Of light and shadow, p.8
Of Light and Shadow, page 8
The boy at once glanced from side to side. He wanted the food. Badly. But neither of them could cross Navin’s confinement barrier. There had been moments this week when Navin had been tempted to hum again. To see if his song could shatter the Shadow Bandit’s sound barrier as it did the Maw’s. But he’d held back. It might not even work, but what if his singing did shatter the barrier? The Shadow Bandit would grow even more suspicious of him than she was already and would likely cage him away somewhere in the tunnels, where he saw no one except rats.
Navin gave Chotu a smile, hoping it didn’t look as strained as he felt it did. You shouldn’t rely so much on your magic, little brother, Farhad had told him more than once. Fortunately—or unfortunately—until now, magic had solved a lot of Navin’s problems. Curse Farhad and his foresight. Curse their grandmother, too, and her last words to Navin: I will treat you with respect when you prove yourself worthy.
Proof. He suddenly understood the Shadow Bandit’s bitterness when she spoke the word. Farhad was likely the only family member who cared the most about Navin, but he wasn’t here now. Right now, Navin had only himself. A body in borrowed clothes, a brain, his unreliable instincts, and no amplifiers whatsoever.
His smile remained in place as a pair of figures appeared from the back of the cave. The Shadow Bandit and Lalit were frowning at something Chotu was saying. Roshan walked up to Navin and snapped her fingers, sound rushing back into his ears.
“Is there something wrong with your food, Rajkumar?” she asked sharply.
“Nothing,” he said. Well, it was bland. But it wasn’t bad. Bajra porridge had tasted like the fire goddess’s own food when they’d first arrived here, starving and exhausted. “It’s…a lot. I wanted to share it with the boy. He’s young. He needs strength. All I do is sit here.”
Silence. Several heads turned to look. Roshan and Lalit watched him for so long that Navin wondered if he had, indeed, sprouted an extra head or limb.
“You do realize”—he switched to the lazy drawl he’d perfected, one that made the most malicious courtiers in Prabha cower—“that I’d like to fit in my clothes again when I return home, don’t you? The newest fashions in the city are rather formfitting. And alterations are such a pain, Roshni.”
Lalit smirked at the comment. Roshan didn’t. She was still staring at Navin as if she couldn’t quite believe his words.
“All right,” she said after a moment. She stepped through the confinement barrier and picked up the bowl, handing it to the boy. “Chotu, what do we tell the rajkumar?”
“Meherbani!” Chotu’s genuine delight at being given more food warmed Navin’s insides and also made him feel oddly small. “Meherbani, Rajkumar Navin!”
“It’s nothing,” Navin replied truthfully. Growing up, he’d never had—nor been allowed—to share food. The one time he’d offered his brother a crispy eggplant bhajia, Navin had been reprimanded severely by the palace steward: “Rajkumar, those are not meant for the yuvraj! You must eat from your own plate and he from his. Please adhere to palace decorum and tradition.”
Now, as he watched Chotu, Navin wondered why they’d even bothered with such a tradition. There was something rather satisfying about sharing one’s meal, plain as it was—to feel the warm rush of having done something right for once. It was why, when the same large bowl came back to Navin for lunch, brimming over with steaming rice and a gravy of rich brown lentils, he shared it with Chotu again.
By dinnertime, however, moments into the fifth torch turning blue, the Shadow Bandit intervened.
“What’s this nonsense?” she asked Navin. “If you don’t want more food, say so.”
He shrugged. “I like sharing with Chotu,” he said truthfully. “His joy brings me pleasure in this dreary place.”
“Did you expect us to put on a dance recital in your honor?”
“No. But I didn’t expect to sit in one place. My hands will rot and fall off at this rate.”
He raised the hands in question, the wrists bruised by now from perpetually being in shackles. The Shadow Bandit scowled, and for a second, he thought she would stalk off, the way she sometimes did when annoyed or at a loss for words.
But then she said, “Fine. You want work? You’ll get it. The toilets need cleaning.”
Goddess’s flaming hair, he’d wanted to be unshackled—not put on cleaning duty! Still…this was freedom of a sort, wasn’t it? It would allow him to stretch his legs, to see more of this underground mine. To learn if there was any way out. Magical contract or not, Navin didn’t plan to give up without a fight. So he held on to his disgust, which wasn’t entirely difficult, and began mumbling an excuse:
“I didn’t mean—”
“No, no,” Roshan cut in. There was an evil smile on her pretty face. “There’s always work to be done with so many people and you are, as you said, an extra pair of hands. With a little supervision, I don’t see why you can’t be put to use. Starting tonight.”
She snapped her fingers before he could respond, locking the sound barrier in place. Navin raised his fists, mouthing curses into the buzzing void until everyone, even Chotu, turned away.
And that was when he stopped. And smiled.
THE ONLY BENEFIT OF LIVING UNDERGROUND WAS NOT HAVING to wear a blindfold at all times. Navin used this advantage, mentally mapping the Shadow Clan’s new lair as best as he could. He was confined to the central cavern, which made up the general living space and kitchen. As many as thirty bandits napped or slept here at night on blankets and pillows made of old gunnies. Then there were the inner tunnels, where Roshan, Lalit, and a few others seemed to sleep—though Navin hadn’t seen their “rooms.” The bathroom was the farthest from the main living area, accessible through a maze of tunnels, including a steep incline that made him breathless each time he climbed it.
At the top of the incline waited a wooden bucket filled with sand, a filthy shovel, and a wave of odors so strong they nearly made Navin throw up the rice he’d had for dinner.
“Are you going to faint?” The Shadow Bandit sounded disgusted. “You visit this bathroom, too, Rajkumar. You should be used to the smell by now.”
“You didn’t have to come—” Navin sucked in a breath through his mouth, leaning uncomfortably against the ridged wall “—supervise me.” He’d thought the leader of the Shadow Clan would delegate less pleasant tasks to a subordinate. He was clearly wrong. “What happened?” he taunted. “Can’t stay away, Rosh-niiiiiii?” He drew her name out, lifting it high in an unknown melody.
She rolled her eyes. Pale fragments of color floated around her deep red hair, dissipating nearly as soon as they’d emerged. So he was right. It had been the singing that had amplified his magic in the Maw. Yet, short of conducting an entire conversation in song, Navin doubted he’d be able to see or manipulate her aura right now. Let alone breathe. He gasped again, sucking in more air through his mouth.
“All right, Rajkumar. Get to work.”
Scooping sand from the bucket and dumping it into deep, foul-smelling pits. Work, with shackled hands, trying desperately not to inhale the stench, every movement sending a sharp shock up his arms. Feces littered the empty drainage tunnels bordering the pits, an ancient bamboo pipe the only remnant of whatever plumbing had existed in the mine eons ago. By the time the bucket was half full, Navin was already retching, his ribs and forehead drenched with sweat.
“…all right,” he heard someone say from a great distance. “It’s all right, Rajkumar. Come out. Let’s get you some air.”
A cool hand lightly brushed his burning forehead. By the time his vision cleared, he was back out on the incline, seated on the upturned bucket, his head tilted upward, eyes focusing slowly on the Shadow Bandit.
“You able to sit?” she asked, her voice softer than he’d ever heard it before.
“I think so,” he whispered back. A part of him wanted to laugh at the scene and also simultaneously bury his face in the ground.
“You actually shoveled,” she said flatly. As if she was surprised.
“Isn’t that what you ordered me to do?”
“You could have refused. Pretended to be sick. You didn’t have to really get sick!”
“I could have refused?” he asked sarcastically. “You mean, I had a choice in the matter?”
Her lips flattened ever so slightly. Again, he wished he had his amplifiers—if only to know when exactly she would shut him up.
“Hold up your hands,” she instructed, her voice abrupt.
Fire and ashes, was he going to be spanked?
But he did as he’d been told. Might as well face whatever lay ahead. There was a crack, followed by a flash of bright light and a sense of weightlessness on his wrists. And no wonder. His shackles were gone. Her calloused fingers slid up the backs of his hands. If it was someone else, he’d assume they were copping a feel. But not Roshan. Her gaze was on his wrists and the bruises purpling them. Magic outlined her form, left behind a sparkling residue on his newly healed skin. If that hadn’t shocked him already, then the words she spoke now certainly did:
“I apologize.” Sweat beaded her forehead—from the healing or nerves, he couldn’t tell. “I thought it would be funny to see you gag and make faces. I didn’t realize you would…” Her voice trailed off.
Panic so badly that I’d faint? he wanted to respond wryly. And he would have—if not for the tight set of her jaw, the tremor he now sensed in her hands.
“Does it happen often?” she asked. “The fainting.”
“Not really. Well, it happened when I las—when I was nine.” He’d nearly blurted out when I last saw my father. Another episode had recurred a month later when his grandmother had gifted him the jade bracelets—when Navin realized he’d never see his father again. But he didn’t mention that to her. “Hasn’t happened since…well. Until now.”
She placed his hands back in his lap. “All right.”
He sighed. “Don’t worry, Roshni. Your bargaining chip for the queen still lives.”
“That’s not why I—you know what?” She shook her head. “Never mind.”
“What? Are you going to tell me I’m wrong? That you and your so-called clan have my best interests at heart?”
A pause before she said: “No.”
At least she was honest. Ignoring the pinch in his chest, Navin closed his eyes.
“There was a time,” she said slowly, “when my baba, too, used to believe in Parasmani Bhairavi. That she had our—and Ashvamaidan’s—best interests at heart.”
Curse her for drawing his attention again. His eyes flickered open.
“Your baba,” he said. “Are you referring to the criminal Bhim Chaya?”
“I don’t have patience for mockery tonight, Rajkumar.”
“Do I look like I have the energy to mock anyone?” he asked wearily. “I’m merely curious, Roshan.” And he was. Curious about this man who had left behind a legacy of war and bloodshed. A man still beloved by this girl.
Navin’s use of her proper name—or perhaps the rare, serious tone of his voice—seemed to startle the Shadow Bandit. For the first time, she simply looked at him without a smirk or a scowl. As if she was as curious about him as he was about her.
“Bhim Chaya wasn’t always a criminal,” she said. “He was a farmer with a few bigha of land in the village of Alipore, where he grew sorghum. His greatest joys were his mate and his little girl. Baba said they had a mare, too, back then—a sturdy Jwaliyan redmane.”
There was another pause, which Navin did not fill with either an “and” or a “go on.” He barely knew the Shadow Bandit, but he sensed that any comment from him right now would likely stop her from speaking altogether. And he didn’t want her to.
“They sold the mare first to try to pay Subedar Yazad’s blood tithes,” Roshan said, her voice low, as if trying to rein in her emotions. “Then they began rationing grain from what they kept for themselves. But it wasn’t enough. Eventually, the Brights came to their door and demanded the land for ten dām. Ten copper coins for land worth a thousand gold. When Baba refused, they broke his legs and killed his mate and daughter while he watched. Baba said many times he wished they’d killed him, too.”
Navin had the strangest urge to reach out and touch her hand. To soothe her the way she had him only moments earlier.
“He decided to go and try to see Parasmani Bhairavi,” Roshan continued. “A whole group of farmers from Ashvamaidan went. But the queen wouldn’t even see them. Her steward declaring her booked for the next five years. When the farmers protested, he accused them of spoiling decorum.”
Sounds familiar, Navin thought, frowning.
“That was the day Baba understood that the queen, too, was complicit with the subedar. There would be no justice that day and there would be no freedom. Not unless he snatched it with his bare hands. That night, Baba and the farmers made a pact in the shadows of an old tavern in Prabha. They promised to fight for their lands as a unit. A family.”
The Shadow Clan.
“Well,” he said, “if it makes you feel any better, Parasmani Bhairavi pays little attention to anyone who isn’t the steward or the crown prince.” They were words he’d rarely spoken out loud. But something about the Shadow Bandit’s story and her disappointment in his grandmother had spurred his own. “Most of my own conversations with her are dressing-downs I rightfully deserve. Now I’ve added to her troubles by getting kidnapped. I bet she’d have been happier if I’d never been born.”
A long silence followed.
“I don’t think you’re right about that, Navin,” Roshan said.
The shock of hearing his name from her lips—without any prodding—nearly made him fall off his seat. “What?”
“If your grandmother didn’t want you, she’d have given you away to someone else—or gotten rid of you altogether. Baba said he found me by the river when I was a baby, lying on one of those garbage piles meant for burning. I guess I should be happy he got to me before the fire did.” She tried for a wry smile, nearly succeeded at it, too. Again, Navin felt that pesky urge to touch her hand—partly to reassure and partly to build on whatever was happening here between them. A bond, however fragile, would only help him later when the time was right to use his soul magic again.
Think. After a few seconds, he decided to speak a truth. “It makes sense,” he said. “Your loyalty to Bhim Chaya. To his clan.”
“It’s my clan, too.”
Did he sense possessiveness there? “Your friend, the wild dog, would disagree.”
She released a short breath that could have possibly been a laugh. “You mean Hemant. He isn’t bothering you, is he?”
“No. But he watches you all the time.” Fire and ashes, he sounded like a jealous lover. “Not in that way! I meant, he looks like—”
“—he wants to kill me.” She sighed. “I know. It’s been going on for a whole year now. I wouldn’t worry if I were you, Rajkumar.”
“Back to titles again?” He made a face even as he memorized that little bit of information about Hemant. “I’m hurt, Roshni. I liked it when you called me by my name.”
A smile hovered on her lips. “Doesn’t that break royal decorum or something of the sort?”
“Probably. Shove it and everything else up the palace steward’s arse.”
Another laugh, this one reminding him of warm, firebloom-scented nights in Prabha, and for a split second, he wondered what it would be like to hear it again. Softer. A little more breathless. Pinching his thigh through his clothes, Navin focused on the pain there, pretending his heart didn’t thump twice as fast when Roshan said, “All right. Navin.”
She rose to her feet. “Do you want to head back now or give the shoveling another go?”
He stood up so quickly he nearly felt light-headed. “Spare me the shoveling, please.”
“Even if decorum and your palace steward’s arse are involved?”
Laughter burst out of him—loud and belly deep. He pinched his thigh again, certain he’d find bruises the next day. But the pain was also a warning. A reminder that he couldn’t—by any means—like this girl. No matter how funny she was.
Yet maybe it wasn’t so bad that he’d laughed at her joke, because from that night onward, she let him sleep without his shackles and the sound barrier. His confinement barrier, of course, still remained in place.
The next evening—perhaps not wanting a repeat of the bathroom incident—Roshan switched him over to dish duty.
It took a while to get the hang of scrubbing crusty pots and pans with the shell of an old coconut, a mix of ash and sawdust, and the river water Chotu brought him in a bucket. But Navin could feel the Shadow Clan watching, so he bit back his complaints, even refused the Shadow Bandit’s offer to heal his bruised hands.
Patience, he told himself. Cleaning dishes wasn’t as bad as shoveling sand in the bathroom. It let him move out of his confinement barrier for a good hour, walk a few feet to the kitchen on the opposite side of the cavern, where he could, without raising suspicion, hum a song or two.
Roshan came to check on him later as she put up his confinement barrier. This time, she lingered for a while as they talked, their conversation easier, more relaxed.
Patience, Navin reminded himself when he felt exhaustion creeping in. Make her like you. The more she did, the more influence he’d have over her when the time finally came to use his soul magic. While his contract prevented Navin from making direct attempts at escaping the clan on his own, it didn’t preclude tricking the Shadow Bandit into helping him escape. All he needed to do was bide his time and keep up this pretext of docility.
It began to pay off the very next night. In the careful nod he received from Lalit as he worked. In shared smiles with Chotu when someone cracked a joke. In the shifting auras of color that began to emerge around various heads as he hummed. Once, when he glanced up from rinsing his hands, he caught Roshan looking at him and looking away almost instantly, a vivid pink flooding her aura. As if she had been caught doing something wrong.
