The Tiger at Midnight (The Tiger at Midnight Trilogy #1)(19)
A whiff of smoke wafted into the air, and she woke with a start. Then a noise. It started out faint, but soon Esha couldn’t deny the crackling of a fire in the distance.
Esha was up in an instant, taking care to not tumble out of the tree in her haste. The smoke wasn’t far, and she couldn’t bet on the intruders keeping to their camp. The banyan was a low-hanging tree, perfect for obscuring her from travelers on the well-worn paths, but not much help against anyone who stood directly underneath.
Esha shed the blanket and quickly scrambled farther up the tree, looking out from the heavy branches.
Soldiers or raiders? She had cut down a few raiders in her time, and they were quick but untrained. A soldier would be much worse.
Esha peered out over the branches, struggling to make out shapes in the camp. There looked to be about four figures moving, about three hundred paces away. Far but not far enough.
Esha cursed. Soldiers. Their armor was quiet, oiled to be silent, but the cuirasses caught the light of the fire, glinting off the trees and the moonlight. She considered her options. Stay put and hope to the gods they didn’t pass her way, or try to put more distance between her and them.
Neither path was ideal. Her thoughts swirled like the edges of a dust storm, thrashing against her skull. Best case, she was able to hide until they passed. Worst, they found her and took her back to the Fort—the last place she wanted to go.
If they stayed on the path, she’d probably be fine here. But she couldn’t bet on it.
Within minutes she rolled up her pack, shoved her blanket back, and crawled down the tree, staying as silent as possible and brushing off the glowing dust that clung to her body.
In half an hour she should be out of their path and far enough away to finally sleep.
Chapter 11
It wasn’t that Kunal hated Rakesh; he just didn’t particularly like him.
And of course, as luck would have it, he was one of the four soldiers who had been chosen for this mission. Kunal eyed the man, Rakesh’s face turning red and his dark corkscrew curls jumping out of place as he told a story around the campfire with violent hand motions.
He had argued against building a campfire. Though they were pretending otherwise, the other soldiers feared the Tej and had built the fire to ward off trickster spirits. It was rumored that Vardaan himself had encountered a spirit during a campaign and that’s why he had ordered soldiers to stay away from the Tej for the past decade, sparking whispers about its supernatural danger.
It made no sense—no spirits would dwell here anyway; legends said they preferred the windy cold of the Aifora Range’s peaks or the arid heat of the Hara Desert. Even the rice paddies of southern Dharka—anywhere there was an extreme in climate.
Not that anyone seemed to want to listen to him, even Laksh, who had shrugged and allowed the others to decide.
Kunal turned a stick in his hand, allowing the piece of hardened ghee to melt slowly over the crusty lentil cake. It was a trick he had learned over many campaigns to make rations more palatable. Something about the melted, clarified butter warmed his soul on the road.
He tried to bring his mind back into his body and listen to Rakesh’s story but couldn’t help wanting to roll his eyes every time the man spoke. Laksh and the other soldier, Amir, seemed to be getting a good laugh out of the tale. Or at least were better at pretending.
Kunal took another swig of the rice wine, cheaper than water at the Fort, and looked down to see that he had emptied his flask quicker than he’d thought.
Was he really that bored? Or was it the knot in the pit of his stomach that refused to go away and became tighter whenever he thought of that girl, Esha?
He shook the empty flask with an unhappy flick, trying to see if he could dredge up anything from the bottom. No such luck today.
Kunal couldn’t stop thinking about it.
The Viper might be a girl. A pretty girl. A pretty, smart, funny girl.
It made perfect sense, in an indirect way. None of the soldiers would assume that the Viper was a woman; many were happy to forget that just a decade ago Jansa had been a queendom, that women soldiers had been celebrated. It was easier on the ego for some men to assume being a cunning warrior was a right afforded only to men, Kunal supposed.
It also fit with the profile he had laid out. Trading was the only profession still open to women where they could pass through, unnoticed. She could blend in well, and her skill at stealth would only aid her.
Rakesh’s words pricked at his ears as the conversation changed. The soldier had stopped boasting about his battle prowess to intimidate the others and now he was using a different tack, trying to scare them with stories of the Viper. This, Kunal was interested in.
“The Viper is pure animal,” Rakesh said, leaning forward, a curl bobbing along his sweaty forehead. He sat away from the tree trunk behind him, jumping any time some of the glowing dust landed on his skin. “He can slither like a snake and sting like a scorpion.”
“Are you sure that isn’t just the Viper’s whip? That is how he got the name.” Laksh’s voice was dry, and Kunal could hear the barely concealed humor underneath his words. “And I’ve heard the captains talking. It’s possible that the Viper isn’t just one person, but many.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Kunal saw Rakesh edge forward and grab his knife, eyeing the tree behind him. He hid it quickly, looking around to make sure no one had seen his moment of weakness.