The Chariot at Dusk

by Swati Teerdhala

  “Nothing more?”

  Perhaps Esha heard the hope in his voice, but perhaps she didn’t care.

  “Forgiveness is the only thing I have to offer, soldier. I would take it if I were you.”

  “This isn’t forgiveness, Esha. This is . . .”

  “Did you expect everything to return to the way it was?” She turned to look at him, her gaze cutting. “That will never happen. Things have changed. I’ve had to lead this palace and find a way to rescue my prince. I’ve had to send my own friend to hunt down the boy I might have loved, if he had ever given me his trust. And now he’s back, asking to return to the way things were. Now tell me, why would I want to return to that? To lies and split loyalties, to hiding? I’ve always been great at deceiving others, soldier, but it seems the best con I’ve ever played was on myself. Now, I’m happy to have you remain in the palace and help us find the artifacts, but beyond that . . . I just can’t help you.”

  “Esha—”

  “You asked me a question, soldier. I gave you your answer. We’re allies.” Esha moved to turn away. “Nothing more.”

  He reached for her at first but then let her go.

  “Fine,” he said.

  Esha stopped in her path. Kunal couldn’t tell if she was unsettled that he had agreed with her or that he had let her go.

  But even he had his limits. Out of all the people in this great, staggering palace, she should have known him. After everything they had been through together, the chase through Jansa, the Sun Mela, the secrets they had revealed to each other—the hopes, the dreams, the fears. She should’ve trusted in him, believed in him. Given him a chance for forgiveness.

  Kunal had always known that Esha was as fierce in her hate as she was in her love. He had guided her to forgiveness every time, chosen to fight for her soul over her anger. And still, he was given no inch from her.

  “That’s fine by me,” he said, anger and frustration coating his tongue. “Have it your way, Viper. That’s what we are, then. It’s clear you enjoy believing the worst of me. Allies and nothing more. Nothing more at all.”

  For the first time, Kunal understood what people meant when they said they had lashed out. He felt his words strike out like a whip.

  But Esha stood still as a statue, tall and proud, directly diagonal from him across the marble. She glanced away so that her face was hidden. In that moment, Kunal thought he might have seen sadness. Grief.

  Esha gave him a short nod and left, leaving him alone again in the vast room.

  Chapter 13

  Esha found Farhan in the same spot in the Great Library a day later, crumbs from his last meal scattered across his tunic. She gently nudged his shoulder, and he flew out of his seat.

  “Been here long?” Esha asked, gesturing at his tunic. Farhan glanced down and brushed away the crumbs.

  “Since I woke up,” he said. “It’s driving me crazy, trying to figure out this poem.”

  “And he’s been driving us crazy,” Harun said, coming up to her side, looking in better health today. His cheeks had begun to fill out again. His beard had been trimmed, and he wore a deep blue dhoti, foregoing any jewelry today. He threw her a wink when he caught her staring.

  “You’ve been here the whole time?”

  “Just the last hour. I’ve been trying to help, but Farhan hasn’t been very collaborative.” Harun leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I think he prefers Alok as his research assistant.”

  Esha chuckled, but Farhan ignored the both of them. “It’s a combination of ancient Jansan and Dharkan script; that’s all I’ve been able to figure out,” Farhan continued.

  “That’s something,” Esha said. “A start.”

  “But there’s enough that I don’t understand. I’m not a scholar of languages. We could ask Kunal,” Farhan said. Esha felt herself frown. “But I don’t think this is something we can do alone.”

  Esha and Harun exchanged a look. “I have a translator I think we can trust. She used to be a scholar at this very library, before the Night of Tears. She helped me when I was on the run from the Fort a few moons back.” Esha turned toward Harun, who was standing behind her. Close enough for her skin to tingle at his warm breath. “What does it say? My ancient script reading skills are rusty.”

  “Nonexistent, you mean,” Harun said.

  “Oh, is that how you want to start your first day of full health? Getting a beating from me?”

  Harun grinned impishly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with joy.

  “Is that what you’re going to call it? A beating? Don’t threaten a lion, my little viper.”

  “If I remember correctly, the last time I threatened you I had my whip around your throat.”

  Esha moved her hand closer to his, linking her pinkie with his. It was an unconscious movement at first, old habit. But then she didn’t want to move. Harun’s eyes trailed down to their hands.

  “Oh, I remember,” he said, his voice catching at the end.

  “Um, is this a bad time?” Alok said. He stood near the doorframe, his eyes darting between the two of them.

  “It’s a great time,” Farhan said. “Harun is in enough good health to be flirting again, and Esha is less grouchy than normal.”

  Two heads swiveled to glare at him.

  “What? If you don’t like the truth, don’t parade it around me.”

  Alok coughed uncomfortably and walked over. Harun looked as if he was going to pull away, but he glanced up at her. Esha hadn’t moved her hand.

  For the first time in weeks, she was right where she wanted to be. Here, with him, with her team. Even Alok, though he didn’t seem to return the sentiment at the moment.

  Esha didn’t miss the flicker of happiness that crossed Harun’s face. And the wariness that followed. Even after what she had said the night of the Winner’s Ball, Harun was holding out hope. They might banter like normal, but she was closer to the precipice with him than ever before.

  All Esha could feel was a certain happiness that at least this hadn’t changed. She and Harun could—and would—always be this. In this they were practiced, hiding away their feelings.

  It was just that Esha no longer knew if she wanted that.

  “It’s a good time. Come on in, Alok,” Esha said. “We just realized we’re going to need a translator. We’ll need to split into two teams, one focused on the lamp and one focused on the conch, to make the most ground before the next full moon.”

  Farhan nodded. “The solstice has come and gone as our initial deadline. The scholars in Mathur agree that Reha’s blood held back utter catastrophe. But the Rusala Dam is indication that it won’t last forever. More disasters will strike. These rituals can only be done on sacred days normally, full moons or solstices. I’m not sure we can wait till the next solstice.”

  “Makes sense. Full moon it is,” Harun said.

  Bhandu’s and Arpiya’s loud and insistent voices floated in from the hallway, announcing their imminent arrival. Harun leaned over, tracing his finger over the scroll they had copied the temple poem down on.

  “Wait.” A frown creased his brow. “Does it seem like something’s missing to anyone else? Like there was once a symbol here? Look at the blank space there. It reminds me of something. Something familiar.”

  “Missing?” Farhan rushed over to Harun, almost knocking over a small box of chalk. “No, it didn’t.” He peered closer at the scroll, grabbing it so quickly he almost smudged away the edges of the copied poem.

  “Here,” Harun said. “These few lines seem to be about the lamp. I recognize that symbol: it’s similar to the ancient Jansan symbol for light that’s on the altars in the temples in Mathur. But then there—” He pointed at a break in the text. “That seems to be a different script. Almost like a break in the text.”

  “That doesn’t mean something is missing.” But Farhan examined the text closer, his eyes tracing over the lines preceding and following the text break.

  “If we follow the pattern,”
Esha said slowly, catching up to Harun. “Then there should be another symbol here, just like the one for light.” She traced the blank space. “But there’s nothing. Not as if on purpose but as if broken. There should have been a conch here, if the drawing was complete.”

  “And if you look closer, there’s a hanging edge to the scrollwork on that re symbol there,” Kunal said, leaning over the table from the other side.

  Esha jumped, as did Alok and Farhan. Harun merely nodded in welcome at Kunal.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Harun said absentmindedly. “The superhuman speed. I heard him coming down the hall a minute ago.”

  “You never snuck up on us like that!” Esha protested.

  “I had training,” Harun said with a shrug.

  Kunal muttered a quick “sorry” right before Arpiya and Bhandu arrived. Harun caught them up quickly. Esha didn’t miss the way Arpiya raised an eyebrow at her closeness to Harun or the way that Alok tried to distract Kunal.

  “Soldier,” Esha said quietly. “What did you mean before, when you said there was a hanging edge?”

  Kunal hesitated and gave her a heavy look before he walked over. He stopped before approaching the table. Esha tilted her head in permission, noticing that there were circles under his eyes that hadn’t been there the day before.

  Kunal traced his finger over the edge of the last word of the stanza. “This curve. It doesn’t belong to any other letter here. I can’t be sure, but it looks as if it’s the start of another stanza.”

  “I was right,” Harun said triumphantly. Farhan looked sour for only a moment before curiosity took over.

  Esha seemed to be the only one who was considering the weight of this discovery. A missing stanza meant that they still didn’t have a clear idea of how to find the conch. Even the path to the lamp was shrouded in mystery and old text.

  One step forward, two steps backward.

  “We must have missed something in the temple,” Esha said. She shook her head. “We’ll have to go back before it’s dark. We can’t afford to lose any more time.”

  “I’ll go,” Harun said. “And I’ll take the soldier with me.”

  Esha didn’t like the sound of that.

  A thick silence lay between Kunal and the prince as they cut their way to the temple. It seemed as if their excursion just a day ago hadn’t made any difference—the jungle had grown back.

  “Over here,” Kunal said. “Let’s look for that hanging curl that was on the tracing.”

  Harun nodded, surprising Kunal. He had always seen the prince as arrogant and unbending, but he had been pleasant on their journey so far, almost too pleasant. He’d told Kunal to lead the way, hadn’t brought up his excursion to the mountains. The only thing he did press on was Reha—he was infinitely curious about Reha, combing over every detail Kunal offered.

  Of course, neither of them had brought up Esha. That would certainly demolish their tentative peace.

  He didn’t want to think about Esha or her stubbornness. Kunal steeled himself, thinking of what Reha had said. It wasn’t fair to fault him for a bad outcome. His decision had been in earnest, and if Esha couldn’t or wouldn’t see that, well, it said more about her than him.

  He kept that fire around him. It kept him from sinking into the darkness that lay underneath the thought that he may have ruined things. That he shouldn’t have agreed to break what had been between them.

  Kunal shook his head, returning to the task at hand. He approached the mosaic-studded wall. The poem had faded, leaving only a hint to the words that had been emblazoned on the stone just a day ago. Reha’s blood was only a pink smear on the white of the marble.

  Harun was to his right, waving over the far right side of the wall the camphor light they had brought with them. The sky outside was tinged with purple, the first sign of the Lord of Darkness’s approach. They’d have to make haste.

  Kunal traced the stone, feeling the grooves for any sign of the second stanza. The stone was smooth, the only cracks in it from old age and weather. This part of the temple would be exposed to the elements outside, the jungle only a wingspan away. Water from the monsoons would have worn down any jagged edges over the years.

  But there—

  Kunal spotted a fresh crack in the stone, scuff marks visible to his heightened eyesight. This was the work of a chisel, not the weather. Chipped-away stone flecked the uneven line between the stones, and as he peered closer, Kunal saw faint pink smudges. Blood.

  “Prince—”

  Harun was already next to him. “Blood.” He sniffed the air, his eyes flashing gold and yellow. “I know this scent. It’s only a few weeks old.”

  “A few weeks?” Kunal thought quickly. “Someone must have come for the second stanza. Stolen it away from others. Maybe to get the artifact for themselves, certainly to make sure no one else got it.”

  Harun swore colorfully, as rough as a Jansan fisherman.

  “It’s got to be Yamini,” Kunal said. “She found us at Mount Bangaar. She wants the artifacts.”

  “I don’t know.” Harun paused and sniffed the air again. “Don’t you smell it, soldier? It’s familiar. It’s not the crisp white snow of the North. It’s home. It’s earthy. It’s silt and ocean.”

  His eyes widened.

  “My uncle. Vardaan has the conch.”

  Now it was Kunal’s turn to swear.

  Esha slammed the table hard enough that a goblet nearby tilted over.

  “Moon Lord’s fists,” she said. “Of course Vardaan has it.”

  “It’s possible he doesn’t have it yet. Harun said it was a few weeks old,” Arpiya said from her seat in the windowsill. She sat cross-legged, which didn’t look comfortable. “And we’ve had eyes on him for a while. Maybe he just has the stanza. Maybe he hasn’t even deciphered it.”

  “He knows where the conch is,” Kunal said.

  Esha turned her full gaze on him. There was still fire when their eyes caught, but it was brimstone and ash instead of the warmth of the hearth.

  “Vardaan would always require us to cover our tracks during campaigns, especially after diversionary tactics. My guess is that he knows. That’s why the stone was chipped off. That’s why it was made to seem as if it was weather. Vardaan covered his tracks. Perhaps he doesn’t have the artifact, but he knows where it is.”

  Harun leaned against the wall nearest Esha. They were gathered in the kitchens, away from prying eyes. The scent of ghee and spices permeated everything, the cooking fires nearby adding a layer of warmth that had most of them sweating. Bhandu and Aahal were prepping and gathering supplies. Farhan was still poring over the old texts, attempting to pull more from the unwilling ancient scrolls.

  “So you’re telling me Vardaan is our only way to get to the conch. The conch, the second artifact that we absolutely need to prevent another catastrophe, is in the hands of the Pretender King who put us in this situation in the first place?”

  Kunal pursed his mouth, looking confused as to whether to answer.

  “Don’t say anything,” Alok advised. “No one likes the bearer of bad news.”

  “Too late,” Esha snapped. She moved toward the window, massaging her temples.

  Arpiya was curled up in the corner of the windowsill now, looking as forlorn as Esha felt.

  First the attack in Mathur and now this? Esha had done her best before to stay levelheaded, but it was becoming harder.

  Vardaan would never help them—and yet, Esha remembered how he had warned them in the throne room during the Winner’s Ball. How adamant he had been in preventing the Yavar from winning. Perhaps they could use that.

  “For what it’s worth, my uncle is only human,” Harun said. “He has a weakness: his pride. It’s what drove him to leave Dharka in the first place. He was never content to be second.”

  “Right,” Esha said. She took a full breath, an idea growing in her chest. “Harun, you’re right.”

  “Can I get that in writing?”

  “We got reports
of Vardaan in the hills near the western border. If Zhyani’s continued reports are correct, he hasn’t left. And I bet he won’t leave. He’ll be back, once the dust settles. Vardaan’s pride drives him, and pride will be his downfall.”

  Harun’s eyes gleamed in recognition. “Are you thinking—?”

  “Yes.”

  “I hate when they do this,” Arpiya said from the windowsill.

  Kunal glanced between Harun and Esha with narrowed eyes.

  “Someone care to enlighten me?” Kunal drawled in a perfect imitation of Laksh.

  “We’re going to take Vardaan prisoner,” Esha said.

  “Oh, of course,” Kunal said.

  “I like it. Solid plan,” Arpiya said. Esha thought she heard a half snort from Kunal. “I volunteer for the first watch of the prisoner.” Her smile was razor sharp.

  “We’ll need to split up, though,” Esha said.

  Harun nodded. “We’ll need half the team to meet up with your translator, the one who can lead us to the lamp.”

  “Now, we fight for the conch,” Esha said.

  And make a deal with a monster in the process.

  Chapter 14

  Kunal heaved a heavy sigh as he tucked his uttariya into his waist sash. He turned around and patted the pack behind him on the horse. They’d been traveling for almost four days now.

  The silence from Bhandu was the worst. It also seemed to be a struggle for Bhandu. Being silent was not in his nature, and only a half hour into their journey, Kunal understood what kind of trip he was in for.

  Laksh and Arpiya had fallen behind them, talking to each other in low voices, their horses lingering together. The only reason Kunal was vaguely comfortable with this situation was because it prevented him from having to interact with his former best friend.

  There was too much there for him. Laksh was a reminder of the hurt of betrayal. And what Kunal himself had done to Esha. It didn’t help that she had forgiven Laksh and not him.

  Bhandu held up a hand as they arrived at the next town. It was barely more than a few huts strung together, but it had a trading market and would offer them the supplies they’d need before they ventured into the mountains and jungle. Kunal had insisted on more rations. With the land the way it was, they couldn’t rely on the magic in the jungle to still be full and whole.