The Archer at Dawn

by Swati Teerdhala

  “Friendship,” Mayank repeated. “Now, that I can’t decline.” He angled his body so that his mouth couldn’t be seen by others, a trick she recognized because of the amount of times she had herself employed it. “Let me talk to my house, see how many men we could gather. The Victor’s Ball isn’t far off.”

  “I know. It’s a risk. I won’t deny it,” she said, bending her head as if she was focused on fixing her kite. “But we’ll have the rightful heir. We can reset the balance of the Lands. It’s a chance we have to take.”

  “Does King Mahir know of this?”

  Esha hesitated. “Only recently.”

  Mayank gave a small laugh. “I take it you only found out how much he knew recently. I was always skeptical that the king wasn’t involved in the Crescent Blades.”

  Esha tried not to look surprised. “The Crescent Blades?”

  “I’ve connected the dots, Esha. I’ve been listening for any and all information as to the Blades and their mysterious leaders. I also keep an eye on court politics in both Dharka and Jansa. You only began to come up in conversations recently, this new lady. But when I dug deeper, I realized you had been around for a while, on the periphery of court. I put two and two together.”

  Esha considered her options. Mayank knew she was part of the Blades, and yet was still willing to work with her. He had to have made further connections, but as of now, he wasn’t using them against her.

  “I’m impressed at the deduction,” she said slowly, smiling. “And surprised that you would still be entertaining an alliance given this belief of yours.”

  “I don’t see the Crescent Blades as the villains in the tales I’ve heard. Merely as people dedicated to restoring balance, fighting injustice. If anything, I have more faith in this . . . plan of yours as a result. Normal politicians are rather ineffectual. Sometimes, they become bullies,” he said, his voice becoming hard. “To effect change, sometimes you have to be the catalyst and that requires action.”

  It was risky to trust a Jansan noble, and one who was such a darling of the court, but she knew he had more grievances against the king than anyone—more to gain from helping them. He had proven to be trustworthy so far.

  “I agree,” she said. “Sometimes hard choices have to be made.”

  He nodded, looking out to the distance of the city and the sea beyond. “Indeed.”

  “There’s something else,” she said, thinking of the other part of their plan. “We need help to discredit this Reha.”

  “Help?”

  “A well-placed whisper by anyone will bloom and grow like a weed.”

  “And you need a whole forest of whispers,” he said, nodding his head. “Especially seeing how soon the Victor’s Ball is.”

  Esha looked away for a moment, over the tops of the buildings of Gwali, all the citizens who lived in the sprawl below. Did they truly believe the lost princess had returned?

  She knew there were many who didn’t, and the Red Squad, stationed in the city proper, had been encouraging those rumors, seeding dissent wherever they could. All squads within a few miles had been recalled to Gwali as well, as soon as Esha had realized Harun and the king had been serious about overthrowing Vardaan. They only had a few days to cement the distrust and to gather troops outside, and inside, the city walls.

  Mayank stood to her side, and she wondered what they looked like together, what whispers might have already started. They’d have to cut their conversation short soon, make sure that it didn’t drag on longer.

  “Some citizens are planning to voice their distrust at the chariot race,” she said, revealing information she had gathered recently from her sources. “A few allies would help.”

  “To incite a riot?”

  “No,” she said. “We’re merely encouraging the people’s right to ask questions of their leaders.”

  “And what if they get hurt?”

  “Vardaan wouldn’t dare punish unnamed citizens during the Mela,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

  “He has no fear of the gods.”

  “He does have an image to uphold before the peace treaty. He will do it merely to save face. Mayank, I don’t want anyone to get hurt. But we must show the people that they are not alone in their distrust. That seed of doubt will be all we need.”

  Mayank was silent for a moment, contemplating the sky. “I might be able to spare a few of my people. In exchange, I want my warrior, Punohar, to win the chariot race.”

  She blinked at him. “But why?”

  “Vardaan offers a boon, does he not? Perhaps I want it. Or I want the honor for my House after being shamed. Maybe I want to see the look on the king’s face. I’ll share that with you as soon as you tell me your real role in all of this, my lady,” he said, emphasizing the title.

  “I don’t know why you think I can make that happen.”

  “You don’t have to do much other than make sure your man doesn’t win. My warrior will do the rest.”

  “My man?” she said, her heart racing faster than a thousand horses.

  Mayank smiled languidly. “I’m sure you have one. Judging by your face, I’m correct.”

  She turned her face neutral as he chuckled. As long as he didn’t know about Kunal specifically, she could handle a hundred innuendos. She swallowed a sigh, realizing that she wasn’t left with much bargaining power if she wanted to see this through.

  Finally, she nodded.

  “Then we’re agreed. I’m glad I can be of help. And thank you for the lesson.” Mayank winked at her and turned to leave. He made his voice louder. “I’m feeling a bit unwell from the heat and I feel I must retire. I’m sure I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

  Her eyes flashed in understanding as she saw the group of Jansan noblemen who had drifted over to them, only a few paces behind them.

  “Yes, of course,” she demurred. “We can continue our conversation then.”

  With that he bowed and left, leaving her with her thoughts.

  Chapter 29

  Kunal wiped his brow, exhaustion from training getting to him. He’d tried all morning to phase, to hold on to both forms at the same time instead of one, hoping that something would click in him. He hummed his blood song again, letting the notes float around him, envelop him, picking one or two to focus in on.

  Sharpened eyesight. Talons. Wings.

  At least talons. Kunal squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the beads of sweat rolling down his face. He tried again, focused harder.

  “You’re pushing too much,” King Mahir said, from his seat to the side. He was finishing up his chai and dabbed a napkin to his lips and beard.

  “Last time you said I was pushing too little.”

  “It’s a balance,” the king said. He cocked his head at Kunal. “Perhaps we should take a break.”

  Kunal resisted groaning. The last thing he wanted to do was take a break. At the Fort, if he struggled to master a new maneuver, he’d spend all day in the training courts until he got it. That’s what his uncle had taught him—focus and discipline, until you achieved. It was a matter of breaking down the core of the move. Perhaps his footwork was wrong or his balance was off. There was always something to be fixed.

  But magic training was different. There was no “correct” way to do it but, rather, the correct way for you. He almost wished someone could just tell him what to do so he could do it properly.

  “All right,” Kunal said. He was about to sit on the floor when King Mahir shook his head.

  “Sit next to me, Kunal.”

  “Your Highness?”

  “Uncle.” That was something Kunal still hadn’t gotten used to. Knowing he was royalty still unnerved him.

  Kunal took the plush seat next to King Mahir, leaning against the gold-bordered back. The metal was cool against his skin. King Mahir passed him a small cookie studded with dried mango. Kunal ate it in one bite. King Mahir raised an eyebrow and passed him the entire tray.

  “I forgot what it was like to be your age.�
� He laughed. “Always hungry. In more than one way.”

  “Is that what you felt?”

  “Oh yes. I wanted to make a name for myself during the war. I also couldn’t be allowed near the mango orchards in the palace or the gardeners would find them all gone.”

  So that was where Esha got her love of mangoes from. Esha’s childhood must have been pleasant if she had been a ward of the king. He was everything Kunal had imagined the ideal father would be. Patient yet firm, kind yet challenging, and, above all, protective.

  “You must have passed that down to Esha,” Kunal said.

  King Mahir laughed, slapping his knee. “I’ll take the blame for that. That’s the only way I could get her into the training courtyard at first.”

  “Really?”

  “She wanted to spend all her time with the dance troupes, hiding away. But I feared she’d lose herself. So, I got her into lessons with Harun and that was that. She took to the weapon master like a fish to water. After a bushel of mangoes as a bribe, that is.”

  Kunal smiled, thinking of a round-eyed and full-cheeked young Esha. She’d probably charmed everyone’s sandals off back then too.

  “I haven’t had as much time with her, and Harun, recently, though.”

  “You’ve been focused on maintaining the bond, haven’t you?”

  “Esha told you?” the king asked. Kunal nodded. “I have.”

  “Is that something I, or Harun, could take over?” Kunal said hesitantly.

  “No, child. I wouldn’t want you to,” King Mahir said. “And the ritual requires blood from a Himyad man and a Samyad woman.”

  Kunal thought back to their previous conversations, a slow thread unfurling in his mind. King Mahir had mentioned earlier that the original ritual required artifacts. He had cut himself off, but Kunal could’ve sworn he had mentioned looking for them.

  “Your Highness—”

  “Uncle—”

  Kunal hesitated. “Uncle, tell me more about the artifacts. The ones you’ve been searching for.”

  “What makes you think I know anything?” The king arched an eyebrow but also shifted in his seat.

  “A guess.” Kunal looked the king in the eye. “You said the original artifacts were once the main conduits to renew the bond, before the deal the royals struck to save the people. But now those artifacts are lost. And according to Esha, you’ve disappeared for long periods of time and come back tired, withdrawn.”

  King Mahir exhaled a deep sigh. “Yes. It’s why Harun has taken over my royal duties so much, as I’ve gone looking for the original artifacts.”

  “Have you found them?”

  “No, I fear we might be on our own,” King Mahir said. But there was a note of dissonance to his voice.

  “If we had more people looking, perhaps we—”

  “Don’t torture yourself, Kunal. We need our blood to do the ritual. That’s unavoidable at this point. And while I’ve been able to re-create some of the offerings from the original ritual, it’s not an exact science. And we’ve long ago lost the ability to talk to the gods directly.”

  Kunal placed a half-bitten cookie down. “I know you’ve been doing something with your blood to hold the bond from breaking.”

  King Mahir rubbed the bridge of his nose, a gesture that looked more weary on the king than it did on the prince. “It’s a temporary hold I developed with the scholars. I’ve been giving more and more blood, in my human and animal form. It’s made me weak, yes, but I don’t want you or Harun to take on the burden, because this is not a solution. It’s a quick bandage—we cannot have our royals spilling their life force at increasing amounts to barely hold together the janma bond. Dharka cannot afford that.”

  “Then what?” Kunal asked. It was the one question that had been bothering him since the king had told him about the bond’s history.

  “Reha,” he said. “My daughter. We can only hope that her blood will be the other missing half.” King Mahir looked as if he was going to say more, and Kunal waited, but nothing else came from the king.

  Kunal knew the king was trying to tell him that Reha was their one hope, but Kunal couldn’t help but think there was more to it. All knowledge could be rediscovered, relearned. Secrets were meant to be unearthed.

  He believed that. More than that, it was his duty.

  King Mahir rose to his feet and indicated that Kunal should do so as well. “Let’s try again. One more time for today. And remember, phasing is about balance, seeing both sides of yourself and allowing them to simply be.”

  Kunal nodded and walked into the center of the tiled square. He closed his eyes and, this time, he heard his animal song, wild and feral, but he heard another one too. His human song joined in, intertwining with the other to create a full picture. Freedom, strength, love, honor—and duty.

  When Kunal looked down, he saw talons instead of fingers and gasped.

  “Go deeper,” King Mahir said, his face alight with joy. “One more step.”

  Kunal sank into the notes, feeling them, tasting them on his lips and skin. Wings burst from his shoulders, and he took an unsure step forward. They beat, once, twice, unsteadily as he got used to the new weight of them.

  And unlike every time before, Kunal felt no pain, only a sense of completeness.

  Of being whole.

  The bazaar was a nice change of pace from the walls of the palace. Esha felt as if she could breathe more freely. She’d decided to put everything out of her mind for a few hours and go shopping for the Victor’s Ball with Yamini, who had requested her help. They had been spending more time together at the nobles’ parties, and Esha enjoyed the Yavar heir’s company.

  It was odd being back in a bazaar, the labyrinth of stalls calling to mind her escapades with Kunal only a few moons ago. The situation was more dire, though. There was no soldier after her, but everywhere she turned she heard whispers of more deaths as the river faded up north. Riots, as well. It only confirmed their course of action to secure Reha.

  Esha picked up a delicately crafted pair of bangles, two snakes intertwined together, their tongues making up the clasp. She looked up, ready to haggle with the seller in the bazaar, when she saw Yamini puzzling over a necklace, a finger to her lips.

  “Having trouble, Yamini?”

  “I hate shopping,” she said, making a face. “I wear whatever my lady’s maid picks.”

  “I’m sure she loves that,” Esha said, laughing. She walked over to where Yamini stood, picking out a few necklaces that would match her coloring.

  “Gold, for your complexion. No silver. Ever.” Yamini looked like she wanted to ask a question but nodded instead. “What color do you want your sari to be?”

  “Blue?”

  Esha tried not to smack her hand against her forehead. “Which type of blue?”

  “Does it really matter which type of blue?” Yamini asked, bewildered.

  “Have you truly never picked out any of your clothes or jewelry before?” Esha asked. She was rather astonished, but she supposed being the heir presumptive meant a life of not having to make decisions if she didn’t want to.

  “No,” Yamini said. “Not that I couldn’t, I just never cared. And I worried that if I acted like I was interested in such things, then the men wouldn’t take me seriously. My father wouldn’t take me seriously.”

  There was something so refreshingly open in Yamini’s honesty that Esha couldn’t help but respond.

  “I was the opposite way,” Esha said. “I used beauty and clothing as my armor. If they thought I was just a girl, then I’d be just a girl. But then they’d never see me coming.”

  Yamini cocked her head, considering her words.

  “I like that. Not sure I could pull that off, but . . .”

  “Nonsense, fashion is for everyone.”

  They made their way over to a new stall, and Esha picked out some more jewelry for Yamini.

  “My mother loved all of this,” Yamini said.

  “Your mother. She passed into
the Lord of Darkness’s realm,” Esha asked softly.

  “Years ago,” Yamini said. “Her favorite color was cerulean. That’s a type of blue, right?”

  Esha nodded, her throat suddenly choked with emotion. Another death, another loss that had shaped a young girl.

  Yamini and Esha weren’t so different. None of them were.

  “Then you’ll be wearing cerulean in two nights at the Victor’s Ball.”

  Kunal rose amid the clouds, wheeling through and toppling down, letting his wings carry him along the currents of air. The wind that night was calm, as if the moon had stilled the whole night sky with its milky splendor.

  Kunal wanted to stay there, revel in the feeling, but knew he had to get to the king’s office as soon as he could. The sooner he got the report Laksh wanted, the sooner he could be done with it all.

  He abandoned the cloud he was breezing through, diving down to catch a lower air stream that carried him silently over the palace courtyard. The people below looked like specks of dust now, mere dots on a canvas.

  Kunal flew close to the open window near the office, beating his wings as he came to a stop. There was no one inside, and he nudged the curtain open with the edge of his wing. He tumbled inside, shifting into his human form.

  Kunal caught himself as he fell, bracing his weight, and any potential sound, with his hands. He winced and rolled over, clutching at his wrists and shaking them out.

  He shook his head and moved toward the desk, crossing the distance in two strides. Instead of rummaging through, Kunal tried to concentrate, thinking back to his own uncle’s room. Where had he kept recent reports? Sealed ones would have been left in his desk, unsealed ones would have been read and burned or hidden away.

  There was no second compartment on the underside of the desk, no other hidden area in the office. Kunal could only pray to the Sun Maiden that Vardaan hadn’t gotten so suspicious as to take things out of his office.

  Kunal tugged open the desk drawer, rifling through old scrolls for anything sealed. Everything here was notes, scraps of paper in old Jansan or another dialect Kunal couldn’t transcribe. Biting back a growl of frustration, Kunal moved to the bookcases that lined the office, tapping gently for any hollow sound.