The Chariot at Dusk

by Swati Teerdhala

  Kunal had a copy of the scroll in his bag, the only concession from the team that they didn’t wholly mistrust him. Farhan had given them landmarks to look for, assuming that Kunal and the others would be able to recognize them when they saw them. It left Kunal nervous.

  All they knew for sure was that they were looking for a set of temple ruins hidden in the jungle. That’s where the lamp was supposed to be.

  “You look horrible. Are you eating?” Laksh asked, peering at him from across his horse. “And your hair, it looks as if it hasn’t seen a comb in years.”

  Kunal rolled his eyes. “I’ve been busy. And it’s not like the mountains and being yanked back across Jansa by chain really helped.”

  “You had time at the palace for a shave, at least,” Bhandu said, appearing out of nowhere.

  Arpiya came from behind him, forcing Kunal to do a double take. “Don’t listen to him. But I do have a comb in my pack if you’d like it. I’m always quite good with giving shaves.”

  “I’d watch her hands, though. Some of those shaves ended up with dead men,” Bhandu said menacingly at Kunal.

  “Stop it.” Arpiya sighed. “I’m never forgiving Esha for putting me with you three,” she muttered under her breath as she walked away. Laksh clapped him on the back and followed after her.

  Kunal turned to Bhandu, stopping the burly young man.

  “We can’t go the entire trip like this,” Kunal said.

  “Like what, cat eyes?” he said. “And I can go along any way I please.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kunal said, realizing he should’ve said it earlier. “I never meant to leave you behind.”

  Bhandu narrowed his eyes at Kunal but finally heaved a big sigh. “I know you’re sorry. And it is getting tiring having to be so angry at you. I’ve never done it before. Really takes up a lot of energy.”

  He paused. “You did promise to take me flying again. When you left, that’s what I was most angry about,” he said.

  “Not stealing away with Reha?”

  Bhandu shrugged. “You’ve always been an honorable, stupid man. Once I got over the initial shock, I held out hope that you had just taken her to the mountain. But you have to understand. None of us knew. It was easy to imagine the worst of a soldier who had only just come into our lives. You could’ve taken her to bargain with yourself. You could’ve been working with Vardaan. My mother always said never to trust a man with cat eyes.”

  Kunal stepped back. “What? I would never—”

  “That’s what we decided too, the rest of us. Then all that was left was the hurt. We trusted you.”

  “I know,” Kunal said, his voice quieting. “That’s what I’m most sorry for.”

  “I know,” Bhandu said. “I accept your apology.”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t make me take it back, cat eyes.”

  “Too late. Can’t take it back now.”

  Bhandu squinted at him. “Have you developed a sense of humor?”

  “Never too late, I’m told,” Kunal said.

  Bhandu guffawed and clapped him on the back. Kunal let him push him toward the stall full of maces and listened as Bhandu droned on about the benefits of the smooth domes over the metal-tipped spikes, happy to be included again.

  The small mercenary outpost was exactly as reported. Esha made a note to send an extra bushel of mangoes to Guildsman Gugil’s people. However annoying he was, his information was proving to be valuable.

  They approached the outpost, tucked into the valley between two hills, on foot, having left their horses behind half a league away. Esha’s footsteps were quiet and Harun’s almost silent. She’d always thought she would be a formidable warrior with even an ounce of his supernatural senses.

  Esha still wasn’t sure Harun was ready for this mission, but his entire body seemed brighter, lighter, since he had a purpose again. And he’d always been a good field asset. It was just his misfortune that he was also talented at speaking the honeyed language of courtiers and money.

  Harun glanced at her, noticing her stare. He had tied a thin uttariya around his head to keep his hair and dust out of his eyes. It disguised his features, but Esha wasn’t sure anything could remove the regal tilt of his chin or the sharpness in his gaze, so similar to his uncle’s.

  “Are you sure you’re feeling fine?” she asked in a low whisper.

  Harun sighed. “Esha, you don’t have to keep asking me. The answer is the same as it was ten leagues ago and at the palace and at the market in Onda.”

  “If you’re sure . . .”

  “Better question is are you? Feeling fine?” He said it casually, but Esha could tell by the practiced way he said it that he had been holding back the question for a while.

  “Better than ever,” she said, revealing a wide grin. And she meant it. They were steps from dragging away the Pretender King in chains. What had she ever wanted more than this?

  Harun’s hand brushed her own and warmth shot through her limbs. He squeezed her hand and let go.

  Oh. That. Once she had wanted that more than anything.

  Today was a day for the past, then, the past she had tried so hard to put away. Esha decided today she would put her ghosts to rest for once.

  They found a large rock and crouched behind it. Two men to their right at the entrance of the small camp. Two to the left. Mercenaries surrounded the main entrance to Vardaan’s makeshift camp.

  Good thing they weren’t going in through the front door.

  She waved two fingers at Harun, pointing to the back of the camp. He nodded and followed behind her, as low to the ground as she was.

  At the back there was only one guard, but he was the important one. The one with the keys to the camp. Vardaan had set up a perimeter of locked wooden gates around the center of his camp, where his tent lay.

  To get in, they needed those keys.

  They stopped half a league away from the southern side of the camp, hidden by the low brush of the saffron-colored hills nearby. Normally, the meadows would be filled with stalks of wheat that climbed up the base of the hills. They were sparse now. Poor cover. So Esha and Harun stayed behind the shadows of the hills instead of making a direct approach.

  Esha stopped and turned to Harun, glancing down at her disguise. “How do I look?”

  “I never know the right way to answer that question.”

  “Radiant is always a good one. Luminescent. Incandescent.”

  “Beautiful.”

  “That’s pretty standard,” Esha protested.

  Harun leaned closer to fix the hem of her uttariya, pinned to her hair and blouse in the way of the local townspeople. Her yellow cotton sari was simple, with a small border and small diamond-shaped mirrors sewn into a checkered pattern.

  “I quite like this look on you,” he said softly, brushing away a strand of her hair.

  “Oh really? Village girl?”

  “Village girl, village boy. Other lives.” He pointed at himself. The uttariya around his eyes, the thin cotton dhoti, the twined ropes around his biceps instead of gold armbands. He looked different without any adornments. Harun had always dressed simply for a noble, but this was different. He was right. This was another life.

  “Boring lives,” Esha said, though one look at Harun told her that they both knew her dismissal was false.

  Why were they doing all this—risking their lives, trying to prevent civil war, the destruction of their land—if not for these so-called boring lives? They were the truth in all this. And it was what they wanted, at the end of this conflict.

  “After everything, I hope we all have boring lives,” Harun said.

  He held her gaze, his fingers still tracing the outline of her jaw. He had held back since their conversation at the Winner’s Ball. Waiting. Part of her didn’t want him to. She wanted the old Harun, she wanted the old fire between them that she had doused in search of . . . what? Bronze-colored lies?

  “Me too,” she said finally.

  A snap of
wood drew their attention. The first perimeter they had laid had been crossed.

  It was time.

  Esha pulled her uttariya over the right side of her face, holding her other hand out as if shielding her eyes. She stumbled a bit, making sure to be as loud as possible.

  “Halt! You there,” a voice said.

  Esha raised blinking, bleary eyes to face the mercenary’s voice. He wore only leather armor, and his turban was tied to the side, like many of the mercenary guilds chose to do. He’d be more difficult. Soldiers at least wore the veneer of duty and care for the people. Mercenaries were only in it for the coin, though there had to be another angle at play here. Vardaan didn’t have the deep coffers of the crown anymore and yet they followed him.

  “I’m so sorry, sir. I was told to come this way,” she said in a trembling voice.

  Esha cowered, one of her hands wrapped tightly around her basket, the other stretched out in protection. His reaction would determine her approach.

  “Explain yourself,” the guard snapped. He had a long mustache and cold eyes that darted between her face and her clothes. He was assessing her, and Esha sent a prayer up to the Moon Lord again for Harun’s quick thinking with their disguises.

  “The town council wanted to send a gift,” she said shakily.

  He blinked at her, a wolfish grin across his face.

  She stuck her arms out before he took a step closer, thrusting her basket full of mangoes toward them. He frowned at the basket—before he saw the fruit inside.

  “Mangoes!” he said, his cold veneer slipping for a second. “I haven’t found any in recent months.”

  “It’s not the season, sir. They’re not as ripe or plump as they should be,” she said, eyes cast down.

  “A fine gift, still,” the man said happily. He took the basket and put it down on the ground behind him. He was clearly a mango connoisseur, which made Esha a bit sad about what was going to come next. “Wait, how did the council know we were here?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, his fist closing tight around her wrist. She went as limp as she could without giving up ground. Let him think her weak.

  “I don’t know, sir. I’m just a villager. I can’t speak for the council. . . .”

  His suspicion didn’t dissipate.

  “The boss told us to keep an eye out for pretty, dangerous girls. I thought him paranoid, but here you are.” He peered at her. “You certainly are pretty, but you don’t look that dangerous. Though last time I thought that, I got this scar.” He pulled his collar to the side, showing a puffy, ugly scar that traced his throat.

  Moon Lord. Only one weapon caused that sort of scarring.

  She unconsciously dropped her free hand down to her waist sash, where her whips were nestled. The mercenary didn’t miss the movement, his eyes alighting in recognition.

  This was what happened when the Viper left men alive. If only Kunal were here now, to see the truth of it, he might not have judged her so harshly before. She could still play it off, though. Esha pulled out a small figurine of the Sun Maiden and clutched it in her hand, whispering in prayer. The mercenary dropped her hand and grabbed the figurine from her.

  Esha tried to move away, but he grabbed her around the waist, reaching for her waist sash.

  “Better to be safe than sorry,” he said. A cruel grin split his lips.

  Esha held back a curse. She could either fight back and give herself away or let him grope around and find her whips. Either way would draw too much unwanted attention.

  “Falguni!” a sharp voice called out.

  Esha and the mercenary froze. She was wrapped in his arms, but not in any sort of pleasant way, and she had just maneuvered her elbow to connect with his jaw.

  Harun strode into view holding a huge wooden stick in one hand, fury written across his face.

  “There you are, Falguni. I see you’ve found a new toy. A soldier is it, this time?”

  Esha looked at Harun as if he had drunk the trader’s herbal drink.

  What was he doing?

  “I’m not good enough for you? I thought we had fixed our problems, Falguni.” Harun still kept the menacing stick raised high, but his face dropped into a morose expression. “But now I find you here, in the arms of a . . . fierce and scary-looking man. A soldier. Of course you’d want a soldier.”

  The mercenary was so confused that he didn’t seem to notice that Harun was closing the distance between them.

  “What? I don’t even know her—” the mercenary started. He was eyeing the large stick in Harun’s hands and the size of Harun himself.

  Esha finally caught on and let herself fall against the mercenary’s chest, tilting her elbow away from his jugular and her chin up at him. She batted her eyelashes at him before turning to glare at Harun.

  “At least he doesn’t take me for granted, Arun!” Esha threw back. She snuggled up to the mercenary, looping her arms around him and slowly lifting his sword out of its sheath. “He’s a real man. Willing to be vulnerable and tell me how he feels.”

  Now the mercenary truly looked bewildered, but he was beginning to shake off the first haze of confusion.

  “Well, it’s harder for some people to speak about their feelings, Falguni.”

  “Well, how was I supposed to know that, Arun?”

  Esha almost had the mercenary’s sword out of its sheath. Which was good because he had finally managed to unravel from her embrace.

  “Because you knew me, Falguni! I showed you how I felt about you every moment we had alone.”

  Esha wasn’t sure they were playacting anymore.

  “What in the—Who are you two? What are you doing here?” the mercenary shouted. “I thought you were the—”

  Harun was a few paces away now. Esha spun around and kicked the mercenary in the chest. He sprawled to the ground, and she pointed his sword at him, one of her whips now in her other hand.

  “Viper,” the mercenary spat.

  He tried to get up, even with the point of his sword squarely in the center of his chest, but Harun was behind him in seconds. He had him tied and trussed up, a gag in his mouth, before he could let out even a whimper.

  “You were always good at that,” Esha said in appreciation.

  “Nice acting,” he returned.

  Esha coughed. “Same to you.”

  “Do we leave him here?” Harun looked down at him and then at the camp nearby.

  “Let’s move him, just to be safe.”

  Esha nodded, and they dragged him under a thickety brush, the shadows covering him. Harun knocked him out with the mercenary’s sword and claimed it for his own.

  “You were talking about us, weren’t you?” Esha asked, unable to help herself.

  Harun brushed dirt off his hands and straightened, sliding the mercenary’s sword into his waist sash. “I didn’t mean to,” he said.

  “Ah,” Esha said.

  “Ah, indeed.”

  “Should we . . . talk? About . . .”

  Harun winced. “We really have the worst timing. You need to go before someone notices the guard has disappeared.”

  Esha reached over and thumbed through the man’s pouches, pulling out a set of keys. When she stood up, Harun was only a few inches away.

  Worst timing of the century. But perhaps it was for a reason. Harun’s words kept playing in her mind, an endless song of mistakes.

  “After, then,” Esha said.

  Harun moved closer and closer still when he saw that Esha didn’t back away. He cupped her face and kissed her with a fire she had never quite forgotten, one filled with memories.

  “For all the times I didn’t,” he said, pulling away. “Good luck.”

  She heard the words in between, the words they had never said.

  Good luck. Come back to me. Be safe.

  And she saw that Harun wanted to say them, that they were on his lips, but at the last second he only nodded at her.

  She turned to go, hefting her whips, but Harun’s voice rang
out, surprising her.

  “Come back to me, Esha. In one piece, please,” he said wryly.

  She saluted him. “Of course, my prince.”

  Esha wrapped the blue-sapphire ropes around her wrists and forearms, entwining up her arms like the gold snake jewelry she used to wear.

  She crouched low and approached the wooden gates that had been linked and set up around the center area of the camp. They were taller than her and heavy, indicating that Vardaan wasn’t taking any chances.

  The gates also told her that even though these men were his, there was only so far that he trusted them. That she could work with. That was the key information they needed for later.

  For now, Esha got to work with the mercenary’s keys, unlatching the locks on the fenced gate. It took longer than anticipated, and Esha realized she was running short on time. They had paid off a villager to monitor the lights of the camp, which meant she now knew she had only a few minutes before Vardaan would send out guards to protect his tent and shift into a lion to sleep.

  And since she had no desire to fight a lion, Esha moved quicker.

  She felt along the edges of the back cloth of the tent. Even the best-made ones had a seam or two that she could rip through. They all had a double flap in the back as protection against the winds here.

  Esha cut through the back flap and used the second one to hide her shape as she got a glimpse of the inside of the tent.

  A tall shape moved near the far end. She heard faint sounds, clinks of metal against wood as he removed his jewelry. His sword stayed at his side. Esha noticed he had gotten a new one, not as ornate as his old one she had worn but just as fierce, with an exacting edge and a lion crested on the hilt.

  Esha burst out of her hiding space and ran full speed toward Vardaan.

  Vardaan whirled around, his sword out, before she even reached him. Anyone else and she would’ve had her whip around their throat before they even realized she was in the room—but Vardaan wasn’t just anyone. She had counted on him hearing her coming.