“But—”
“What do you need from us, Raja Amar?” Sarpanch Parvez interrupts with a glance at Councilor Maya.
“Your support. An army of men and women willing to fight, if the need arises. I know that I don’t have the right to ask for your help—”
“You don’t,” Councilor Maya interjects.
“Councilor Maya!” the sarpanch admonishes.
“Sarpanch ji, we can no longer tiptoe around this. He is not Ambarnaresh yet,” she points out. “Besides, you have the same concerns I do. Magi have used—and misused—non-magi in the past. They let their jealousy drive us to the ground and nearly demolish us. Why in Svapnalok should we help them? What will they give us in return?”
“I appreciate your honesty, Councilor Maya,” Amar says.
When the sarpanch attempts to speak again, Amar raises a hand. “Please. I mean it. Loving a kingdom doesn’t mean turning a blind eye to its problems. The Code of Asha says that a monarch must listen to their happiest and their unhappiest subjects to rule a kingdom wisely. If I am to be king later, I must learn to take criticism now. So please go ahead, Maya ji. I’m listening. Tell me what you’d like me to do.”
“I would like to know if you’ll restore us to our former positions,” she says. “Will you get us out of the tenements? Will we and magi be equals in deed as on scroll?”
“I will do that and more,” Amar says. “I want to build my government the way Ambar’s first queen did—with magi and non-magi ministers at the helm.”
“Will you sign a magical contract to that effect?” Councilor Maya demands. “Right now?”
There’s a long silence. Triumph glitters in Councilor Maya’s cold brown eyes. Even the other councilors frown.
Then: “Could someone please pass me a parchment?”
Amar’s words make me stiffen. Subodh turns his head sideways, as if trying to communicate with him. But Amar’s serious yellow gaze is fixed on Councilor Maya, who hands him the parchment and watches as Amar raises his quill and signs his name at the bottom of the blank page.
My throat closes when I see the ink glow green for a brief moment.
“The magic in this ink will hold me to my word,” Amar explains. “If I fail to live up to it, I will die.”
The non-magi council break into heated whispers. Finally, Sarpanch Parvez looks up.
“We can’t let you do that,” he says. “Yukta is like my sister. She sold herself at the flesh market because she didn’t have a choice. She would never approve of such a binding contract.”
“Neither would your mother, Raja Amar,” Subodh warns.
“Yukta Didi doesn’t make decisions for me. Neither does Rani Ma,” Amar says firmly.
“Raja Amar, you do realize what this is,” Councilor Maya says, her voice tight, oddly anxious for someone who has been granted an impossible wish. “We could write anything here. Saints, we could make you abdicate the throne and declare a non-magus monarch if we so wished! You can’t possibly trust us!”
“But I do trust you, Councilor Maya. You, your fellow councilors, and every non-magus in the southern tenements kept me safe when you could have given me up to Rani Shayla for a great reward. If not you, then whom else can I trust?”
The councilors say nothing, but they’re watching Amar now like the rest of us, hanging on his every word.
“Without trust, there is no faith,” Amar says. “Without faith, there is no hope. If we are to bring back the Ambar of old, the great kingdom of our ancestors, we need to start somewhere. I choose to start with placing my trust in you.”
The sarpanch and other councilors congregate, having a hushed conversation. Long moments later, they break apart.
“We will draft a contract separately first before placing the final words on the parchment,” the sarpanch says. “I’m sure that non-magi across Ambar will want to have a say in this as well, especially our brothers and sisters in the northern tenements.”
“Very well,” Amar says. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes,” the sarpanch says. “You said you want us to fight for you. But who will lead us in battle? And when?”
“Pashuraj Subodh and the Star Warrior will lead you in battle,” Amar says, glancing at me and Subodh. “I hope you think that is all right.”
I swallow hard, wondering if the councilors will reject me on the spot. But each head is nodding. The relief on their faces scares me more.
“Mind you—I will not force my people to fight,” Sarpanch Parvez says. “But I will not stop anyone who wishes to join your cause, either.”
“What about you, Sarpanch ji?” Amar asks. “Are you with us?”
The sarpanch frowns. “I have lived through segregation, a famine, two droughts, and a hundred changes to the tenement laws by two monarchs. I am not sure I’m doing the right thing by placing my trust in you, Raja Amar. I’m simply following my instincts. They may fail me, for what I know, and I may be written off as another foolish old man. But for today, I am with you. For better or worse.”
“And I am with the sarpanch,” Councilor Rayomand says in his gentle voice. Two of the women councilors echo the same sentiment. Only Councilor Maya says nothing, though her expression appears less hostile than before.
“We will spread word about the army,” Sarpanch Parvez says. “Will you accept anyone?”
“Yes. As long as they are of age or over,” Subodh says. “I’ll be at the reservoir if they need to find me.”
As we walk out of the temple and back into the bustle and heat of the crowded slum, I fall into step with Amar. “That was reckless of you. How do you know they won’t misuse that parchment?”
“You mean as reckless as you when you wanted to go to Javeribad?”
My mouth opens and then clamps shut, a stinging retort held back. He’s right, of course. Who am I to lecture him?
Amar sighs. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I now have an inkling of what you were going through. Some things are worth risking our lives for.” He pauses. “Speaking of which, do you know what happened to Cavas? Have you been in touch?”
I hesitate for a moment before filling him in.
Amar frowns. “A speech,” he muses. “She’ll attempt to discredit you, you realize. Make Cavas do it, more likely.”
“I trust Cavas,” I say, a little more forcefully than I want to.
“As you should.” Amar watches me for a moment, worry lining his forehead. “Well, I’d better go now and see if Councilor Maya needs any help with the garden. Perhaps I can conjure a mango tree to please her.”
We part ways. I head to the reservoir, where I find Subodh standing next to Queen Sarayu’s nest—empty, save for a few bones and the old bandage we used for her wing.
“What happened?” I ask. “Where’s Rani Sarayu?”
“She was feeling better, so she left for Aman,” Subodh says, gesturing to the reservoir. “She never likes staying away from her subjects for too long.”
The silence between us stretches and I know Subodh is thinking about his conversation with the simurgh last night.
“Have you ever thought of going back home?” I ask.
“What is home, Gul?” the Pashu king asks wearily. “Where is it, I wonder, for a rajsingha who always felt better fighting than ruling—who endangered his own subjects in a war that wasn’t his to begin with?”
I think back to something Subodh whispered to me months earlier. “Is that what you meant when you told me that you’ve made bigger mistakes in the past?”
“It is. And I continue making them today. Thank the great animal spirits for Rani Sarayu. Without her I would have done the same thing all over again. She is a better ruler than I’ll ever be. In any case, today is not about me and my problems. I think the meeting with the non-magus council went well, don’t you?”
“Don’t you think it’s dangerous, what Amar did?” I ask. “What if someone misuses that parchment? Councilor Maya—”
“—is someone we s
hould risk placing our trust in,” Subodh says quietly. “Besides, what other choice do we have?”
We lapse into silence for a moment. “Do you think non-magi will sign up to fight?” I ask.
“I think they will. Though I’m not sure how many. They’ll likely be intrigued once they see the Legion training together.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I muse. “But where will we train?”
The tenements are crowded and, even with only twenty women, it will be difficult to find a large enough space for everyone to practice at once.
“Falak might be able to help,” Subodh says. “She worked side by side with Esther when it came to training the women.”
Falak does have a solution.
“Not a problem,” she tells me. “For many years, Esther trained a few of us at a time on the roof of the infirmary. We can do the same here, in front of your tent. Two facing you off here.” She draws a circle on the ground with chalk to mark the spot. “You’ll probably need to put up magical shields to protect anyone else from getting in the way of a lathi or a spell. You’re using death magic, correct?”
“Yes.” I can no longer avoid the inevitable. “Kali and Raja Subodh will put up the magical shields.”
Moments later, I raise my daggers and face two lathi-wielding women—Sami and Falak herself. My mouth flutters as I exhale, a sound that makes them both smile.
“Keep your shields ready,” I tell them. “You are free to use anything you like to defend yourselves.”
Their smiles disappear the moment I release a jet of green flame. Sami flattens herself to the ground, her shield covering her head. Falak does a little better, standing firm the way the commander of the Legion should, and holds up her metal shield to deflect most of my spell, which singes off the tip of her shoulder-length gray braid.
“Again,” I say. “Falak Didi, you were great. Sami, see if you can stand up this time. Throw rocks at me if you want to. But try fighting back, however you can.”
It’s not what Amira would have done. Amira would have mocked and taunted, would have smirked as she repelled Sami’s rock back with magic, aiming it right at her skull.
I, on the other hand, shatter the rock with a well-placed spell and then nod.
“Not bad,” I say. “Now see if you can put your shield to use. Deflect the spell back at me so that I have to fight it. At the same time, throw a rock. See if you can slow me down.”
Without losing a breath, I shoot another spell at them, this one turning into a swarm of green arrows.
When neither Falak nor Sami move, I wonder if I’m going to have to find myself another new commander of the armies and Kali a new girlfriend.
Then, at the very last second, Falak takes both of their shields and holds them up together side by side. From behind the extended barrier, Sami deftly throws a series of rocks aimed at different parts of my body.
Protect, I think, forced to shield myself from my own deflected spell. The shower of rocks, however, continues, finding my left shoulder and my right knee, which both explode in agony, nearly toppling me to the ground.
Sami definitely has excellent aim.
Tears reflexively leak from my eyes, but I’m grinning so wide that no one else notices. Or cares.
“Fantastic!” I shout, my ribs swelling at the sight of their beaming faces. “Teamwork is key here. Don’t look at magic as something insurmountable, but simply another weapon you need to fight.”
They may no longer have their magic, this Legion of mine, but they still have their wits. As we practice a few more times, I note a small crowd of non-magi gathering by our campsite, their eyes widening every time Falak and Sami deflect my spells, gasping when I’m forced to spin out of the way of a spear that would have otherwise lodged itself in my throat.
“Well done, again, Sami,” I call out. “Now let’s take a break before you both finish me off.”
The two women laugh and so do our onlookers—as if the very real possibility of our dying during a spar were a myth.
Strange, I think. Only a few weeks ago, such a scene would have been unimaginable to me. Right now, though, anything seems possible, including saving Cavas and winning this war.
As Kali hurries over to check on our injuries, a young woman from the cluster of watching non-magi walks up to Sami.
“You really weren’t fighting with magic?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper. “You and that other woman?”
“We weren’t,” Sami confirms. “My magic—and Falak Didi’s—was drained away years ago in Tavan.”
The girl stares at Sami’s starry tattoos, her eyes widening. “Can I learn to fight like that?”
“Of course you can,” Sami says with her wide smile. “We’re hoping you will, actually. You and any other friends of yours.”
“One moment.” The girl rushes off and returns with two more women. I write down their names and ask them to come in for training tomorrow.
“We’ll have to plan this properly,” I say. “If more people show up, there will be no place to fight.”
“Raja Amar said he’s working on something,” Kali says.
“Is he planning to conjure an arena?” I ask, making her laugh.
Yet, despite the lightness of the moment and the general triumph of the day, darkness hovers at the back of my mind.
It’s not until the evening that news about Cavas arrives—brought in by a living specter with a hard, oddly familiar voice.
“He promised allegiance to our new rani, of course,” the specter says. “She kissed him to seal the deal. It went on for rather a long time.”
Trust me, Cavas said. Whatever happens. The words mingle with others from his speech: witch, jantar-mantar, regicide, murder.
I stand stiff and pale-knuckled, ignoring the concerned gazes of my friends and my army.
“The crowd reacted in various ways,” the specter goes on. “Some cheered, some looked disgusted, but most were confused. I have to say she’s clever, the kabzedar rani. Showing the whole kingdom that the Star Warrior’s lover is now hers.”
My nails dig into my palms. What did I expect? That Shayla would leave Cavas untouched?
“Populous as it is, I hardly think the capital constitutes Ambar as a whole,” Latif smoothly puts an end to the whispering caused by the other specter’s remark. “Thank you, Roda, you have been most useful.”
Roda? I look up, shocked. “Did he say—”
“Roda, yes,” Subodh answers. “She became a living specter when we battled the Sky Warriors in Tavan.”
“Don’t mind her,” Latif says, his presence like a cool breeze at my side. “She’s merely angry at being killed off so early. Spite and mockery, unfortunately, are common traits among specters who die young.”
Like Indu, I think, remembering the little girl’s scornful voice. Yet I can’t feel angry with Indu now or, for that matter, Roda. It was my ineptitude that cost Esther and Roda their lives.
“Stop it,” Sami tells me.
“Stop what?”
“Being so hard on yourself. Ah, ah, don’t deny it,” she says when I open my mouth to respond. “You have a tendency to beat yourself up over what happens to others.”
“She does,” Kali says, joining in the conversation. The two women give each other conspiratorial smiles.
“It isn’t funny,” I say angrily. “People are dying.”
“And you can’t blame yourself for every death,” Sami says, her tone surprisingly stern. “Roda was part of the Legion. She knew that there would be danger and that some of us would die in battle.”
“Not everyone expects death. Some expect only victory.”
“And you can’t hold yourself accountable to every expectation,” Kali says. “Some will expect victory followed by a parade of dancing dustwolves. What will you do then? Whisper a few into swaying with clay pots over their heads?”
Kali shifts into a dancing pose—a really bad one, with flying arms, widened eyes, and bared teeth to mimic a dustwolf’s
snarl.
A snort erupts from my mouth, the prelude to a laugh that brings tears to my eyes. Next to me, Sami clutches her stomach, her laughter reduced to gasps.
“Queen’s curses, Kali. That was awful,” I say upon recovering my voice.
“Good,” Kali says, smiling. “Now let’s go have dinner.”
That night, I dream of blood pooling the marble floors of Ambar Fort. Of the Scorpion parading Cavas from city to city, slowly peeling off bits and pieces of his flesh, only to reveal a stranger underneath. When I wake this time, it’s to the tang of metal in my mouth, the sharp pinch of a bitten tongue. No one’s here to comfort me. Nor to stop me from plunging deep into a meditative state if I wanted to.
I step out of the tent, sweat drenching the front of my sleep tunic.
“You need to trust Cavas,” I tell myself. “He knew what he was going into. You can’t put him in any more danger than he already is.”
I repeat the same thing, over and over, until I grow exhausted again, ignoring the shivers that run through my body and Roda’s scornful laugh floating overhead.
SNAKES AND SPECTERS
23rd day of the Month of Dreams 6 months into Queen Shayla’s reign
30
SHAYLA
“Threat of a mutiny in the Amirgarh cantonment?” I toss the scroll the messenger brought in this morning back on my desk. “What nonsense is this?”
“The infantry are demanding wage increases,” Acharya Damak says in his slippery voice. “Similar to the kind you gave the Sky Warriors.”
“The Sky Warriors keep the whole kingdom safe,” I snarl. They keep me safe in this pit of vipers. “Besides, the treasury is nearly empty. How am I supposed to increase the wages of peasant soldiers at a time like this?”
“Ambar Sikandar, it isn’t only the peasants who are revolting. Many of the infantry soldiers come from the families of zamindars, merchants, and wealthy farmers. They have now banded under the leadership of one Brigadier Moolchand, brother to Zamindar Moolchand, who was executed for sedition in Dukal.”
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