Govind tipped his head in acknowledgment.
“Then let us speak as scholars,” Rao said. “Theoretically, of concepts that have no bearing on what we may or may not truly do.”
“We share an understanding,” murmured Govind. “Continue, Lord Rajan.”
“Theoretically, then—there is great anger here. I’ve seen hungry people, beggars, in Ahiranya, my lord. Far more than in Saketa.”
Rao had never actually been to Saketa, but Prem had remarked on the number of sickly people in Ahiranya, the breadth of poverty. And certainly it was far more than Rao had witnessed in Alor or Parijat. “It makes rebel violence understandable. Sympathetic, to some.”
“Anger,” Govind repeated. He massaged his own throat as he coughed. “It is a shallow understanding of Ahiranya you must have, to call what fuels rebel violence anger.”
“Then what should it rightly be called?” Rao asked.
“You must understand, there is no one unified rebellion in Ahiranya,” Govind replied. “The methods of each rebel group are different. But it is a vision that unites them all, not rage. A dream.”
“What do they dream of, my lord?”
“For the sake of the scholarly interests we three share, I will hypothesize this: Every city-state of Parijatdvipa, every highborn and king and prince, is bound to Emperor Chandra by ancient vows. But Ahiranya is not bound by vow or choice. Ahiranya is a conquered nation. So of course, all rebels in our land dream of an Ahiranya that is free.”
“But what freedom means, I imagine, is a more complicated question,” Lata murmured.
Govind inclined his head. “And so, those Ahiranyi highborn who share the rebel dream—they fund it as they will. Some think freedom is won by killing. Some seek a path in art.”
And what path do you take? Rao thought. Do you have connections to rebels who seek blood? Can you ally with us, and see our princess set free?
“Interesting,” Rao said politely, instead. “That dream of a free country is—an admirable one.” He waited a moment then added delicately, “The Ahiranyi are not the only ones with a dream of a different world.”
He could have said it then: that there were many in Parijatdvipa who would see a different emperor on the throne; many who dreamt of an empire of joyful unity, instead of one crushed by an emperor who believed that Parijat stood supreme. But Govind scoffed, falling weakly back against his pillows, shushing Rao with a wave of his hand.
“Indeed, indeed. But what happens beyond our borders holds little interest to me. In truth, even what happens within our borders no longer concerns me as it once did. Dreams are dreams,” he said. “I learned long ago the limits of a vision built upon faith and ideals. And the dangers.”
“Lord Govind,” Rao said, even as the man shook his head.
“You’re a young man, Lord Rajan, and young people believe in things. Often they die for them. Kill for them. The regent burned women, Ahiranyi women, did you hear?”
Rao swallowed. Kept his expression calm. “I did, Lord Govind.”
“Did the regent believe he acted correctly, in service of higher ideals? Somebody did, certainly,” Govind said, and Rao had no doubt that by somebody he meant Lord Santosh. “But his act of faith will cost us all. He killed for faith, and now the rebels will do no less in return. If you will listen to an old man’s counsel, then I advise you to leave the city while you still can. Leave Ahiranya entirely. Go swiftly. Forget our troubles. You will find no help here, Lord Rajan, from me or from any other. You would best be somewhere else, when the rebels seek blood in compensation. And it will not be long, I think.”
“Think, or know?” Rao asked, doing away with subtlety. His heart was pounding.
Govind shook his head, which was no answer. Then he closed his eyes, clearly unutterably tired.
“It has been a long time,” he murmured. “A long time since I have talked so much. I thank you for the books, Lord Rajan, young sage. These will bring me joy in the times to come. Whatever they may be. But I think now I must rest. You should be on your way.”
JITESH
A warm night. Mosquitoes buzzing about, crickets humming, and the haveli lit so bright it was a small moon against the light-flecked black of the city. It was beautiful, but…
Spirits, he was tired.
He stifled a yawn—then yelped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“How’s guard duty going?” Nikhil asked.
“Oh,” said Jitesh. “Fine, you know.”