The Archer at Dawn

by Swati Teerdhala

  Esha grinned, looking around to find her next target as she sipped her rosewater lassi.

  To her left, a lower Jansan nobleman. Too young to be useful, but potentially a good asset. Ahead, two Jansan noblewomen making loud comments about everyone’s attire. Gossips were useful, but these ladies had frayed sandals that were a season out of style. They hadn’t been to court recently, which meant their houses were out of favor. To Esha’s right, someone more promising.

  She was about to insert herself into the conversation with the Jansan nobleman, from House Rusala, as his anguli, his sigil ring, indicated, when Harun caught her eye. He had been watching her, and a small smile was on his face. She smiled back, happy to see his mood lifting.

  As if her thoughts had conjured him, Vardaan entered the room. A fanfare of trumpets and drums sounded through the vast space, and silk-clad dancers led the way, welcoming him into the hall. They tossed jasmine and rose petals at his feet, creating a pathway onto the dais.

  Ah, this was the pomp and circumstance Esha had been expecting when they had been greeted at the palace gates earlier.

  Harun let it all happen around him, not moving from his spot, sipping at his drink. Strength was shown in the small moments.

  Vardaan didn’t go toward his throne, though. A boy holding a mahogany box followed him as he strode over to Harun and grasped him by his shoulders.

  “Welcome and blessings of the Sun Maiden to you,” he said.

  “Blessings to you as well, Uncle,” Harun said, repeating the welcoming salutation of the Sun Mela. Esha edged up the side of the crowd that was growing around them.

  “I come with gifts—”

  “No, Uncle, you shouldn’t have.”

  “But of course. I haven’t seen my only nephew in over a decade.”

  Neither of them mentioned the reason for that. The bloodshed and violence and broken lives. Esha’s hands curled into loose fists at the mask of pleasantry on Vardaan’s face.

  “And we are celebrating potential peace between our nations,” Vardaan continued.

  Vardaan snapped his fingers again and the boy opened the box to reveal gold jewelry, armbands, and short and long necklaces. They were resplendent, befitting of kings.

  And studded with blue sapphires, the most inauspicious of stones according to the lore of their Southern Lands. Not just inauspicious, but deadly and painful to those of royal blood. Harun still had a nasty burn scar from accidentally holding an uncut blue sapphire. The practice of mining blue sapphires had been ended decades ago—a joint decision by the Samyads and Himyads of the time. A matter not known to many.

  Esha walked closer so that she was parallel to the royal pair, hiding behind a woman’s large hairpiece in the shape of a peacock.

  “Oh, Uncle. Thank you for this gift, but we cannot accept,” Harun said.

  “Of course you can. We’re family, and our countries are about to be allies once again. Unless, of course, you’re not deferring out of respect but rather fear?” Vardaan offered a thin, slimy smile. “Come now, nephew, we no longer have those silly beliefs about the gods here. We don’t believe in those old folktales of the ill luck of blue sapphire, do we?”

  Harun bowed his head, looking as if he was, in fact, scared. “I have no desire to turn away your generosity, Uncle. We’ll gladly accept. But let’s not assume too much of the gods yet, yes? They know and see all, weighing our actions.”

  Harun looked up, every ounce of deference fleeing as he locked eyes with Vardaan. “We will all be accountable, whether in this life or the next.”

  Vardaan hesitated, but before he could decide whether to take offense, Harun unleashed a blinding smile.

  “Please, Uncle, do not let me slow down the festivities. My mother always said the rules of the Sun Mela must be announced before sundown, as per tradition. Did I learn this correctly?” Harun asked out to the crowd, drawing them in with one waving hand.

  Many of the Jansan nobles nodded slowly, warmed by the mention of the late Queen Gauri.

  “Then let us begin,” he said, bowing out of the way.

  Esha shook her hands out under her uttariya, steadying them as she turned away. Didn’t this Pretender King have better things to do than threaten her prince? And to offer blue diamonds, the stones of the Lord of Darkness.

  He wasn’t worthy of Naria’s image, of her legacy. But she wasn’t the only one who felt this way. Even some of the Jansan nobles seemed to be shocked.

  “—what will he do, the young prince? It is an insult. I wouldn’t—”

  “—the prince is no older than King Mahir was when he inherited the crown—”

  “—I can’t look. Doesn’t our king know he is inviting bad luck—”

  Esha threaded her way through the crowd, taking care to pick up any information she could. Just as she got to the front, the doors opened and the conch shells were blown, announcing the newest arrival.

  The Yavar clanspeople.

  Their retinue swept into the large hall, about a dozen strong, excluding their warriors. Esha’s view was partially blocked by a tall nobleman who kept fidgeting, moving back and forth in front of her vision.

  Esha threw a few elbows and cleared a line of sight for herself again, but the Yavar had taken up a spot to the side, hidden under the balustrade of the ballroom. The warriors at the front wore fierce expressions; the rest of the retinues’ expressions were rather blank. A few of the younger members of the retinue looked around in awe.

  “Welcome, Yavariya. You’ve arrived just in time. I was just about to gather our guests around to announce the rules for the Sun Mela,” Vardaan said, voice booming throughout the cavernous space.

  A figure emerged from the group of fur-draped Yavar. A brown-skinned lady, no taller than Esha, with a pleasing round face and a strong nose. She was beautiful, as evidenced by the reactions of many of the noblemen. Her chin—it gave her away as the heir. She held it too high, either from years of arrogance at her birth or years of having to feign it. Her long, straight black hair was braided back, falling to her waist.

  This was Lady Yamini of the Yavar, heir to Seshirekh’s throne.

  Lady Yamini bowed to Vardaan, in the way that was customary to the Yavar, but not as low as one might expect. “Thank you for your invitation again, King. Jansa was a sight to behold on our journey here, though much changed from my last visit,” she said.

  Esha heard the undertone to it—about the drought in Jansa. The Yavar didn’t have the same connection to the land as they did. Their forebears had eschewed the gift from the gods, choosing instead to roam the lands and find their sustenance as they pleased. The Yavar prized their freedom, and their ancestors had been no different.

  She was still unsure why the Yavar were here. Judging by the looks around the room, many others were, as well. Their clans hadn’t attended a Sun Mela in years.

  “This Sun Mela marks a new chapter, with all the people of the Southern Lands united once again. It has been my greatest regret that I have not been able to bring us all together,” Vardaan said.

  Not for lack of trying. Vardaan’s idea of bringing the countries together was under his own banner and his own rule.

  “I’m glad to have the Dharkan and Yavar nobility with us this year,” Vardaan said. He grabbed a goblet from the gold plate near him and raised it high. “To a new beginning.”

  Esha murmured along with the crowd, raising her goblet, all the while thinking of one thing. The gift, this show of peace, the happiness that Tana had hinted at a moon ago—it confirmed in her mind that he had Reha and that he felt confident.

  Well, she’d do her best to strip him of that confidence. Piece by piece.

  Vardaan walked to the throne at the front of the room, solid gold and towering. A gold eagle statue was curled around its back, his wings protecting whoever sat there. A prickling feeling grew in her chest as memories swarmed her. That wasn’t his throne to sit in.

  “And now for the rules of the Sun Mela, our time-honored tradit
ion,” Vardaan said, taking a seat. “Our tournament of athletics to find the mightiest in the land. This year the competition will be open to all men—Jansan, Dharkan, and Yavar.”

  He didn’t say women, which wasn’t a surprise. Nor did he use the proper salutation for the Sun Mela, instead focusing on the athletics. The Sun Mela was also the start of festival days throughout Jansa, and in the city of Gwali, families gathered and celebrated the return of the Sun Maiden to the land. It was a sacred time, a time of the gods. Vardaan had never been one for the gods, though.

  “As always, we will hold initial qualifiers open to all men tomorrow to pick our one hundred champions. From there we will have three major competitions to crown our mightiest, and the winner of the prize. A boon from me. A king’s boon,” Vardaan said, throwing a wink at the crowd. Esha resisted a scowl at his charming smile. He should have warts or hideous scars to show his true colors, not this appearance of friendliness.

  “First, our archery tournament. Then mace fighting, and, last, the chariot race, until there is only one champion. And, of course, we’ll be hosting musical competitions throughout, and a number of our venerated houses will host the champions’ parties within the royal sector. But this year, there will be some exciting new additions to the competitions.”

  The crowd buzzed at his words, and Vardaan quieted them with a raised hand. Was she the only one who felt a shiver of dread at his words?

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Trust me, it’ll be . . . thrilling.”

  Definitely not good.

  The crowd of nobles was excited, though there were a few confused faces in the House Ayul and in some of the Dharkan houses, like House Panchala and House Drivedi.

  “Due to the larger crowd at this Sun Mela, we will have to restrict access to the citadel to just the champions to ensure their safety and comfort. The training courtyard in the palace will be open to any men, however.” Vardaan clapped his hands. “And we’re done.” He turned his head up to the sundial that hung from a corner of the room. “More time for all of you to drink and enjoy yourselves.”

  Some of the younger Jansan noblemen from House Manchi gave a hearty Hear! Hear! as they swayed. Esha looked away and tried to digest everything, listening as many of the Dharkan nobles tittered in excitement at seeing their first Sun Mela games.

  This wasn’t her first Sun Mela—her first had been fifteen years ago, when she had wandered around the grounds of the palace with her hand tucked into her father’s palm. When her mother and she would pick new jasmine garlands to wear and new outfits with the colors of their favorite players from the markets, which would churn out new saris as favorites emerged.

  Esha took a deep breath in and out, unclenching her fingers from the goblet.

  There was so much to do. Information to find, nobles to charm.

  Esha eyed a target and slithered over, goblet in hand and laugh at the ready.

  Chapter 11

  Esha looked around the room for Kunal, but the throngs of people refused to budge.

  “Do you think House Pushpal will have the victor again?”

  “There’s no way the Blacksmith’s Guild will show their face after that abysmal mace fighting from last year.”

  “I’ve heard rumors that Dharmdev will be at the games.”

  That stopped Esha. When she looked around to identify the voice, she couldn’t. She cursed inwardly, moving through the crowd again. Esha whipped around and bumped into one of the servants, a young woman. She began to apologize when the girl looked up.

  “Aditi,” she said, recognizing her own maidservant.

  “Sorry, my lady. I should’ve been more careful.”

  Esha snorted. “I ran into you.”

  She’d lost the voice in the crowd, and Esha frowned. As she looked around one last time, she saw the Yavar again, now mingling with the other nobles.

  “Tell me, Aditi. How long ago did the palace know that the Yavar were arriving?” Esha asked, finally putting words to the question that had bothered her all evening.

  “We only found out recently.” Aditi straightened her back as another servant passed by. “Our king makes many last-minute decisions, and we, of course, are here to oblige his wishes.”

  She gave Esha a pointed look.

  “I thought as much.”

  “Have you seen the prince tonight, my lady?”

  “Yes, I saw him earlier,” Esha said, still caught up in her thoughts.

  “I’d advise you to go and speak to him before he’s overrun with the other ladies. Perhaps leave another note,” she added, grinning wide.

  “How do you know the notes are to the prince?”

  “I didn’t till now.”

  Esha barely had time to laugh before the girl gave her an impish smile and bustled away. She watched her go, noticing how the Yavar were drawing a little crowd and the tentative way the Jansans and Dharkan nobility were talking to one another, using the Yavar as the buffer.

  But she was looking for one person now.

  She saw him standing with his fellow Senaps, completely oblivious to the gaggle of ladies near him. No wonder the ladies had singled him out. Tonight he looked like a commanding soldier straight from the ancient tales, with his uttariya thrown over one shoulder, concealing yet also highlighting the strong, sculpted body underneath.

  Esha studied his face, the strong jawline and faint beard that skimmed it, admiring the way his full mouth contrasted. Hard and soft.

  It’d been a little over a week since they’d seen each other—their longest time apart in the past moon.

  Esha looked away, not wanting to draw attention, as she caught the tail end of one nobleman’s comments, bursting out into laughter at the joke about the fisherwoman and her disobedient husband. She glanced at Kunal only to see that he was staring back at her, his gaze intent. Her skin flushed as their eyes met, lingered, and broke apart.

  All the thoughts in her brain fled, replaced by a sudden need to talk to him.

  Kunal pulled at the new Senap armband he wore. He had clasped it too tight and hadn’t had a chance to fix it before his squad had been called to their patrol.

  The hall was resplendent in silver and indigo that evening, sheer reams of silk draped from the ceiling, diamonds and aquamarine hanging as well. The silver of the moonlight outside mingled with the jewelry decked around the necks, arms, and waists of the guests, looking as if the heavens themselves had been brought down.

  Esha was in the corner of the room, her mass of curls twined together like a crown on her head, her sari a deep indigo that moved to a light indigo as it flowed to the ground. A gradient fit for the night sky and one he would love to paint, especially if Esha was in it. She glanced up, and he caught her kohl-rimmed gaze across the room, his heart skipping a beat.

  Beautiful. As always.

  He longed to march right over and whisk her away, someplace where there would be only the two of them, away from the eyes of everyone.

  She had a mischievous smile on her face as she glanced over the shoulder of the noble across from her. Something in her eyes flickered, the quickest of movements, a glance to the side. What was she trying to tell him?

  He turned to the left and looked back at her in confusion. But Esha wasn’t facing him anymore, instead laughing throatily at something the noble had said.

  A voice startled him as he realized a few of his fellow soldiers had gathered around him.

  “Of course the Mela games will be won by a Jansan,” Chand said.

  “With the Yavar here? They’re expert horsepeople; one of them will be guaranteed to win the chariot race,” said Alok, who had basically become the sixth member of Kunal’s new Senap squad, considering the amount of time he spent with them.

  “But the archery? Mace fighting? No one can match us,” said another, a smaller man who had recently joined the Senaps.

  “I think the Dharkans might surprise you,” Kunal said. “Their training is similar.”

  Alok nodded. “That’s
true. My weapons master at home was a Dharkan, before the war.” Kunal glanced at his friend. He had never bothered to ask about his life before the war, not wanting to pry.

  Esha flitted on the edge of his vision, never completely leaving it. She turned at one point, glancing toward him with a frown, probably due to the group he was standing in.

  He understood her misgivings about the Senap guard, especially after what she had told him she had suffered at their hands. He had his own misgivings, and yet, many of the Senap were not at all what he thought. They were different from the soldiers at the Fort—Chand’s calm drawl of a voice, Porus’s frantic way of eating. Even Alok had mellowed in the city, though he was still being a pest about joining in on “all the fun you’re having.”

  These men had chosen to commit themselves to a higher level of training, like Kunal had, and he saw how careful and analytic they were, kindred spirits to his own way of thinking.

  If only they weren’t bound to a man who couldn’t be trusted.

  Esha’s stare lingered a little longer this time, hard and penetrating. Alok noticed and appeared a bit uneasy.

  “Why is she looking at me like that?”

  Kunal sighed inwardly. Where was the charming girl he knew? An idea struck him, a way to get back at Alok for all his nagging. “Maybe she fancies you. Some girls are just bad at showing it.”

  His friend nodded slowly, as if Kunal was right. Porus and Chand nodded along as well, glancing a bit uneasily between themselves. Kunal hid a little grin, knowing that it was all bravado.

  Alok puffed up his chest a bit. “She is quite pretty, despite the scowl. Maybe I should go over there. See how long it takes me to make that scowl disappear.”

  “I think that’d be a bad idea,” Kunal said immediately.

  “Really?” Alok said, the air deflating out of him. He looked relieved, though, and Kunal realized that despite all the talk, he’d never seen Alok approach a girl.

  “Yes. Also, she’s a Dharkan by the cut of her waist sash,” Porus said.

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Alok said.

  “I mean she’s a Dharkan noble, and you’re . . . you.”