The Archer at Dawn

by Swati Teerdhala

  “You? Sneaking somewhere?” she said, her eyebrow rising. “I’m shocked, Kunal.”

  “I wasn’t all boring.”

  “You’re not boring at all, lemon boy.”

  “And the mission?”

  “Everything’s the same. Whether you win or lose, we’ll still have tonight to make our move. The champions won’t be moved out of the citadel until tomorrow, and by then, we’ll be long gone.” She pushed at him, stepping away. “Stay alive. I won’t be pleased if you don’t.”

  Kunal gave a strained laugh, forcing himself to focus on the new problem at hand—did he do what Laksh wanted or what Esha asked? And what did he ultimately want?

  He hadn’t asked himself that question in so long, not since the moment Laksh had escaped in the jungle, when everything had changed.

  Esha tilted her head, a smile breaking out on her face. “Have I told you how glad I am that you’re here? This mission . . . it’s different.”

  “I’m glad to be here.” His mouth softened as he remembered everything that had brought them here. “I would’ve never had the opportunity if I hadn’t met you. Esha. . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I know you told me to be careful, but the same applies to you. Don’t do anything rash.” It was all he said for a beat, but she understood.

  Don’t go off alone again.

  “I might not agree with you on getting justice, Kunal, but I won’t endanger the mission again. I promise.”

  “It’s not that. If something happened to you . . . I don’t know what I’d do. And tonight will be dangerous, until we’ve rescued her.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’d probably be better off. Find a pretty girl, settle down somewhere boring, have beautiful kids and paint them all,” she said, though her face belied the flippant words.

  “If I had any choice, I’d never spend a moment away from you. Not now and not . . . It would have to be the world ending to take me away from you,” he said.

  “Let’s pray it never ends,” she whispered, no longer trying to hide the emotion on her face. “Once this is all over . . .”

  “Once we can be in the same room and actually speak . . .”

  “Once we tell the team . . .” She winced as she said it.

  “Gods, that will be interesting to see.”

  “Everyone’s going to be so happy when I reveal I’ve been lying about my feelings for months.”

  Kunal stilled, looking up at her. “And what might those be? Those feelings.”

  “If something happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do,” she said, repeating his words softly.

  He wanted to say something, capture the fledgling feeling between them in a few poignant words. But they stuck in his throat, unable to come to life.

  “Now go, before they disqualify you for not showing up during warm-ups.”

  She sent him one last quick glance before turning the corner, leaving him alone with his muddled thoughts. Kunal took a deep breath, stilling his center as King Mahir had taught him. Every word Esha had said made sense, yet he couldn’t shake his frustration and restlessness.

  He jogged back into the training room and slid past the guard who was distractedly looking out into the arena.

  Kunal craned his neck around to catch what the guard was looking at—the impostor Reha standing in the center of the stadium.

  Chapter 33

  Esha hurried back, lifting up the skirts of her sari to run faster through the corridors that wound up to the box seats. Being late wasn’t typically suspicious, but she didn’t want to draw any attention today.

  She got to the open-air level of the arena, slowing her steps down to something appropriately ladylike, when she heard it.

  A girlish voice down below.

  Esha looked over to see the fake Reha in the center of the arena, giving a speech of some sort. She was too far up to hear Reha’s words clearly, but the arena was silent.

  Esha smiled, the audience’s silence an indication that some of their plan had begun to work. The people of Gwali were naturally suspicious after years of rule under Vardaan. It hadn’t been too difficult to stoke that fire, even in the few days they had.

  A low hiss started in the crowd, one that grew and crescendoed into a wave of jeers that made the impostor princess stutter and look up. To her credit, she continued on, rushing through the end of her speech even as the boos increased and other citizens became emboldened.

  She almost ran off the stage at the end of her speech, and it took the announcer the better part of ten minutes to calm the crowd.

  Esha signaled to a waiter, grabbing a goblet off the silver platter he was carrying. She raised the chilled buttermilk to her lips and looked over to where Lord Mayank sat across the way. He lifted his glass ever so slightly in her direction.

  Their alliance was off to a good start.

  The cheers of the crowd were deafening, echoing through the open arena, surrounding them all.

  One of Chand’s horses whinnied and he reached forward, a worried look on his face. The other competitors fared better, wearing varying degrees of apprehension or arrogance on their faces.

  Kunal rubbed his hand against one of his horses’ necks, calming it down as he attached the reins to its back. He whispered into the horse’s ear, trying to find their connection and tug on it. The stallion blew air out of its nose and shook its mane, turning to stare at Kunal. Kunal stared back, blinking only once.

  A stallion like this needed to be shown dominance and be able to work with the others. That was the hardest part about chariot racing—keeping the horses in tune and working together.

  The sun beat down on the arena floor, creating pockets of blinding light. Kunal would have to avoid those spots if he wanted to keep a strong rein on his chariot. However, he could maneuver the other charioteers into it.

  While he was against dirty tricks, he wasn’t against smart play. But should he win or lose?

  Either option left him with a taste in his mouth that reminded him of the Fort.

  Esha didn’t trust him. Laksh sought to use him.

  He bit down on his cheek, thinking hard and fast.

  The conch shell blew, a warning before the thrice-blown conch that would signal the opening of the gates and the start of the race.

  Kunal jumped into the chariot, securing the ropes and wrapping them around his forearms. It was a trick his uncle had taught him, a way to more naturally feel the way the horses moved and to move with them.

  That would be the key, anticipating the horses’ movements.

  That would also be where Kunal would have an advantage. He closed his eyes for a second, feeling the rush in his blood, the feeling of fire in his veins. His body inched toward shifting, but he pulled back, only calling on his sharpened sight and ability to sense.

  “Good luck,” Chand said. “Hope to see us both alive at the end of this.”

  The conch blew three times and Kunal barely had time to thank Chand before Chand pulled at his reins and was off, flying down the circumference of the arena. Special barricades had been put up in the center and on the sides.

  Kunal flew after him, holding tight on to his reins as they took the first lap. This would be the calm lap, the one where they assessed their opponents and determined who to take out. Kunal came out of the gate fast, as did Chand and another, but as they approached the corner, he pulled back.

  He’d let them fight it out first, giving his horses the chance to get their bearings.

  It was a good move. Seconds later, two of the chariots in front of him locked together, each competitor reaching to knock the other out of his seat. Kunal took up the back, watching it all as they rushed past the seat tiers of the arena. The audience broke out into a deafening roar.

  But Kunal didn’t escape notice for long. One of the competitors close behind turned his chariot into him, threatening to ram Kunal off course. He tugged sharply at the reins at the last second, and the competitor crashed into the inner barricade.
Kunal looked back to see the competitor alive, breathing, and pulling his chariot back on track.

  Five laps and Kunal would be done.

  Five competitors to beat if he wanted to win.

  Kunal glanced behind him, focusing in on a competitor’s chariot, noticing the loose connection of one of the wheels.

  If he took a sharp turn, he’d be able to knock the chariot out of play, leaving one fewer competitor—for himself or for Punohar, the House Pramukh warrior Esha wanted to win. Kunal’s eyes narrowed, his heartbeat pulsing.

  He could hear the approach of the chariot from behind and see another from the right. If he leaned the right way . . .

  A huge crash rang out in the stadium as the two chariots behind him collided. Kunal let a look of glee take over his face. His first ploy had worked.

  Chand was ahead of him, battling with another competitor who was trying to edge him into the barricade. The Senap’s face was contracted in fierce concentration, his attacker’s face contorted in maniacal delight.

  Kunal took the opportunity to slip past them on the left, urging his horses on as he turned the corner, keeping the reins taut.

  One more lap.

  Kunal’s joy at being in the front position receded as he heard a scream from behind. He whipped his head back to see Chand doubled over, Pramukh’s warrior in the chariot across from him having rammed the edge of his knife into Chand’s chariot wheel.

  His blood roared in his ears—a dirty move. They weren’t allowed weapons during this race—they only allowed them in betting races. He must’ve sneaked it past the guards somehow.

  Had Esha known?

  He let instinct take over as they approached the last lap. Despite the dirty move, Chand had kept control of his chariot and was locked together with the Pramukh warrior. Neither was able to break the hold—in a few seconds, both of their chariots would go flying into the barricades on the turn, leaving Kunal, paces ahead, the winner.

  Unless he got them unlocked.

  Kunal slacked his grip on his reins, reaching out to Chand’s horses with his powers, nudging them to slow down enough for the chariot to unlock.

  Chand soared up, only a few paces to the side of him.

  “Best man wins, Kunal,” the soldier yelled. “No tricks.”

  “No tricks,” Kunal agreed. He glanced at his fellow Senap, an idea dawning on him.

  Imperceptibly, Kunal pulled back on his reins, guiding his horses to match the pace of Chand’s horses, their chariots traveling side by side.

  Inch by inch.

  They crossed the line together, flying over the finish line at the same moment. Both flags went up on either side of the finish line.

  A conch shell blew, long and hard, its finality bouncing around the arena and announcing the end of the race.

  The entire arena hesitated, the only sound in the hush the trampling of their horses’ feet as they slowed down. They wondered what would happen now, with two claimed winners.

  Would there be a brawl? Another fight?

  This was unprecedented, as Kunal knew. And so he decided to make a new precedent in that moment. Their horses slowed to a stop, and Kunal brought his chariot close to Chand’s. He reached a hand over to Chand, who looked stunned, his grip on the reins slackening.

  He looked at Kunal’s hand and then at Kunal’s face, his eyes wide and uncertain, before taking his hand. Kunal raised their clasped hands in triumph, showing the entire arena.

  Finally, the citizens of Gwali erupted in a wild roar of applause and cheers, uplifted by their show of unity. It surrounded Kunal like a cocoon, warming him until he let go of his worries about what would come next.

  Right now, right here, he had followed his heart, his intuition.

  And it hadn’t led him astray.

  Kunal and Chand had barely lowered their hands when they were overrun by handlers, grabbing at their reins and pulling them off their chariots, shoving them onto the dais to have the award presented to them.

  It was only then that Kunal had a moment to think. He had been so caught up in the rush before that none of it had settled in.

  What he had done and what it might mean.

  Kunal fingered the gold medallion around his neck. Chand was at his side, talking to one of the announcers as they went back into the training rooms.

  A few handlers rushed forward to help him as he began to take off his armor, chatting with some of the other competitors to see how they were faring. Dirit had taken a particularly nasty fall, and a bruise the size of Kunal’s fist bloomed over his ribs.

  Kunal reached to put away his leather cuirass when he saw a familiar face among the handlers bustling to and fro. Laksh smiled when he saw Kunal had noticed him.

  Kunal instantly tensed as Laksh approached. He took ahold of Kunal’s forearm, tugging at the guard he had been struggling to take off earlier.

  “You should’ve won, Kunal,” Laksh said quietly.

  “Is a tie not a victory? I still crossed the finish line first.” Kunal tried to pull his arm away, but Laksh didn’t let go, his grip tightening.

  “You basically gave the other man the trophy to share with you,” Laksh said.

  “It’s not my fault my horses began to get skittish. I fulfilled our deal. I came in first. I’m not sure why it matters that someone else did as well.”

  Finally, the forearm guard came off, leaving a red burn on Kunal’s skin. Laksh tossed it on the bench and looked at him, thoughtful.

  “A deal’s a deal, and you did win. Our business is done,” he said. “But what happens later? That’s on you.”

  He swept away as the gates opened and the audience from the arena surged out. Laksh faded into the mob before Kunal could even register his words.

  The crowd swelled around Kunal, lifting him and Chand off their feet, ushering them into the main arena stage to be crowned.

  Chapter 34

  Esha could get used to this. The palace hallway was awash in splendor for the Victor’s Ball, with gold statues, jeweled decorations, and swathes of silk adorning every inch, creating an air of opulence.

  She patted her thigh for her whips and knife, more out of habit. If all went well tonight, she’d never have to use them.

  Esha walked back to a tray of desserts, stopping to swipe a peda, a milk sweet studded with pistachios. She took a bite out of it, enjoying the moment of sweetness, looking around the hall for one person in particular.

  The man of honor. Who was nowhere to be found.

  A little flicker of frustration rose in her as she thought of her lemon boy. She realized losing wasn’t in Kunal’s nature, and once he had seen the dirty trick the Pramukh warrior had used, she had known all bets were off.

  It had taken her the better part of lunch to convince Mayank that Kunal would give him the boon, something she’d make sure happened in order for them to seal their deal.

  Perhaps it had been her own fault, not explaining the importance of her request to Kunal. But Esha could’ve sworn she had seen Kunal pull back, help Chand win. Esha took another bite, considering the layout of the room and the two exits available.

  Tonight was the night. Everything was in place for them to break Reha out of the citadel’s lower level. Arpiya was on her way, and Farhan and Aahal were already in place.

  Harun claimed they had recruited more men to their cause, but he hadn’t provided further details—another reason for the small crease in her brow. He was standing to her left, resplendent in his royal regalia. His role was the least involved tonight, as his absence would be noticed.

  Harun glanced over at her, sending her a quick wink. She grinned back. In a few hours, they’d have Reha and the palace. Everything they had worked toward for years.

  Esha spotted Kunal hidden in a crowd of people and broke her gaze away. His cowinner was to his right, telling what looked to be a lively story. Kunal moved away from the crowd, shaking a few hands as he went.

  Harun frowned as she walked away, but she’d have only a fe
w minutes to check on Kunal before he disappeared and headed for the citadel. Kunal looked tense as she walked over, an inscrutable look on his face even as he smiled and greeted everyone who approached.

  She arrived in front of the winners, a few nobles moving out of her way. Finally, she could walk up to him without notice. It wouldn’t be odd for her to greet and congratulate them, strike up a conversation.

  A servant came up to Kunal’s cowinner, as she had arranged, and whispered in his ear.

  The soldier turned and nodded, quickly bowing. “My apologies, the captain is calling for me.”

  Esha bent her head. Once he had left, Esha turned to Kunal, an eyebrow arched.

  “Congratulations, Senap Dhagan.”

  He bowed slightly, placing four fingers against his chest. “Thank you.”

  His shoulders were still tense. She moved a little closer, lowering her voice.

  “Nervous?” she asked.

  “A bit,” he admitted. His hands played with the tassel on the hilt of the sword in his waist sash.

  “You’ll have to leave once the food arrives, in a few minutes. I overheard the servants confirming the time. Are you ready with your story?”

  “If I’m found I’ll say I thought I had left my medal back in the citadel and that some courtiers had asked to see it.”

  She smiled. “Better than a fake headache, which is what I’ll plead as I make my way to the ladies’ room, with a slight detour.”

  Esha brushed her finger against his hand, the lightest of touches. A stream of servants arrived in the hall with trays of steaming food, signaling the start of their plans. Kunal’s body tensed as he saw them. Esha lifted two glasses off a tray and handed one to Kunal.

  “Good luck, Kunal. See you on the other side,” she said.

  He lifted the glass to his lips and drank down the rest in one go before bowing to her. Esha watched him walk away before turning to place her glass on an empty tray and surveying the room. The nobles were preoccupied with their revelries that night, so she only had to look around the room twice to ensure no one was watching her.

  Esha strolled out of the ballroom, taking care to appear as if she were in no hurry. Once she was outside the main hallway, she swept into a smaller corridor, throwing a careful glance behind her. This was the way to the ladies’ room, but she didn’t want anyone who might be following her to see where she went next.