Rao’s laugh was bitter. “Chandra would.”
“The soldiers will arrive here by tonight,” said another.
“Are you sure?”
“If they’re traveling inconspicuously, they won’t have horses, or any possibility of arriving sooner. But the messenger was sure.”
“And Emperor Aditya…？”
“Was told as soon as the report arrived,” said Lord Khalil, gaze hooded. He watched the others as if over the catur table, weighing up his next move, and weighing them up too.
“And his plans?” Lata asked, from the corner of the room.
“He hasn’t seen fit to enlighten us,” Khalil said levelly. “But I’m sure he will speak to his beloved sister.”
“I am sure he will,” Malini replied, with just as much evenness. Her blood sang in her ears.
“There will be many battles and many wars, if Prince Aditya intends to take back the throne.”
“And he will,” Malini said firmly.
Khalil made a noise. It was not quite agreement.
“Would he have us run, like cowards, ill-befitting our status?” Narayan asked.
Malini did not think survival was cowardly but refrained from saying so.
“We are warriors, my lords,” said Rao, surprising her. “We do not run from battle. But we may at least use this time to strategize. If you will join me…”
Malini did not stay.
She went to walk through the gardens. Careful footsteps, passing priests at meditation, or painting lacquer upon leaves.
“Lata,” said Malini, to her ever-present shadow. “Military history.”
“My teacher was the one who knew her history best.”
“If she were here, I’d gladly take her counsel. But you’re her disciple. Tell me what you know.”
“I know this, princess: You use any tools you have available to you. Take stock—what do you have?”
Malini looked around herself. The gardens. The unnatural trees; the leaves and fruit that would never rot that hung about them. A dark foreboding crept up her spine.
“I cannot use what I have.”
“Why not?” Lata asked simply.
Because it’s wrong. But no. That did not matter to her. Not truly.
Because it would be monstrous.
Even that. Even that did not matter as much as it should have.
“Because I may lose Aditya’s followers. Or…” She paused. “Or I may gain him more,” she murmured. “They think he does not have the capacity to be ruthless. They think…”
Lata’s face was suddenly gray. She knew exactly what Malini intended to do. “I did not mean…”
“Did you not?” Malini did not smile at her. She did not feel joyful. “Thank you,” she said instead.
“Don’t thank me,” Lata said. “Please.”
Finally, thought Malini. She understands the bitterness of knowledge.
Malini found Aditya meditating in his room, cross-legged on the floor. She watched him for a long moment, waiting for him to notice her and raise his head. When he did not, she kneeled down beside him regardless.
“My brother,” she said. She spoke in a low, gentle voice. The kind their mother had once used. “I need you to lead your men. We cannot remain here any longer.”
There was a long moment where he said nothing.
“Did Rao send you?” he said finally.
“No.” She did not need Rao to direct her on what was needful. Aditya should have known that.
“Strange. And yet you both want the same thing from me.” There was a joyless smile on his mouth. “You want me to kill for the throne. Murder for it.”
“You must kill for the throne,” Malini said. She forced her voice to remain calm, kind. “That is what war is. And it isn’t simply Rao and I who want you to take the throne. Aditya, you know this. You know all those men wait for you to guide them because Chandra must be stopped, and there is no one but you to do it. Why won’t you act?”
Her brother’s eyes were dark-ringed, but his expression underneath the hardness of his smile was determined.
“Come with me,” he said. “I have something to show you.”
He led her to a garden. Within it stood a basin of water upon a plinth. She followed him to it; placed her hands upon it, at his urging.
“You always want knowledge,” he said. “Now you can receive it.”
“I have plenty of books,” said Malini, looking at her brother’s face, and not at the water. “Or I did once. And now I have Lata to continue my education.”