The Lotus Empire (The Burning Kingdoms #3)

Chapter 29 Rao

RAO

Lady Asma took the task of caring for Rao far too seriously. She and her crowd of maidservants and guards were like a swarm of mosquitoes, ever-present. Would Prince Rao like to rest? He wanted to walk ? Surely not. A walk on the ramparts sounded rather dangerous. Would Prince Rao like some gentler entertainment instead? Perhaps he would like to see the library—in fact, she needed help with the library, and had he not assisted the empress’s favored scribe? Yes, the library was certainly ideal!

At one point, when he protested, Asma steered him herself with a hand clamped to his arm. She was a head shorter than him but moved with the determination of a mother cat holding a kitten in her jaws.

“Come now, Prince Rao,” she said, cheerily determined. “Books will provide you good comfort.”

He’d seen the like of this before: young lords new to power wielding their authority clumsily, without any of the subtlety or restraint their elders had cultivated. Asma’s manipulations in her position as lady of the Lal Qila were unsubtle. Inexperience was her greatest flaw.

If Lady Raziya had been here, she would have walked with him along the corridors of the fort and arranged meals with visiting lords; she would have cajoled him into helping with some laborious but somewhat interesting task, better suited to his talents than organizing ancient Dwarali tomes, with the household scholars hovering anxiously over him for fear he would ruin their hard work.

If Lady Raziya had been here, it would have taken him days, or even weeks, to realize he was being carefully watched and managed. As it was, he’d realized on the first day. It hadn’t made it easier to slip Asma’s notice, though.

And besides, what point was there trying? She did not act out of any malice. There was genuine concern in her eyes when she looked at him. Her mother had clearly sent messages strongly advising her of his worth to the empress, impressing the need to keep him safe. She’d practically panicked when he walked along the paths carved into the fortress roof and walls.

Rao had no purpose here. He made a desultory attempt to ask about a ruby—and received a frown in response and then a lengthy explanation of what could be found in the mines beneath the mountains, so dull his eyes practically crossed.

So he gave up and allowed himself to be set down in the library to read and nap over pages. In the evenings, after awkward dinners with the household, he spent time with Sima.

He asked her again if she’d go, and she refused.

“Not yet,” she said. “I’m not done with this adventure.”

“We’ve been trapped in this fort,” he pointed out.

“Exactly,” she said, grinning at him. “I won’t consent to run until we’ve done something worthwhile.”

Change came suddenly, in the smallest form: a shared silver platter of fruit and sherbet glasses. Lady Asma chattering mildly to him, as she instructed a servant to carve some new delicacy and place it on the platter before them. He watched as the servant peeled the rind from a pale segment of fruit and lightly scattered salt on its surface.

“What kind of fruit is this?” Rao asked.

“A rare kind,” she said. “Grown from a gourd. Enjoy it.”

She nudged the tray toward him, urging him to eat.

He did. It was mild and sweet, unfamiliar. There was an edge of rind to one that she warned him not to eat.

“Where does this grow?” he asked out of no particular curiosity, simply to make conversation. “I have not seen it before.”

“Many things grow here that do not easily in the rest of Parijatdvipa.”

“Your mother and father should offer them in trade,” he said, to compliment her.

A thin-lipped smile. “I don’t think so. They’re an unreliable crop, my lord. Very hard to cultivate.”

A spark of a memory ran through—of ink on scraps of paper he’d dully riffled through, in the hours he’d been trapped among books.

“In your books, there is talk of the agriculture of the tribes beyond Parijatdvipa’s borders,” Rao said lightly. “Who farm and harvest across vast swathes of land and travel with the seasons. What did that book say…” He frowned, clicking his tongue in his throat. “Ah. The Babure and Jagatay carry muskmelons across the hills, a sweetness for trade for cold winters.”

“We do not trade with them,” said Lady Asma. “The tribes are our enemies.” She shook her head. “In the past it was done. But that was during the Age of Flowers, my lord—before we were one empire.”

Her cup of half-emptied sherbet clinked against the table. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable outside the library, Prince Rao. To think that you’ve resorted to reading about agriculture!”

Clumsily done , he thought. Perhaps time would make a better politician of her.

He nodded, agreed, and drank.

Now that he was looking more closely, he noticed what they perhaps didn’t want him to: cloth that could not come from Dwarali, never mind any other part of the empire, made of some unfamiliar animal’s fur; fruit and meat that also screamed elsewhere .

He’d spent hours in the depths of the war against Chandra tracking supplies from every city-state of Parijatdvipa. He knew that these items were not traded by Dwarali—and certainly had not been obtained from Srugna or Parijat, Saketa or Alor.

All these years of protecting the border… it was no surprise that some intermingling of trade had occurred between the residents of the Lal Qila and the people who lived beyond its walls. It would have been surprising if that had not happened.

Something about this called to him, and he didn’t know if it was the nameless or his own gut instinct. But he couldn’t let it go.

On a quiet night, he asked a servant for a basin of water.

In a temple of the nameless, he would have had the guidance of a priest. He would have gazed into a still pool of deep waters and sought the guidance of his god.

The water in the bowl before him was not deep enough for darkness. He could see the ceramic through it, slightly fractured.

In the past, he’d actively reached for the nameless with joy and hope. Now he looked down and waited, staring at the dark with a sense of grim resolve. He knew a vision was coming for him. A vision had been waiting all this time in the fire behind his eyes.

All he had to do was let it out.

A long moment of nothing. He stared foolishly at his own reflection. Then he turned away in disgust, poured himself a drink, and went to the narrow window—wide enough to let in nothing but a sliver of the sky.

The sky was dark outside. Flecked with stars.

His eyes burned once more. He saw snow again, bloodied. And then a jewel—glowing like fire, dulling to ash. And Aditya’s face, wavering. His hand reaching through fire—

He returned to himself. He was sweating, his eyes damp with tears. His drink had tumbled to the floor. With one sleeve he wiped his face and breathed with all the steadiness he could find in himself.

He snuck into Sima’s room before morning. She shot up in her bed, untangling herself from her sheets with a swear. Then she gave him a bemused look. Already, just on their journey together, he’d lost the power to frighten her. Good.

“You’re planning something,” she said. “ Finally. ”

“What makes you think so?”

“Your eyes looked like that before,” Sima said. “When you came to my room, when you were drunk—your eyes were like gold. Nothing in them but light.”

He swallowed. “I’m going beyond the Lal Qila,” he said. “Following a vision from the nameless. My men will keep you safe. But if you want to leave, I can take you to a horse now. Whatever you need.”

She snorted delicately, then said, “Don’t be absurd. I’m coming with you.”

He shook his head. “You don’t want to follow a vision with me,” he said heavily. “It never ends well.”

“I followed Priya, didn’t I? For less than a vision. And I can see it’s real.” She gestured at his eyes. “This is the adventure we wanted, Rao.”

“I never wanted an adventure.”

She huffed, ignoring him. She began to pack and draw on her warm long jacket, tightening it over her tunic.

“How are we getting out?”

“There must be exits,” he said. “The Lal Qila is meant to be impenetrable, but if someone is exchanging fruit or cloth, there has to be a route through…”

“Oh,” she said. She grinned, baring her teeth. “I know one of those.”

At his stupefied look, she said, “Do you think I’ve been hiding in this room all the time? When I’m not with you I have to find something to do.” She shrugged. “We agreed I’m not a prisoner anymore, and no one here is watching me as closely as they did in the empress’s palace. I’ve seen where the warriors go when they want to trade—or smoke where their superiors can’t see them.”

“Show me,” he said. “Please.”

She led him to a narrow corridor that wound out to a hall just beyond kitchens used by the servants. Gesturing at him to be quiet, she showed him a door.

Beyond the door, the mountains were swathed in white. Rao took a step outside. Snow was falling steadily.

“It doesn’t look safe to go out there,” Sima said nervously.

“I have to,” said Rao. “You should stay here, but I must go.”

Fire and snow were clouding his vision, and through them he saw a figure—Aditya perhaps, standing in flames. Aditya, holding out a hand…

He heard Sima yell, but it was too late. He was already striding confidently out into the cold, into a heaving wind colored white that pressed against him like cold water without the wetness of rain.

A hand caught his tunic. Sima was stumbling after him.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she heaved. “I won’t follow your vision, and I don’t think you should either, you absolute idiot.”

“I told you not to come.”

“But you knew I would, didn’t you?”

Her teeth were chattering. He turned to look behind them—but the path was gone, swallowed by white. Internally he cursed.

“I’ve never seen snow before,” she said. “I… I thought it would be different.” A pause. “It’s like home.”

“In what way is this anything like Ahiranya?” he asked.

“Oh, beautiful but liable to kill you,” she said. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“I guess we have no choice,” she said. “No way back, is there? Let’s follow your vision and see where it takes us.”

They walked, and walked. A storm rolled in over them, bringing howling winds and more snow.

“It’s so fucking cold,” she said. “Did your vision bring you out here to make us so cold we’d die?”

“The nameless has done worse to me,” he said in a low voice.

“We’re turning back, Prince Rao.”

“I don’t know where back is. You know that.”

“Ah,” she said. “Well, shit. Neither do I.”

They found no shelter, but there was an outcropping of rocks tall enough to hold the wind at bay. They huddled together, wedged close for warmth.

It was growing darker.

“Rao,” she said, into the howling wind and his silence. “The prince. Did you… Who was he to you?”

“My friend,” he said.

“You grieve him very deeply.”

“Everyone grieves friends deeply,” he murmured. His toes were beginning to grow numb.

“They do.” Silence. She trembled beside him. “I like women, you know,” Sima said, speaking through her shivers. “If you judge me—I don’t care, really. I know what Parijatdvipans believe, and us Ahiranyi, we don’t feel the same. But I…” She paused, and he didn’t know if it was from cold or from the weight of her own thoughts. He took her hand in his. It was icy. “Sorry,” she went on. “I just wanted to say that if you felt more for him—I understand. I can listen.”

He swallowed. He thought of Aditya’s statue, of a kiss. Aditya’s smile.

“I knew I loved him,” he admitted. “When he was alive, I knew I loved him… more than I should have. But the shape of it—that wasn’t something I let myself see. I didn’t know.”

“Did you really not see?”

“It was like staring at the sun,” Rao said. A shaky laugh. “Really looking at it would have destroyed me.”

“I-I’d give anything for a bit of that sun right now,” said Sima. “It would be so nice to be warm.”

“Agreed.” He closed his eyes. There was no fire behind them right now. Just his own mind, and that was almost worse. “What good would it have done to tell him?” he whispered. “Tell myself? We couldn’t have done anything. Been anything.”

“It’s not tragic to love like we do,” Sima said gently. “To be like we are. You… you should know that. Although I’m sorry you’ve had so much grief.”

He laughed again. Shaking.

“I think,” he said, “that if we weren’t currently freezing to death I’d cry.”

A trembling huff from Sima.

There was a crack of noise. Voices.

He scrambled up the rock. Through the white haze he saw figures in thick furs and dark cloth. He saw one of them point and cry out. Bows were raised.

His eyes suddenly burned as the panic rose in him like wildfire.

“Stop!” He stumbled out and fell to his knees on the snow. “I am Prince Rao,” he called out. “A nameless prince of Alor, a servant of the Empress of Parijatdvipa, and I was brought here by a vision.” He shouted louder as the wind howled and howled. “A vision of blood and snow and fire—and a ruby like a heart! A stone ripped from the earth!”

The figures stilled. Some lowered their bows.

A man emerged from between them. A slight man, with eyes as sharp as a hunting bird’s, crossed the moonlit snow.

“Prince Rao,” he said. “No longer fear. I am Ehsan, kai of the Jagatay, and you are safe with us.”