The Tiger at Midnight (The Tiger at Midnight Trilogy #1)(2)
He couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken to a girl at length; women had been removed from the Jansan army after the queendom had been dismantled, and the Fort was inhabited only by soldiers and the passing traders that helped it thrive. The other soldiers made trips into town on campaigns, but Kunal never partook in those celebrations.
He was used to seeing traders from all over the Southern Lands and Far Isles at the Fort and knew most of them by name, but he didn’t recognize her. His eyes darted to the small pin that held together her sari pleats, shaped like a jasmine flower, which he could tell was Dharkan-made. But she had no valaya, the metal bracelet Dharkans wore from birth. No Dharkan would set foot here, near the Fort, anyway—she must be Jansan.
It was uncommon to see a Jansan wear such a pin nowadays but not impossible. Before the War of the Brothers, Jansans and Dharkans had mingled: they had loved and lived together as denizens of the Southern Lands. It was only after Jansa’s queen and royal family had been murdered, ten years ago, that the war had started and the bond between their countries had fractured.
It was only after that bloody coup that Kunal’s entire life had changed.
“I’ve seen many traders deliver their goods and then get lost while staring at the Fortress’s height or numerous parapets. It’s really not that special. But I suppose I think that because I live there . . .” His words trailed off as he bit his tongue, bewildered at why his mouth had decided to come to life on its own.
She looked at him for a long beat, studying his face, and Kunal had to resist the urge to say something to fill the silence. Finally, she lowered her head, demure.
“I believe I am lost.” Her voice was musical, measured, and a note of uncertainty crept into it. “Would you be so kind as to tell me how to get back to the harbor? I was late in dropping off my shipment of poppy seeds; I hope you will forgive me.” She bent her head, eyes lowering. “But if I don’t get back to my quarter on the ship, I’ll be left behind. The captain doesn’t look kindly on tardiness.”
He nodded briskly. Uncle Setu—known to the rest of Jansa as the revered, and feared, General Hotha—wasn’t one for lateness either.
“Of course. I’ll show you to the footpath that leads down to the harbor. I can take you there right now.”
Something akin to relief passed over the girl’s face. This captain must really have a lot in common with the general if she was that worried.
Kunal glanced up at his station at the top of the Fort. Even with the soldiers preoccupied by celebration in the courtyard inside, they would make their way outside at midnight without fail, only a quarter of an hour from now. He would have to make this quick before the western gates opened. He made a note to remind the sentries to keep a closer eye on traders from now on.
Kunal led the way to the footpath in silence, stealing glances at the girl when her gaze was dropped. The girl’s steps were jaunty for a trader, her shoulders held a bit too high. Most traders at the Fort crept about with their shoulders around their ears, in fear of invoking the general’s wrath.
But this girl. Her eyes . . . they were filled with fire and the depths of water. It bothered Kunal. Fire and water didn’t live together in harmony, yet in her eyes, it seemed perfectly natural. Something about her was so familiar, but Kunal couldn’t place it.
Perhaps she was one of the daughters of the new trade leader? Or had just arrived on one of the trade ships from the Western Lands, across the sea?
He scuffed his toe against the stones as they crested the hill to the back entrance of the Fort where the footpath lay. One of the Fort’s five sandstone pillars towered at the top of the path, the inscriptions of King Vardaan’s edicts from the past decade gleaming in the light. There was a cracked white line in the stone, where a statue of the first queen of Jansa, Naria, and an eagle, the royal family’s sigil, had used to stand. He still remembered the day he had asked his uncle why there was a king on Jansa’s throne, instead of a queen as the gods had decreed—it had earned him his first beating.
Kunal didn’t want to think about what his uncle would say if he found out he had abandoned his post, whatever the reason. An unfitting decision for a dutiful Jansan soldier, especially now with his promotion.
“Are you all right?” the girl asked. Her words were quick and unmeasured, a stark difference from her previous tone.
Kunal nodded. She arched one dark eyebrow at him. “Do soldiers normally go around frowning at imaginary people?”
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He hadn’t realized he was that easy to read. “Only every other day. You caught me on a bad one.”
She chuckled, low and hearty.
Where had that come from? Kunal wasn’t a flirt, wasn’t even one for a bawdy song.
The girl was now glancing at him as they walked, the grimness of her earlier expression gone, something mischievous in her eye.
“Is it always this chilly on this side of the coast, or did I just come on a bad day?” she asked, referring to the peninsula that the Red Fort was situated on.
“It’s been getting cooler over the past years.”
She made a concerned noise. “And I haven’t seen any storm clouds. Good for our trading ships, but not so good for the land, I’m guessing.”
“The land has become more arid. A quick dry spell, that’s all,” Kunal said, remembering what the Fort leadership had told them about the change in the land.