Chapter 49 Rao
RAO
The sun had faded, the sky white-gray with the falling night, when they finally stopped to rest. Prince Kunal was untied, on Rao’s orders.
Kunal rubbed his wrists, flexed his fingers to get the blood moving.
He considered running—Rao could tell, from the back-and-forth flick of his gaze and the tension in his shoulders—but he clearly thought better of it.
Rao’s men were, after all, watching him in return.
Rao helped to settle the horses and start the campfire, then kneeled down in front of him. He placed food and water in front of Kunal, and watched the prince frown and lower his head.
“Drink,” said Rao. “You must be thirsty. If you won’t eat, at least do that.” He waited. Kunal did not move. “It’s only water,” Rao told him then. “I’ll drink first, if it’ll put your mind at ease.”
“I don’t know what you hope to do with me,” the prince rasped, still not touching the flask. “But I’m no use to you. I have nothing for you.”
Not true, and surely they both knew it. There was a hunted look in Prince Kunal’s eyes. The light of the campfire flickered over his face in golden scars.
“I heard of your sister’s marriage,” Rao said eventually. “Congratulations.” He watched Kunal’s mouth tighten. “Perhaps you don’t want my congratulations,” Rao added carefully, and watched that mouth tighten an increment further.
“I have nothing useful to tell you,” Kunal said again through gritted teeth.
“Emperor Chandra is a difficult man,” Rao said. “He always has been.”
Silence.
“I’ve only met you once before,” Rao continued. “You won’t remember it. You’re a few years younger than me, I think. How old were you when your father took you to Harsinghar as a child? Five? Six?”
“Tell me your name,” Prince Kunal demanded.
“Prince Rao. A son of the King of Alor.”
Kunal gave a jerky laugh.
“A nameless prince,” he said. “The nameless prince.”
“Not nameless,” Rao said quietly. “Everyone knows my name now. But Rao will do.”
“Then Rao. Prince Rao, I beg you: Let me go. I have no army with me. You’ve killed the few men I had. I am no danger to you.”
Rao swallowed the guilt that burned at the back of his throat.
He had no reason for guilt, he knew: Prince Kunal’s men had not been willing to surrender, and Rao’s purpose was far too important for him to allow them to live.
He had killed before, and he would kill again.
That was necessary in war. It didn’t stop him from feeling as he did.
“I can’t allow you to return to your father,” Rao said gently. “And I can’t simply allow you to run off into the distance. Where would you go?”
“I have nowhere to go,” said Kunal. “And that is why—that is why you have no reason to keep me.”
“We’re both highborn. Both royal. So I know very well that we were not raised to survive with nothing and rebuild ourselves, Prince Kunal.
If I let you run, I’m condemning you. And I would rather not.
” Not unless I have to, he thought grimly.
And not without getting something of worth out of you before I do. “I would rather make you my ally.”
“You said yourself. My sister is wed to the emperor.” His voice was flat. “My father is loyal to him. And I am loyal to my father.”
But not, Rao noted, loyal directly to Chandra. Good.
“There are many Saketan highborn who have allied themselves to Empress Malini,” Rao told him.
“And many of them once fought our empress on the battlefield. There is no shame in changing your allegiance to the true heir to the Parijatdvipan crown. No shame in ensuring that you inherit your father’s throne—”
A hand gripped sharply at Rao’s wrist. He heard the hiss of steel as his men drew their daggers.
“You have news about my father,” Kunal said. His voice was tight, eyes wide. “You have news about Saketa—the city. Tell me, please.”
“I know Empress Malini’s army stands against him,” Rao said calmly.
He did not move, did not flinch, as his men waited for his signal.
He didn’t think he would need to give it.
“All I can tell you is that you should ally with Empress Malini. All I can tell you is that if you wish to ensure your future, that’s the best path. The only path.”
Kunal fell silent again. He was trembling. Slowly, his fingers unclasped from Rao’s wrist. He reached for the water. Took an unsteady drink, wild and wasteful, water running down his chin. He lowered it back down.
“I’ll ally with your empress,” Kunal said finally. “I’ve seen what Emperor Chandra is. I’ll do it. For—for Saketa’s sake. For our future.”
“Good,” said Rao. “That’s good. Eat now, and rest if you can. We’ll be on the move again tonight.” He clapped a hand lightly against Kunal’s shoulder, all friendly camaraderie, then rose to his feet.
He walked to the edge of their small encampment, away from the shadow of the fire. One of his men was on guard, sharpening his daggers with a spark of steel against stone.
“He’s lying,” the man muttered. “My lord.”
Rao gave the smallest nod.
“Go and eat,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.”
“You haven’t eaten yet, my lord.”
“I’ll eat later,” he said.
Rao stayed where he was, staring out into the dark. He wasn’t hungry. His stomach felt weighed down by what lay ahead of him, and what he would have to do.
The nameless knew how much Rao didn’t want to do what was needful. But need—and the nameless—had little mercy for one man’s overly tender heart.
The first thing Rao saw, on their approach to the fortress, was smoke. The sky was gray with it. He could feel it getting into his lungs. Around him, his men were hacking. Prince Kunal looked gray as the smoke and ash surrounding them. He hadn’t expected this either, then.
Rao drew his shawl over his mouth and kept on moving forward.
When the bulk of Malini’s army had left the ground surrounding the Saketan fortress, they had left green plains of grass behind them. Rocky ground, yes, but trees too.
Now there was nothing but blasted earth, scorched by fire.
Rao’s small group were met immediately by an armed band of soldiers, bows drawn. But the bows were lowered swiftly when Rao announced himself.
They were led to the remains of the camp. A handful of tents. A straggling group of men, sparse enough that Rao knew without a doubt how close Aditya’s efforts were to failure.
Chained at the wrists, his arm held by one of Rao’s men, Kunal was trembling.
But Rao could not think of him. He could only watch as a figure emerged from one of the tents, dressed in armor that had seen better days.
Hair a little ragged, from mistreatment and too-close brushes with flame. Skin darkened by sunlight.
“Rao,” Aditya called. And there was no pause, after that, for pleasantries or bowing, for Rao to say Prince Aditya, and explain his reasons for being here. There was only Aditya drawing him into a crushing hug. Only Aditya murmuring against his hair, “I knew you’d come.”
“Of course,” Rao choked out. This was right. This was where he was meant to be. “Of course, Aditya.”
Mahesh looked tired. Old in a way he simply never had before. His gaze dimmed, visibly, when he learned that Rao had not brought reinforcements.
“We won’t last for much longer,” Mahesh said bluntly. “You’ve brought us nothing, Prince Rao?”
Rao shook his head.
“The empress could spare nothing.”
“Then I pray the empress takes Parijat swiftly,” Mahesh said.
He looked at Aditya. Then said, “We’ve faced battle once already today.
Those priestly soldiers do not relent. Fire arrows and swords and their bodies thrown at us—they’ll do anything, as long as they think they’re acting in the interests of the mothers.
Another attack like that, and I fear the High Prince’s men will escape our grip. ”
“Lord Mahesh is correct,” Aditya said quietly. “We have little left to give.”
“You’ve stopped them from leaving the fort and marching on Parijat. That counts for something. I didn’t think you would manage that.” When Aditya gave him a look, Rao said, “I didn’t think anyone could manage that.”
“It counts for less than you would think.” Aditya pushed his hair back from his face.
His hand left a smear of dirt and sweat in its wake.
“The maze of that fort—we must infiltrate it to get to the High Prince, to end this—and, Rao, I can only send men in in small groups, and they’re felled fast. And despite the cost of this war—the lives we’ve paid with to hold them at bay—small numbers of his men keep breaking free.
Somehow. We cannot stop them.” Aditya met his eyes, naked exhaustion in his face.
“Their fires are dying. Whatever stock of flames they have—my sister was not wrong about that. But their water doesn’t run out.
Their food doesn’t run out. And our own… ”
Rao nodded wordlessly. Inwardly, he cursed. He should have brought supplies. But he had only made it this far, this swiftly, because he had come unencumbered. Even dragging Prince Kunal along had delayed him more than he would have liked.
Abruptly, he became aware again of the weight of the arm strapped to his back. Embarrassment rushed through him. How could he have allowed himself to forget something so important? He should have spoken to Aditya immediately, but the sight of his old friend had undone him.
“Lord Mahesh,” he said. “I must speak to Prince Aditya alone. My apologies.”
Mahesh nodded and departed with a swiftness that surprised Rao. But Aditya smiled, a little sadly, and said, “We rest when we can now. What is it, Rao?”
Rao took the box—strapped close to his back all through this journey—and placed it on the ground in front of Aditya.
“You once showed me a vision from the nameless,” Rao said, into the silence that followed.
“A coming. An inevitable coming. And here… here is the proof. The yaksa are returning. Their remains are reviving. You had the vision, Aditya. I was given this proof, but I believe… I believe it was meant for you.”
He opened the box with a click. Aditya leaned forward and looked upon it.
He exhaled; a soft, worshipful noise.
Aditya’s eyes near shone. Through all the grime and dirt, Rao saw priest and prince in him.
“My purpose,” Aditya murmured. “I’ve been waiting all this time, and here it is. A war greater than any we’re fighting here. A war calling me.”
“What will you do,” Rao said in return, voice just as soft. “Now that you know?”
Aditya lowered his head. A long silence followed, that Rao could not read.
“We win here,” he said finally. “We win, knowing that the nameless has a higher purpose for us. And then we face what comes.”
Rao nodded, oddly relieved. This wasn’t the end. This couldn’t be the end. The nameless had promised it to them.
“If you need to navigate the fort,” Rao said, “then I have someone that may be useful to you. But he’ll need some—convincing.”