

  It was a smile that lit up his entire face. Esha no longer wondered how he had maintained his status as the most eligible bachelor in Jansa. Thankfully, he had dropped the overt flirtations of their previous encounter. Perhaps it had been an act for Vardaan.

  “You’re not giving yourself enough credit, Lord Pramukh.”

  “No, no, that would have been my father. I’m far too young for that.”

  “So, you’re not interested in being Lord Pramukh? I’ve heard many reports to the contrary, my lord.”

  Lord Mayank raised an eyebrow. “Straight to it, are we?”

  Esha shrugged. It was well known that Vardaan refused to entrust Mayank with his father’s and family title. The reasons why were unknown, but Esha could guess. Vardaan was either jealous or saw a potential rival in the charismatic, beloved young man. Her theory was likely correct, if Mayank’s reaction was any indication.

  Esha’s eyes drifted below. Kunal was stretching, about to begin his match.

  “Interested in sports?”

  “I love a good match, yes,” she said, keeping her eyes below. The match started in earnest. Kunal narrowly avoided his opponent’s swing and started using footwork to knock his opponent off balance. Kunal’s opponent was a creature of strength, and her lemon boy had picked up on it.

  “Indeed. This one looks interesting. One of the fighters is clearly in a better position, strength on his side. The other smaller but more dexterous. The unassuming ones often win, precisely because they’ve been underestimated. My coins are on the smaller one. The Senap.”

  Esha gave Mayank a thoughtful look.

  “Mine too, my lord.”

  A moment’s pause. Silence between them, the audience roaring as Kunal knocked his opponent’s mace to the ground. Now they were fighting mace against sword.

  The smart move would have been to deliver a blow to his opponent’s leg, knocking him out, but Kunal wouldn’t do that. He was too damn honorable.

  To her surprise, Kunal lurched forward, aiming for the leg, before feinting the other way and landing a blow against his opponent’s cuirass. The other fighter flew backward from the impact, hitting the ground with a thud. And stayed down. The nobles around them roared in outrage or joy, exchanging coins under the silk folds of their clothes.

  “Your reports weren’t wrong.”

  Esha cocked her head at Lord Mayank.

  “About me. My title,” he elaborated. “But then again, don’t we all want what’s rightfully ours? And when denied, well, it does make one slightly put out.”

  Esha smiled. “Indeed. I can understand that, as can the prince. And we would always be willing to help out any . . . friend if we felt they were being unjustly treated. But, of course, there is more than enough time for this sort of talk. I get ahead of myself.”

  Satisfied that Kunal had passed this first match—and without a scratch—she sat back. Esha realized she and Lord Mayank might have more in common than she had originally thought.

  But did they have a common enemy?

  A maidservant passed by them with trays of sweet yogurt drinks and assorted fruits. Esha spotted a piece of mango and carefully popped it into her mouth, pondering the question as another noble caught Mayank’s attention.

  “—my money is on that Senap captain. The handsome one,” Lady Seshi said.

  “Well, that’s a useless description. Most of the Senaps are strong, strapping men,” one of the ladies complained.

  “No, no, the one who has those unique—”

  “You mean the one with the eyes like amber sunstones? He just won magnificently,” one of the ladies said, a sigh in her voice. “He fought like a fierce tiger.”

  Esha snapped to attention as she realized they were talking about Kunal, trying to hide her frown at the idea of any of their eyes on him.

  “Ooh, he is handsome. I wonder if he’s also like a tiger in—”

  The woman to her far right looked shocked, and Esha’s face flushed, from the implication and from indignation—for Kunal, of course.

  “Runtika!”

  “What? We were all thinking it.”

  “Oh, the Falcon Squad,” someone said venomously. “Ruining everything.”

  “The Falcon Squad is here?” Esha asked, snapping to attention. “I didn’t see them here.”

  “They are guests of honor, and no, they’re not here.” Runtika leaned forward. “Leela is only groaning because they’re having a special Mela ceremony for them tomorrow, and she has to go because she lost a bet. Those ceremonies are terribly boring.”

  “Sounds like it,” Esha said, her words casual even as her mind whirred, a new plan nestling into her. The ceremony. “They’d be wearing their regalia, right?”

  Runtika nodded, her mouth full of rainbow sweets. She swallowed quickly and then sighed. “They look so handsome in their regalia.”

  “Helmets?”

  “Yes,” the girl said. “Don’t love those, though.”

  Esha murmured in agreement.

  She couldn’t help it. The uncertainty of the past few days had made her desperate for something to go right. The ceremony was the perfect opportunity. It shouldn’t interfere with their plans and she could get lost in the crowds.

  Justice would finally be hers. She’d end it during the ceremony, once and for all. Vardaan wouldn’t win. He wouldn’t steal this from her, and he wouldn’t steal Reha either.

  “A brass coin for your thoughts?” Lord Mayank said, startling her.

  “Are my thoughts worth so little?” Esha tilted her head at Mayank.

  “A gold one, then. A cart of them.”

  “You wouldn’t want to know them, my lord. Just the tedious thoughts of a lady.”

  “You know, House Pramukh values both men and women,” he said. “Our traditions haven’t changed in our region, and I’m committed to never let them. The . . . current rule in Jansa may have moved away from this, but I hope you know you can be open with me. We could be friends, as you mentioned.”

  “I’m grateful for the offer, my lord. One could always use more friends,” she said softly.

  The competitors below had finished up their match, one of the fighters walking off with a limp, holding his side.

  “Come now, Lord Mayank, let’s talk of fun things. Tell me one of your stories,” she said, turning to her new, potential friend and tucking away her troubled thoughts for later.

  Kunal pulled himself back into the training ring, rotating his shoulder and wincing. A light muscle pull that was aching, but nothing dislodged or broken. He supposed it was the best he could hope for.

  The second match had been difficult, and the next one would only be worse as the amateur fighters were eliminated. His strategy had worked with his first opponent, throwing him off-balance and taking his mace out of play. It had taken longer with the second fighter, and he had almost been walloped in the head, his shoulder taking the brunt of it instead.

  There was a reason mace fighting had become heavily regulated since the ancient times. It had been the main weapon of Vasu the Wanderer, who had accompanied Naran and Naria on the quest to fulfill the first blood ritual. To this day, Vasu was revered by the Yavar, not just for being their ancestor but for his valor in their quest. It had always puzzled Kunal that Vasu, and the Yavar, revered the gods yet had rejected the bond to the land.

  He glanced up to the stands, at the tall, curved spears of the Yavar. They held a festival every year in honor of Vasu and were probably itching to have one of their fighters win. Kunal hoped he wouldn’t have to face one.

  There were a few more matches before his last one, so Kunal went to fill up his waterskin. The heat was bruta
l that day, beating down with a viciousness, determined to wring every last drop of strength from him. It didn’t help that they were outfitted in metal cuirasses, donned to protect from the steel maces. It was surprisingly civil—usually the competitions were a bit more brutal, though he supposed opening up the tournament to other countries required precautions.

  But after the archery tournament, Kunal knew this civility wouldn’t last, not in the final round. He wanted to brace himself, but he didn’t know what for.

  More wild beasts? Different weapons or multiple opponents?

  The conch blew, and Kunal sighed, wiping his brow and taking one last drink of his waterskin.

  He’d find out soon.

  Kunal wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the crowds of the Mela, all there for a chance to see him win—or fail spectacularly. Now that failure had a whole different meaning for him as the Archer.

  People had bows painted on their cheeks, others waved flags in his honor. He had people to represent, to win for. They had chosen him, and he couldn’t let them down. And they didn’t even know the real burden on his shoulders.

  The mace-fighting competition was taking everything out of him. Kunal was glad he had spent extra time training with Chand and King Mahir. He inhaled deeply, trying to center himself as he took his starting stance, drawing a line in the sand with the toe of his sandal.

  At the sound of the conch, both Kunal and his opponent circled each other like prey. Kunal crouched low, balancing the mace on his shoulder as he assessed his opponent’s weaknesses and strengths.

  Suddenly, his opponent lunged toward him. Kunal darted away, sidestepping the blow.

  A faint circle began to show in the sand below them, created by their footsteps, each waiting for the other to make a move.

  His opponent lunged again, and Kunal took the same stance, anticipating it, but saw the feint a second too late. His opponent rammed into his side with his mace, making Kunal fly backward and tumble to the ground.

  Kunal groaned, trying to get to his feet before he could take another swing at him, one that would keep him down. He struggled to his feet, protecting his injured side with his mace.

  Kunal had miscalculated. His opponent wasn’t new or inexperienced. He had been sussing him out as well, tiring him out slowly, and Kunal hadn’t even realized.

  A tactician, not a brute. He could respect that.

  He also knew how to react.

  Kunal switched his grip, suddenly breaking the circle between them and standing his ground. His opponent stopped, a moment of confusion across his face.

  He started moving from side to side, forward and back, anything to keep his opponent on his toes. When his opponent was finally getting frustrated, Kunal lunged forward.

  He rammed into his opponent, landing a blow of his mace again his cuirass, right above the shoulder. The man staggered back a few paces but didn’t go down.

  Kunal and his opponent ran forward at the same time, locking into a fierce tangle of maces. Kunal pushed forward, putting every ounce of strength he could into the forward drive of his mace. He couldn’t even swing it around. They were stuck together, and whichever one of them pulled away first threatened to expose his side.

  Kunal took the risk, unlocking his mace to swing around, but his opponent was ready, landing a blow on his already worn shoulder. Kunal lost control of his mace and it went flying.

  He scrambled back, rolling across the floor and dodging mace blows that pounded into the earth of the arena, as he grabbed his secondary weapon, a sword.

  This was his specialty. He was much defter with a blade, and it was certainly a more precise weapon than a mace. The other man didn’t realize that he was in trouble, rushing forward, swinging his mace.

  Kunal ducked and dodged, and when he saw the opportunity—he stabbed his sword into the side gap between his opponent’s cuirass.

  He went down, dropping his mace with a crashing thud that reverberated through the courtyard. A deafening roar went up through the crowd.

  Kunal backed up, wiping his brow, exhaustion hitting him like an anvil despite the adrenaline still coursing through his body.

  He was done.

  He had made it through.

  Kunal started to walk over to his opponent on the ground, to offer him a hand up and get him to the healers, when the voice of the official pierced the silence.

  “To enter the final round, competitors must kill their opponent.”

  A hush came over the crowd. Kunal’s body stiffened, even as his mind knew exactly what to do. The neck or a blow to the head for a quick death. He was a soldier.

  But death for entertainment, senseless death, went against everything he knew to be right. And since he had left the Fort, he had lost his taste for the Lord of Darkness’s sport. He wouldn’t be part of it.

  Not like this.

  His opponent staggered to his feet, grabbing his secondary weapon as well.

  “It’s either you or me,” he said, coughing.

  “No,” Kunal said. “I can’t.”

  His opponent gave him a look, a questioning glance between Kunal’s face and the Senap armband on his bicep.

  “Then I will.”

  His opponent strode forward, a violent look on his face as he took a running leap at him. Kunal responded as he had been trained to, meeting him with the same ferocity as his body and mind recognized the threat in front of him. His instincts slid into place, where his life was paramount.

  He didn’t want to kill this man, but he didn’t want to die either.

  The other man dodged, but Kunal was quicker, sliding under him and slicing his calf and then his side.

  He went down, falling to his knees, and Kunal whirled around and slit his throat, aiming for the quickest possible death.

  His opponent hit the ground.

  Kunal closed his eyes, overcome. He slowly turned around and dropped to his knees next to the man, reciting the proper prayers over him, holding his hand as he transitioned into the Lord of Darkness’s world.

  He didn’t move away, even as the officials ran forward.

  Or as the crowd broke into a deafening roar, chanting his name.

  Chapter 26

  Esha sent a prayer of thanks up to the Moon Lord for hot baths and good maids as she stepped out of the tub, wrapping a linen cloth around her body. Aditi bustled about, ordering maids to braid the jasmine ornaments tighter or to press Esha’s sari more carefully in preparation for that night’s party, hosted by House Pramukh.

  She sank into the plushness of an armchair, sighing as she leaned back and gave in to Aditi’s ministrations.

  “Aditi, what good did I do in my past birth to deserve you?” Esha asked as Aditi worked her hair into a magnificent crown of curls. “I can’t believe I’ll have to leave you in only a few days, after the chariot race and the ball.”

  The girl laughed, but her smile wasn’t as bright as usual. “Maybe your ancestors did a lot of penance. I’m still surprised that you didn’t have a lady’s maid for years. The amount of dirt you track in?”

  Esha pursed her lips. “The price of loving gardens. I used to spend afternoons with my father in the gardens. He absolutely loved horticulture and I gained a lot of knowledge from him.”

  Her voice wavered at the end, unintentionally, and she looked away. She caught Aditi’s gaze in the mirror.

  “He’s gone now, if that wasn’t obvious,” Esha said, clearing her throat. “But I still love spending my mornings walking among nature.”

  “I’m sure he’d be proud of the woman you’ve become,” Aditi said softly.

  Esha chuckled. “Perhaps.”

  She wasn’t sure he would be. But Esha had become this person, the Viper, because her father would never have the chance to be proud—or disappointed—in her.

  Aditi tugged at her hair. Esha looked up. “My parents are gone as well. So when I say I understand, I’m not pitying you or offering false words. But I can’t believe that your father wouldn’t be
proud of you. You’re kind, generous, and strong. You’re an adviser to the prince—who knows, perhaps you could be ambassador one day, in Dharka.”

  “Oh.” Esha had been living in the skin of the Viper for so long that she hadn’t considered the impact she wanted to have after she got her revenge. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

  “I have,” Aditi said, her voice stronger, different. “Do you believe being a lady’s maid is all I want? No, my lady. You’re lucky that there are so many opportunities for you in Dharka. As a woman.”

  Esha turned to face Aditi, taking a good look at the girl. Aditi flushed, her previous brazenness fading under Esha’s gaze.

  “Not that I’m unhappy here in Jansa,” she said quickly.

  “It’s okay,” Esha said, laying a gentle hand on Aditi’s arm. The girl glanced up, the fear in her eyes ebbing. “Your secrets and dreams are safe with me.”

  Aditi nodded slowly. “Thank you, my lady.”

  “Esha.”

  “Esha,” she said after a brief pause.

  Esha moved to get up when Aditi clucked her tongue. “We’re not done yet. We still have to weave the jasmine into your braids and rub your feet with sandalwood.”

  Aditi returned to dressing her hair, weaving and pinning with expertise.

  Esha groaned. “Is this really all necessary? Can I wear that ruby necklace and be done with it?”

  “Did you not hear a word I said, my lady?” Aditi said, arms akimbo. “We’re doing everything the proper way today.”

  Esha sat back down with a scowl. It was both a blessing and a curse that this girl had come to understand her in a few weeks. “Fine, but I get to wear the diamond-and-gold belt as well.”

  “Deal.”

  Esha sat back and let the girl finish, thinking about Aditi’s words. An ambassador. She allowed herself a moment of fancy, dreaming of the lands she might visit. The desert-covered lands of the west where there was a fierce queen. The islands to the east with palaces of jade and pearl. The snowy mountains of the Aiforas, even.

  There was so much of the Southern Lands itself that she hadn’t seen.