The tiger at midnight, p.10
The Tiger at Midnight, page 10
Everyone looked thin, so thin, and at closer glance Kunal noticed the cracked skin of their hands, the desperation with which they offered their goods to passing travelers.
He hesitated, but found himself speaking before he knew it. “Master, do you get many soldiers traveling through this town?”
“No, no,” the shopkeeper said, shaking his head. Kunal held his gaze and he faltered, though he did not step back. There was something on his mind, and Kunal felt his curiosity grow.
“Master, you can speak your mind.” Kunal softened his voice, rolling a fig in his hand. “I am simply curious. I have not traveled much recently.” The small man, old enough to be his grandfather, ran his gaze over Kunal. Kunal straightened, wanting to prove worthy in this man’s eyes.
“Yes, we have had many soldiers pass through. But they will get no welcome here, not anymore.” The shopkeeper leaned closer. “The last group stole our precious water, which has become scarce since the Bhagya River began to dry up. It’s a sign of the displeasure from the Earth Mother. They should never have broken the janma bond.”
It was clear the man intended to say more, but he stopped. Despite the ends of his curling mustache trembling, he held Kunal’s gaze, and Kunal felt himself having to look away.
The general had told the soldiers the drought was only passing, a blip. There had been no reason to question the statement—the Fort relied on trade for food, instead of agriculture, and they’d always been able to fulfill all their needs. It was a privilege they were offered—other towns didn’t have that option.
He hadn’t realized that the bond was this fractured, hadn’t questioned.
“Our janma bond, it is a wild thing, a creation of the gods, that is true. Yet even my grandchild knows that the ritual required the blood of a Samyad woman and a Himyad man. How the king—” The shopkeeper quickly shut up, realizing his words were bordering on treason. He backed away ever so slightly.
Kunal was not angry at his words, though, only shocked, and he wondered if the king had known of this. It was a sobering thought, one that had never occurred to Kunal before.
“We will protect our remaining wells. The town of Ujral will not be cowed.”
Protect their wells.
He knew the soldiers had a tendency to be brash, single-minded even—but to take from those who were so clearly in need?
Kunal wanted to shake the thought out of his head, but the look on the man’s face was one he wouldn’t be able to erase. The firm, grim line of his mouth, the fear that hid behind eyes that had seen too much pain. Kunal found himself speechless.
The soldiers were tasked with protecting their people. And the Fort soldiers had endangered them instead. They had failed—he had failed, and he hadn’t even known.
Heat surged into his veins.
To become commander might give him the power to change this—hold soldiers to their oaths, imbue honor into their training, get justice for misdeeds. He could make a difference as commander.
All he could do was grasp the man’s hand and bow over it, fingers to his chest.
“You have nothing to fear from me, on my honor as Naria’s child,” Kunal said, invoking the old oath his mother had taught him.
The shopkeeper’s eyes widened for a second, as if he couldn’t believe he was hearing such an old oath of fealty from a Fort soldier. But his gaze softened and he pulled Kunal up by his shoulders, returning the salute.
A sharp crack emanated from inside the stall, startling Kunal. His head shot up, his hand going to the knives in his waist sash.
“What was that?”
The shopkeeper looked nervously at the back of the stall and Kunal strode forward to check out the noise. Contain any threat.
He had made it to the back of the stall when the shopkeeper lunged in front of him.
“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing at all. Our stove makes odd noises sometimes.”
But there was no stove furnace that let from the back of the stall. Kunal gave the man a look before pushing to the corner of the tent, where the noise had come from. There was a small opening, as if the canvas flap of the stall had been hastily closed.
He pulled at it, his knife at the ready.
Only to find himself in a small room, surrounded by young girls. A middle-aged woman sat at the front, on a small wooden stool, her arms raised in the air. Her voice was deep and musical.
“It’s whispered that the gods foresaw the fracturing of the janma bond and planned for Princess Reha’s birth, determining she would be our savior. On a summer morning during his first visit to Gwali, Mahir Himyad, the future king of Dharka, caught sight of a beautiful maiden walking the palace gardens and vowed to win her heart. It wasn’t until later that he discovered the girl was Gauri Samyad, princess of Jansa and the younger sister of the reigning queen. A love for the ages—one that bridged the two nations.
“After marriage and the birth of a son, who became the crown prince of Dharka, Reha was born. A girl child who held claim to the Samyad queendom. She was a clever child but kind, spending her time in the libraries and stables of the palace in Mathur. Years passed in peace, both Jansa and Dharka thriving and the people happy. Little did they know what was to come.
“It is said that on the Night of Tears, the gods themselves wept with anger. The skies shook with storms, raining down a monsoon so fierce the air became a hazy gray. The queen Shilpa was dead, as were all those dear to her. And by a cruel twist of fate, Princess Reha was also there, visiting her aunt in Jansa to learn about that half of her blood, her birthright.
“The Senap Guard advanced on Princess Reha’s room, their jeweled armbands bright even in the darkness of that night, their tread heavy upon the marble floors of the palace. But someone had warned her. The princess Reha ran from her room, slipping through the tunnels under Gwali and escaping into the night.
“She has been roaming the land ever since, hidden to us, readying herself to return when we need her most. Our only savior. Our only chance to complete the renewal ritual as the gods intended and heal the fractured janma bond.
“And if we continue to pray, she will be found.”
He had never heard the story of the lost princess told this way. A memory of his mother came unbidden to him, her wide eyes as she screamed at him to run . . .
Kunal started at the hand placed on his shoulder, coming out of the memory.
“Please do not report them, emenda,” the shopkeeper whispered, appearing at his elbow. “I beg of you. They are only girls.”
Kunal’s pulse quickened at his words, understanding dawning.
The king’s edict against gatherings of more than six.
He had thought of it only as a counter-resistance method to deal with “malcontents,” as his general called them, those who wanted to incite rebellion and unrest. Or that’s what he had been told.
He was slowly realizing he had been told a lot of lies, and he had believed them all.
Kunal closed the flap and put a hand on the shopkeeper’s shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about,” he said, looking the shopkeeper in the eye. “As I told you, on my honor. What is this?”
It had looked to be a school of some sort, pieces of paper and chalk strewn about. A small, carved marble statue of a girl, a cowherd, had sat in the corner, on a raised platform. He’d seen the same one in the last town he had ridden through.
“We teach these girls, as no one else would. We have not the resources of a bigger city like Faor, but we make do.”
“I will tell no one.” Kunal crossed his hand over his heart. The shopkeeper visibly relaxed. “You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
Kunal hated that he had to make that clear.
“Was that the story of the lost princess? I’ve never heard it told that way before,” he asked.
The shopkeeper looked at him askance. “That is the way all Jansans tell the story, with a few variations. But the heart is the same.”
“The story we were told at the Fort was so different,” Kunal said.
“I am not surprised, young man. The general is a fierce friend to the king.”
Kunal started, realizing that he was speaking in the present tense. Which meant news of the general’s death had not reached them yet. At the mention of his uncle, Kunal tugged out the scroll in his pack, unraveling it to show the older man. He hadn’t sketched in a number of moons—but he had managed to capture the deep arch of her eyebrow, the curl of her lips. It would have to do.
“Have you seen this girl here?” he asked, a bubble of hope in his chest.
The shopkeeper shook his head. “Someone special to you?”
“You could say that.” He paused, trying not to be disappointed. He would just go on to Faor. “You mentioned food before?” Kunal asked, smiling.
The shopkeeper nodded, seemingly happy to move away from dangerous topics. He led him into the stall, away from the hidden room. Slowly, he relaxed around Kunal, answering his questions as he fried up more green pea cakes.
Kunal did love green pea cakes, but he also wanted to learn more about these people. Raju, the shopkeeper, told him more about Ujral—how it was reliant on agriculture and had begun to suffer two years ago, as the Bhagya River drought had begun. They had nothing for trading either—all of their sugarcane crops were no longer sellable, despite demand.
Their neighbors to the north didn’t face the same daily hardships, as the river still ran strong there from its starting perch in the Aifora Range. That worried Kunal—it indicated there was only so much time before all of the midlands were engulfed in drought. The capital and other cities in the south could rely on the ocean and trade.
These people would have nothing.
The king held no warm place in his heart, but this felt irresponsible, cruel even. Kunal was realizing how sheltered he was from the reality of Jansa’s land and its people. He had spent the past decade fighting on the borders or engaging in training missions, oblivious to all of it. Not questioning or looking beyond his own life.
For those who lived off the river, their land was all they had. They had no stake in the wars of this king who stole their land and lives.
Kunal left Raju’s stall an hour later, some special homemade rotis that Raju insisted he take tucked into his pack alongside the freshly made green pea cakes he’d bought.
He had a lot to ponder, especially the realization that no one had heard the general had been killed. Perhaps the Fort was keeping it under wraps until the Viper could be found.
Instead of taking the straight path back to his mare at the outskirts of the city, Kunal veered off to explore the rest of the small town by way of narrow, cobbled alleys. He needed to see for himself all Raju had described.
Shops started to nestle together and clothing transformed, as the bright embroidered colors and big turbans of the market area’s wide, open streets dissolved into the faded, muted tones of the poorer shanty streets.
After crisscrossing the rest of the town, he had unearthed no Viper but had seen more than enough—families of eight or ten crammed into huts no bigger than Raju’s stall, dried wells that were abandoned.
The stares became hungrier, and something inside Kunal cracked open.
So much he had ignored, overlooked, stayed quiet about in his life. No more.
A pair of boys tumbled into the street in front of him, tugging at each other. They came to a stop in front of him, faces open in wonder—and fear.
Kunal glanced down at his armor, clinking his nails against the gold cuffs on his wrist. Two rough tugs and the cuffs were off. He knelt to the ground, dirt coating his light-colored cotton dhoti, and handed them to the boys.
He would find new clothes as well, something that allowed him to blend in more in the towns he searched. The advantage that came with this armor wasn’t one he wanted anymore. He saddled his mare, tossing the thin strap of leather and stirrups over her back. She tried to nip at his hand playfully, but he didn’t have the heart to engage in their little game. Not today.
Once she was saddled, Kunal took off, telling himself it was to be efficient rather than to leave behind the images of these people’s pain.
As it was, he would never be able to forget them.
Chapter 19
Esha stepped over the man drugged and asleep on the wooden floor, limbs sprawled like unraveled threads, to cross the room.
Half-opened scrolls littered a small table, a candle and looking glass next to them. She had hoped the sleeping man’s expertise as a scholar would provide some useful insight into the scrolls she had stolen, but no luck yet.
Esha twirled in the new outfit she had acquired, the cool silk of the new sari like water against her skin. It was long enough that she was also able to strap her knife and whip to her thighs—a necessity when on the run. The sleeveless blouse was a deep blue, embroidered with gold and threads of purple, and fit her torso like a glove.
Her head jangled as she moved, a teardrop of gold adorning her forehead, her braided hair woven with thin strands of gold. A row of gold bangles sat on both of her wrists, shimmering with small crystals. Jansan fashion was bright and flashy, which was the opposite of inconspicuous. Esha rather liked the idea of hiding in plain sight among all the other baubles at the bazaar today.
She melted the tip of the kohl pencil over the small candle, dragging it over the outlines of her eyelid. Her breath came easy and she found herself with a smile on her face. A semblance of safety could do that to a girl. No one would find her here—she hadn’t entered this inn room through conventional means. The actual occupant lay prone on the floor two paces to her right, knocked out with an herbal draft.
An image of Kunal, his hand tossed over his eyes as he slept, passed through her mind. Why hadn’t she killed him right there in the light of the forest? One swipe and he would have been out of her hair.
But something had stayed her hand.
Despite the stories of the Viper, Esha wasn’t one for unnecessary bloodshed in her missions. She did what she needed to. Nothing more, nothing less. Her ability to blend in and take on any story was ideal for a rebel spy. While she did get her hands dirty, many of the Viper’s most famous exploits were embellished or pure fabrications.
Someone’s sister told someone’s cousin and soon enough, there were stories of her stopping an entire Senap squadron en route to the port. Not that she couldn’t have accomplished some of the feats attributed to her, she just hadn’t. Yet.
Killing for the sport of it would make her no better than the wretched Pretender King on Jansa’s throne. Esha was a soldier and spy for her people, and she had her own duty to honor.
Esha stepped back from the mirror, admiring her handiwork. A smoky black line clung to her lashes and eyes like the last mists of a summer rain. Her lips looked bitten by berry kisses. All in all, she looked like a pampered rich girl. Esha adjusted the anklets at her feet, fiddling with the hook as she frowned.
And now she was finally ready for her mission.
She’d been planning this since leaving the Tej, riding straight for Faor as soon as she got a horse. If Jiten had given her false information, she’d go back and take his fingers for good.
She had little to go off except for the reports and whip, the latter of which she couldn’t analyze till she got back to Mathur. This was her chance to discover more about why she’d been framed, and who might know her connection to the Blades.
Despite her new goal, she hadn’t forgotten the previous mission Harun, her oh-so-wonderful prince, had sent her on. Aside from killing the general and retrieving the report their fellow rebel had died protecting, she was also supposed to assess the weakness of the janma bond and the severity of the drought in Jansa.
The river still ran cold and strong here in Faor, but Esha had noted the drought-stricken towns that might be in need on her ride in. Dharka’s river was still unaffected by the fracturing of the janma bond, but Harun wanted updates to monitor the situation, to know where they could smuggle across supplies for the people. He said it was to garner popular support for the Crescent Blades, but Esha knew it was because of his soft heart.
She still hadn’t told Harun that soldiers were after her, that one knew her identity, and that someone else had gotten to the general first and framed her. And might know more.
Esha cringed at the thought of how her prince would reply to that note. Even if the message was encoded, if it was intercepted, it could put the Blades in great danger. Better—and safer—to deliver that kind of news in person.
She had kept an ear to the ground when she had entered Faor earlier, listening to the traders’ whispers around the town well. The news of the general’s death, or that the Viper was the main suspect, hadn’t reached them yet.
Instead the townspeople had sounded hopeful that this cease-fire would be the one to lead to lasting peace. The towns around the river hadn’t taken the same brunt of warfare—razed farmlands, destroyed buildings—that the border towns had, yet there was an excitement. Relief.
Esha’s heartstrings tightened, knowing that if she didn’t figure out why she and the Blades had been framed, it could threaten the fragile buds of peace that were now growing.
If their connection was revealed, it would look like the Dharkan throne had been behind the general’s assassination. Vardaan could use it as a reason to attack Dharka again and more lives would be lost.
The Viper was supposed to be the protector of her people—willing to take on the injustices of Vardaan’s regime. It had only been two years ago that her missions had become deadlier.
She had been young, too young, but no one else had the training or language skills she did. And she had been more than willing to take the risks. She had made Harun promise to separate himself and the Blades from the Viper, to stay unblemished.
She was already too far gone.
After being released from the dungeons of Gwali, she had been thrown on the streets with no food or money, only the clothes on her back. It was in a bazaar just like the one outside that a young noble boy had caught her picking his pocket and had grabbed her arm, noticing the valaya on her wrist, the starved look on her face. Instead of taking her to the guards, he had smuggled her into his family’s caravan. King Mahir had been the one to notice that the wild-looking child that her son dragged in was the late Dharkan ambassador’s daughter.
