Chapter 27 Rao
RAO
“This is madness,” Rao said, keeping his voice low. They were alone in Aditya’s tent, but only barely, and it would not do for him to be caught yelling at Aditya. “You can’t lead an army. Not here, not in the middle of this.”
“I was meant to rule an empire, once,” Aditya replied. “This will surely be much simpler.”
“Simpler,” Rao repeated. “Simpler? Aditya, have you seen the power the High Prince’s forces wield?”
“I have.”
“Then how can you possibly—Aditya. Aditya.” Rao knew how he sounded; wild, helpless, swaying on the spot to resist the urge to pace.
Aditya’s own stillness made him feel restless, angrier than he had any right to be.
“The magic they have—their defenses—their willingness to die—I’ve never seen the like of it.
Even the most seasoned general would fear it.
Lord Mahesh fears it. You can’t face it.
You’re a priest; remember how you held the bow when the monastery burned? You couldn’t act. You—”
“Will you stay with me, then, Rao?” Aditya asked, cutting through Rao’s frenzy of words.
He stood before Rao half-clad in armor, his long hair unbound over his shoulders, shawl of blue still draped over his right arm.
Not quite prince. Not quite priest. “If you fear I don’t have the stomach for the battle I’ve chosen, will you stay here and fight beside me? ”
Rao stopped pacing.
“Are… are you asking me to?” Rao asked. “Are you asking me to fight for you?”
“No,” Aditya said, so very calm. “I am asking you what you plan to do.”
“I—I cannot,” Rao said. “Aditya. You know that.”
“Then you will have to trust me,” Aditya said simply. He shrugged the shawl from his arm. Began to fold it with care before placing it upon his sleeping mat. “You have to trust I am obeying the will of the nameless. In this, as in all things I do.”
A memory skittered through Rao’s mind. Prem’s skin, whorled with rot. The shawl knotted at his throat.
Rao swallowed, and swallowed again.
“Muscles long unused atrophy,” said Rao, finally. “And Aditya—it’s been a long, long time since you’ve held a sword with any intent to use it. Or led men to war. Aditya… what are you doing?”
“Putting on my training garb,” Aditya said, drawing on a tunic. “If you want to see that my proficiency with a sword is still intact…”
“I don’t want to spar.”
“Don’t you?”
There was a ghost of a smile on Aditya’s usually passive face. Not a priestly smile—all compassion and knowing and soft edges—but something a little more barbed. As if all that had passed before the war council had woken some part of the old Aditya up.
“I’ll beat you,” Rao said, after a beat of fumbling silence.
“With a saber? I don’t think so. With your daggers, perhaps. But in this, I have the advantage.”
“Atrophy,” Rao said again. “You’re not as you once were.”
For a second, Aditya held his gaze. Then he turned to the exit.
“Come,” he said, striding out. “I’ll prove it to you.”
“I don’t want an audience,” said Rao, instead of saying You shouldn’t be doing this. That kind of sentence never went down well.
“Then we’ll go somewhere quiet.” A pause. “Do you know somewhere quiet?”
The area of land they walked to—that Rao led them to—had been cordoned off from the rest by walls of tents.
It was private enough for training away from prying eyes, and was often used for exactly that purpose.
Rao grasped one of the sabers used for practice.
It was clean and oiled, its edge sharp—soldiers were punished for allowing blades to dull—but its weight was unfamiliar in Rao’s hand.
He was more comfortable with his daggers.
And when he used a saber, it was usually one of his own, crafted for his own hand.
He hefted the borrowed weapon, adjusting to the feel of it.
Aditya was also reaching for a training blade.
“What are you doing?” Rao asked.
“Ensuring we have a fair fight,” Aditya replied.
“You’re not my equal in battle any longer, Aditya,” said Rao. “Use your own saber. It won’t be enough for you to win.”
Something flashed in Aditya’s eyes. Maybe some of his old pride resurfacing. Maybe joy in the face of a challenge. Either way, the sight of it made Rao feel giddy.
“We’ll both use shields,” Aditya said, determined.
Rao nodded sharply. Picked up one of the small shields and strapped it to his left hand. Aditya did the same.
They moved to the center of the cordoned space. And Rao… hesitated.
He didn’t know how to begin attacking Aditya. When they were boys, they’d sparred all the time under the watchful eyes of their mentors and sages. So often that Rao had known every move Aditya would make, just by the motion of his hand on the sword, the look on his face.
He didn’t know how Aditya fought anymore. Aditya stood before him, feet planted solidly to the ground, with his saber square before him and his shield raised. He gave Rao a steady look. Waiting.
“You expect me to make the first move?” Rao asked. He moved into a lighter stance, ready for movement—better suited for dagger fighting, he knew. But he couldn’t change his nature. “This is your chance to prove your strength—won’t you take it?”
Aditya’s eyes narrowed.
“Fine,” he said. And punched forward with his shield.
Those small shields were strong, and studded with metal—Rao had been given a bloody nose by one more than a few times during his training.
He ducked his head and brought his blade forward in a sweeping arc that Aditya met with his own.
There was a clang of impact that jarred all the way down Rao’s arm, and he let it shove him backward—and brought his saber up in one straight arc toward Aditya’s chest. Aditya blocked that too.
“You’re being gentle with me,” Aditya said. “I know you can do better, Rao.”
“But can you?” Rao asked. He straightened, and lunged forward again, aiming for the throat. Aditya moved like he’d always moved, swiftly and elegantly parrying Rao’s strike. “A shield to the face, your blade stopping my own—won’t you even try and hurt me?”
Aditya met his eyes. Smiled, challenge in the curl of his mouth. “No,” he said.
“You bastard,” Rao said, forgetting himself—forgetting they weren’t still the boys they’d been, the friends they’d been. “You’re really going to prove yourself by making me do all the work?”
“I told you to stop being gentle,” Aditya replied, and this time, Rao swept forward, blade high, aiming for Aditya’s head, above the eye line. A dangerous move that left his entire torso exposed for a blow, but effective. Especially against an opponent that refused to try to strike him.
It was a taunt. A challenge. Will you really not fight me even now, Aditya? But Aditya took it in his stride, lunging to the side and knocking Rao off-balance with the hilt of his saber. Rao released a punch of breath as he stumbled back—lunged forward—
Aditya dropped his sword.
“Fuck.” Rao couldn’t slow his momentum, but he could avoid skewering Aditya through.
He flung his arm wide and slammed straight into Aditya, the two of them falling roughly back onto the ground.
Flailing, Rao couldn’t get a proper grip on his sword, and couldn’t remove his shield to get his left hand under him so he could heave his body off Aditya’s. He felt like an idiot.
He tried to roll to the side. Aditya slung his shield-strapped arm over Rao’s shoulder, pinning him.
“You can’t fight me by not fighting me,” Rao panted.
“Can’t I?”
“It’s not honorable. And if there’s one thing you value—”
Aditya’s other hand shot up. Rao’s grip had loosened on the saber, and Aditya’s hand grasping Rao’s arm knocked it clean away, out of reach.
Aditya kept his hand around Rao’s wrist—so tight that Rao could feel the creak of his own wrist bones, a sharp pain that jolted all the way down his arm, all the way through him.
Rao tried to jerk away, and Aditya wrenched him back down against him.
“My honor,” Aditya said, through harsh breaths, eyes bright, “is the honor of a priest. Not defined by my old teachers or by the rules of righteous war. My honor will hold me here, in Saketa, as long as the voice of the nameless guides me,” said Aditya.
“As long as my heart bids me to stay, I will stay, and I will fight.”
Rao thought, through a haze of heat he couldn’t quite understand, of Lata’s words when she’d found him in the tent shrine to the nameless god.
If he has the light you seek…
“Aditya,” he said softly. “Let go of my wrist.”
Aditya stared up at him. Whatever he saw in Rao’s face made him nod, once. Release him.
Rao turned his hand back and forth, easing the pain in his hand. Then he curled his fingers into a fist and punched the side of Aditya’s head.
Aditya gave a yelp that made Rao holler with laughter, and then Aditya was grappling with him in return, the two of them kicking like children. “If you—try and fight the High Prince like this—” Rao managed between laughs.
Aditya shoved him back against the ground. Clambered up onto his knees.
“At least he won’t expect it,” said Aditya. “Get up, Rao. Look at you. Did I hurt you?”
Rao was bruised and his knuckles were bleeding. It was the best he’d felt in months.
“Not much,” he said. “I can cope.”
“As you can see, I can still hold a saber,” Aditya said, wiping the sweat from his face.
“You can,” Rao agreed. He was filthy. Before he joined the rest of the war council, he’d have to quickly bathe and change. He was a general now, after all. His appearance mattered more than it ever had.
“You didn’t have to punch me, though.”
“I really did,” Rao said mildly. “I had to check that you remembered real battle tactics.”
Aditya snorted out a laugh.
“Does that allay one of your fears?” Aditya asked.
Not the fears Rao truly needed allayed. Not the fear that Aditya wouldn’t survive this war. But the fear that everything of his old friend—his crown prince, who’d grown up beside him, who’d laughed with him, drunk wine with him—was gone? That fear had vanished.
“In a way,” he said.
Aditya held out his hand. Rao clasped it, letting Aditya guide him fully back onto his feet. Aditya took him by the shoulder. Held him where he was, so they were still close to one another, breathing hard, smiling.
“Protect the empress, Rao,” Aditya said. He did not say my sister, as Rao had expected he would, and there was suddenly a guarded look in his eyes, folding the joy back.
“I will,” said Rao. “As I always have.”
They left the training ground together. Rao hesitated.
Unsure of what to say, now that they had argued and fought, and found some tentative echo of their old, deep friendship.
He murmured something to Aditya—some wish for good luck or good health, something approximating an acceptable goodbye—and began to walk away.
“Rao,” Aditya called out. “I dreamt of you.”
“What did you dream?” Rao asked.
“A dream from the nameless god, I think.”
“Surely you know, priest,” Rao said, but there was nothing cutting in his voice. Only curiosity.
Aditya hesitated.
“I saw your eyes, shining like stars.”
“Stars?”
Aditya nodded.
“What had happened, to make them shine?”
“I don’t know,” Aditya said. “But Rao—perhaps one day we’ll meet again, on the other side of this war, and you will be able to tell me.”