The Mosquito and the Lion

seventeen

"What happened?" she asked. "How did you get away?"

Vikram glanced at her face, and she suddenly felt quite self-conscious. She could not imagine what she looked like. The crusting blood commingling with the streaks of dirt, tracks in the mire from her tears. "I'm fine." She waved away his concerns. "Promise."

He wanted to argue, but other concerns lay on his mind. The Kshat scratched the back of his neck as his eyes flicked to Nandini. The ecstasy of reuniting had subsided, and Alia could now see the boiling tension between the pair. The scholar's arms were folded against her chest, her jaw clenched in simmering rage.

"As soon as you left, their soldier — Rahul — got distracted. He went to chase after the prince, and so I followed, keeping him off your path. Eventually, he got turned around in the trees and I was able to knock him unconscious. But Vidya," Vikram stumbled over her name, and Nandini seethed, her nostrils flaring, "stayed to talk to Nandini."

She could imagine how that conversation went. But the academic was still with them, which suggested Vidya's efforts had been for naught.

Still, panic bloomed in her chest. She had just rejected Arjun's truce and, quite literally, poisoned any chance at peace. Whether it was bold, reckless, or just plain dumb, Alia had staked everything on completing this ritual.

She waited for Nandini to say something, to divulge details about her conversation with her former lover. But the scholar said nothing, resigned to play the part of petulant toddler.

"Well?" Alia finally broke the silence, anxiety clawing at her throat. "How di—"

"We need to find another place to stay for the night," Nandini interrupted. Her light eyes flashed with ire, and she turned to Vikram, her voice saccharine. "I trust you returned my map safely?"

Oh no.

Her instincts taking over, Alia scrambled for an excuse — any excuse — to justify the theft. The whole idea was Vikram's, not hers! But she had agreed, and after the ordeal with Arjun, and her own conflicted feelings about it, the fight whooshed out of her.

Alia slumped her shoulders, her gaze trained on the ground out of shame. "We're sorry," she mumbled, not knowing what else to say.

Nandini scowled at her. The scholar's face contained none of its familiar warmth or kindness, and it hit like a punch to the gut. "Don't be," she hissed, reaching into her leather satchel and pulling out the rolled sheet of parchment. Her voice took on the clipped tones of business and formality. She felt an ocean away. "Now, we have a few hours until dawn, and we'll need our rest before the caves."

"We should sleep in the trees." The words tumbled out of her mouth as she envisioned the demon's midnight-black fur. It was still out there — she was sure of it, and Alia would not be able to rest knowing she lay like a helpless animal on the side of the road.

"Why?" One word, yet it burned as harsh as acid.

A visible shiver ran down her spine, and, for the briefest of moments, Nandini's face softened, her concern evident before the anger returned and chased it away.

It was strange. Where Alia came from, people did not give you second chances, and she did not blame them for it. Forgiveness was a luxury for the wealthy. For those in the slums, a mistake could prove fatal. Grudges were nursed not out of spite, but a need for survival.

Alia had never been forgiven, and she had certainly never extended that grace to others. When someone broke her trust, she expelled them from her life. It was a tenet of her own code. If someone can hurt you once, they can hurt you again. Don't give them that opportunity. It might have made for a lonely life, but friends did not matter if you were dead.