Alia only stopped running when the straps of her leather sandals dug into her ankles and opened her wounds. Wincing, shameful tears blurring her vision, she collapsed in an empty hallway.
Her blood dripped onto the thinning rug, the only mark she would ever leave in the Magad Palace. In the evening, she would steal a horse and go on her merry way. She would have to avoid Toshalwar for a few moons, but there were plenty of crowded cities she could call home.
Stubbornly, she wiped her face with the back of her hands, finding comfort in her memories. Her stomach grumbled as she imagined eating chunks of watermelon sprinkled with black salt, a sweet-and-savory blend that never failed to amaze her in the summer. She smiled wistfully as she recalled the colorful markets of the square, with the shopkeepers and peddlers screaming sales and thrusting their wares in your path.
A delicate ahem interrupted her musings. Glancing up, she did not bother to hide her frown when she saw Nandini — the last person she had expected to see.
The timid girl sat next to her. "You're bleeding," she said lamely, gesturing towards Alia's feet. "Let me wrap them."
Alia let her stay. For all her bluster and bravado, she did not want to be alone. And though she did not expect Nandini, she found herself grateful that it was the noble woman, and not Vikram, who had followed her. Vikram would always be the Kshat guard who tormented her. Nandini carried none of that history.
Wordlessly, Alia took off her sandals and hesitantly brought her feet towards the girl. They really did ache, and she should have bandaged them hours ago. With the amount of dirt and gravel embedded in the open tissue, Alia was basically asking for an infection.
And yet she remained in healthy spirits, and, though she dared not admit it out loud, she could guess why.
Nandini tore off a length of cloth from the hem of her petticoat. Gently, and ignoring the yelps from Alia, she picked out the larger bits of debris. With her brown hair falling in her face in soft waves, her hazel eyes fixed resolutely on her task, and her lithe hands gracefully wrapping Alia's injuries, she looked like the perfect noble daughter.
"Why did you become a messenger?" Alia asked, unable to withstand the silence any longer. "You are a pretty woman with money. Surely you must have had plenty of suitors."
Nandini paused, her shoulders tense. Alia had struck a nerve, apparently, though she did not understand how. Nothing she had said was false. Finally, she answered, "For the same reasons you do not want to be a princess."
Alia shook her head firmly. "No, I do not want the responsibilities of being a princess. If a rich merch or noble told me I was their long-lost daughter, I would gladly join their family."
Nandini chuckled, resuming her careful bandaging. Her fingers expertly twisted the cloth around the wound, and, as frightened as she had been in the carriage, she was the embodiment of poise and grace right now.
"All right. If that question is too hard, another one. Why a messenger and not a healer? You're clearly gifted." Alia wriggled her toes. "I feel as good as new."
The noble woman shrugged, but her muscles coiled, as if her body could not understand its predicament either. As if the healer's calling was a compulsion that Nandini was denying.
"There are few options for noble women."
Alia sighed, tracing a line in the carpet. "Few options for poor women, too."
Her wrapping complete, Nandini carefully wiped her hands on her sari, disregarding the bloodstains left behind. Alia had pegged her entirely wrong, she realized with a start. The woman was easily scared, to be sure, but she was no coward.
"You think I'm selfish," Alia stated, not asking a question. "That I'm dooming the Kingdom for my own—"
"No," she said firmly, reaching forward and clasping her hand. "I think you are a survivor. And for years, surviving meant watching your back and trusting no one. But, the game has changed, Alia. To survive now means to go into the mountains."
Alia scoffed, tossing her hand aside. "That's easy for you to say. You get to go home to your maids and dresses and suitors. I'm the one who has to do the ritual." She talked quickly, the sentences stringing together as her breath came and went in weak gasps.
"And who knows if it will even work? We're basing this on a hunch. That the Gods favor me because of my bloodline. I am a thief, Nandini. Do you understand that? That necklace you thought you lost in the woods? It's been in my waistband for hours." She rummaged through the leather strap at her thigh. Next to the dagger, her fingers enclosed on the sapphire pendant, pulled out the gaudy piece of jewelry and threw it in Nandini's face.
"This is who I am, okay? Don't forget that."
Panic overwhelmed her, like a wave crashing on a rocky shore. Hot tears pricked her vision, but she refused to let them tumble down her cheeks. Already, she was embarrassed by her outburst. She would not suffer the indignity of letting Nandini see her cry as well.
The noble woman watched in silence as Alia steadied her breathing. Perhaps she had learned her lesson, making no move to comfort her or wrap an arm around her shoulder. Alia did not know if she was happy or upset about that, but she supposed that had been inevitable. She had pushed too hard, like she always did. Sweet Nandini was never going to withstand her vitriol.
"You wouldn't be alone."
Alia's neck snapped up in disbelief, so quickly that it sent a jolt of pain through her muscles. How could the girl in front of her, sitting on her knees, palms splayed in her lap, necklace entwined loosely around a finger, survive the labyrinth of Purti? How could the girl who melted into the shadows of the carriage at the first sign of danger even consider trekking through the treacherous mountains?
Sensing her window of opportunity, Nandini continued, her tone urgent. "You asked why I was a messenger, and not a healer. The truth is, I am a scholar. And there is no better access to knowledge than the civil service. Alia," Her gaze was strong, filled with a sense of conviction that Alia could not even manage. "There is no one who knows those mountains better than I do. If anyone can do this, it is me, you, and Vikram."
"Vikram?" she asked dumbly, unable to process these new facts, unable to reconcile the confident woman before her with the meek noble from hours ago.
Nandini nodded fervently. "Yes. He volunteered as soon as you left."
Was it possible? Between Nandini's knowledge of the terrain, Vikram's brute strength, and her knack for slippery escapes, they made a solid team. Surely, none of the others who dared commence the hike had their resources.
And maybe she did have the Gods' favor.
She remembered the near-empty granary. Within a few moons, they would have nothing left. And she knew all too well who would bear the brunt of a famine. The Toshalwar she fell in love with, that enveloped her and called itself her home, would wither away. Sure, the nobles would survive, but they were not Maurya.
She recalled the worn and leathered faces of the vegetable peddlers. The gleeful shouts and hushed stories of the orphanage girls. Even Vishal — whose eye she planned to keep as a present for selling her out — with his greying beard, dutifully cleaning the glasses for his less-than-savory clientele.
Alia did not want them to die. But none of them knew what was coming. If Maurya starved, then Yadav would invade. The merchants and nobles had no sense of loyalty or patriotism. They would follow the money to that treasonous throne.
"Okay."
I'd rather die in those mountains than starve in a city gutter.
♛♛♛
Arjun knew his Baba was an unpredictable man. It was what made him such a great King. That very capricious nature is what allowed him to vanquish his enemies and conquer the border towns of Maurya.
And yet, despite knowing this, his Father managed to catch him off-guard with some frequency. Though Arjun had verbally brushed off the incident with the Qin ambassador, deep down, he felt hurt and betrayed. He was nearing 18. He deserved to be treated like an adult — like the Crown Prince of Yadav.
Still, he was surprised when his Father had summoned him to his chambers in the dead of night. Even more shocked when he saw Rahul, and a woman he did not recognize, lingering in the shadows. Worst was the grave expression on his Father's face. This was a man who swung a blade with a certain serenity, who laughed despite his grief when his wife passed. He was rarely serious. Indeed, Rahul would often joke that Arjun was not his Father's son.
Rahul shared his confusion, furrowing his eyebrows in Arjun's direction when he entered the chambers. Like most of the Golden Palace, his Father's room was sparsely decorated. Their funds were funnelled into resources for their army or sustenance for their people. Neither his Father nor Arjun saw any value in hoarding their wealth or displaying it obscenely.
Still, grand aubergine curtains, with silver leaves embroidered into the material, gave the room a sense of opulence. And the stonework, while not ornate, was classically done, with the Yadavan crest sculpted into the walls. A symbol of a young country, their crest had none of the elaborate history of Maurya's. Rather, it was a simple design, a toiler's shovel intersecting with a smith's cross pein, encircled with stalks of wheat.
"Is everything all right, Father?" Arjun asked. "It is late."
His Father paced in front of him, his hands clasped behind his back. Deep lines of worry marred his forehead.
"I have received word from my spies," he answered, continuing his pacing. Though his steps were steady, Arjun could not mistake the slight tremor in his Father's voice. "There are rumors that the Mauryan Princess has been found."
"It can't be." Rahul scoffed from his corner, folding his arms across his chest. "She's been missing for 17 years. Their Queen is either bluffing or the victim of a con."
Arjun was not as quick to react, mulling over the information before forming his opinion. He understood his Father's worries now. If there was even a chance that someone of the royal bloodline lived, then Maurya's power on the global stage would grow. The Qin had been willing to defect to Yadav when an Impostor Queen sat on their throne. But a true heir threatened all of the gains his country had made in the last few years.
The King shook his head. "No, my sources say she is blessed by the Gods, that plants bend to her will and sickness ignores her."
Arjun tried not to roll his eyes. He, of course, knew the story of Divyarani, having made it his business to know everything about his truest enemy. But, he saw the story for what it was. A myth. Meant to inspire patriotism and blind fealty to the throne.
Still, Arjun was no fool. Stories held immense power, and if enough people believed the Gods' blood flowed through their veins, Yadav would lose the border towns and its allies. Maurya would be the supreme ruler of their land once again.
"We should send in the Naga," Arjun suggested, referring to their elite team of assassins. Personally, he saw no honor in these killings, holding a strong preference for fighting on the battlefield, but he could acknowledge their necessity. Some problems required discretion. "Surely, they can eliminate a 17 year old girl."
His Father shook his head again. "No, I cannot trust them with this. Neerja," he spat the Maurya Queen's name like it was poison, "is being coy. The girl has been with her for a few days now, and yet she has made no proclamation. No announcement. No grand party celebrating her daughter's safe return."
That was strange, and out-of-character from what Arjun knew about the Queen. She was a bold and decisive woman — had to be after her husband's death. If she was keeping quiet, it was because she had a plan. And that chilled Arjun to his core.
The woman finally emerged from the shadows. Clad in a simple white salwar, with a long blue tunic, she could not have been older than eighteen. Her fingers were smudged with black ink, leaving marks on her tunic, though she clearly did not mind. Arjun guessed she was a scholar of some sort. The tunic was not ornate enough to be a noblewoman's.
She was beautiful, with generous curves and a bright smile. Her dark brown eyes gleamed, as if she carried all the sordid details of a scandal in her head. Short brown curls framed her round face, luminous even under the flickering candlelight.
"I finally understand," she grinned widely, having unravelled the great mystery. "She means to complete the ritual."
His Father stopped in his tracks, nodding grimly. Meanwhile, Arjun flushed, hating that he did not know what the girl was referring to. Another mistake. Another reason for his Father to treat him like a child.
Luckily for him, Rahul asked the question on his mind. "What ritual?"
"The one Yashoda completed for Divyarani," the woman said, her tone nonchalant, as if earning boons from the Gods was common practice.
His cousin stared dumbly at her. "Isn't the princess a little young to be a mother?"
"Oh dear," the woman smirked, revealing a dimple. "I hope there's a brain behind those pretty eyes." She added with a suggestive wink.
His patience waning, Arjun cleared his throat harshly, begging the attention and focus of both the woman and Rahul, who didn't seem quite sure if he wanted to kill the woman for her insolence or sneak her into his bed.
Knowing Rahul, he would do both.
"She means to renew the connection with the Gods." Arjun finally connected the dots. "With their blessings, Maurya won't be as dependent on Koloe or Qin Shi, and they could have the resources to take us on. If the Qin discover this..."
They had worked so hard on that trade agreement. But even Arjun could not fault the Qin for scuttling back to Maurya. Though Qin Shi was a powerful nation, their strength lay in their diplomacy, not their armies.
And finally, the reason Father had called them all here dawned on Arjun. "You want us to stop her?" he asked, incredulous. "Surely, you can't be serious, Baba? I am needed here."
His Father sighed, striding over to him in two long steps, and resting his hands on his shoulders. Arjun did not know when he had grown taller than his Baba, but it felt disconcerting to stand over him.
"I know, little lion." Rahul snickered at the term of endearment, but quickly shut up when he saw Arjun's scathing glare. "But, you are needed more there. There is no one else I trust to do this mission."
It felt nice — to be appreciated by his Father like that. Though his Father's love was unquestionable, Arjun often sensed his disappointment, as if something about him just wasn't measuring up. Sometimes, Arjun thought his insecurities were just in his head. Other times, he knew in his bones that he was failing his Baba.
But he hated the idea of stepping foot in Maurya without his army behind him. Not after what the country had done to his family. Not after everything they had stolen. When Arjun entered Maurya, he wanted to arrive as a conqueror, not a cowardly assassin.
Besides, he was the Crown Prince of Yadav. Such tasks were beneath him.
The protests lodged in his throat, however, when he caught his Father's unflinching gaze. His Baba was a more stubborn and obstinate man than he was, and Arjun knew there was no point in arguing. He was never much good at convincing anyway, finding it required a delicate touch that escaped him. Diplomacy really was a struggle for him.
"Okay," he murmured, slumping his shoulders. "I trust your judgment, Baba."
The King beamed with pride, and that smile was almost enough to make the whole endeavor worth it. His Father dropped his hands, turning around to face Rahul and the woman. "This," he gestured to the girl, "is Vidya Bhoja. She is the scholar on the Purti mountains, Maurya, and Divyarani."
Vidya pretended to blush, pressing a hand to her chest. "You are too kind, maharaj, but," Something changed behind her eyes, hardening into a dark glint, and Arjun vowed to never get on her bad side. "Your letter mentioned payment."
"Is the chance to serve your country not enough?" Rahul challenged, his chest puffed out in pride. It seemed he had decided then. The girl had dealt a blow to his ego, and his cousin would never abide that.
"Ideals don't pay the rent." Her eyes did not even drift over to Rahul, who fumed petulantly in the corner.
Gods, those two are going to kill each other before we even cross the border.
"You will get your payment, Vidya," the King promised, reaching into a drawer near his bed and pulling out a velvet sack of coins. "Half now, and the rest when you return my son and nephew home safely to me."
Now, it was Arjun's turn to fume. Though he was certain Vidya was more than capable in a fight, she had not trained with a broadsword for hours for the past ten years of her life. She could not shoot an arrow through a bird's eye from a hundred meters away. And she certainly could not emerge unscathed from a fight with an elephant.
He swallowed, forcing himself to regain his breath and recall his Father's wisdom. Lose your temper. Lose your head, he repeated. Lose your temper. Lose your head.
Vidya counted the coins in the purse, a self-assured grin erupting across her face. "When do we leave?" she asked, satisfied with the terms.
"Now."