The Tiger at Midnight (The Tiger at Midnight Trilogy #1)(26)

He wondered what his uncle would have done. Probably clamped her in irons last night.

Act first, ask questions later.

That was the Fort’s unofficial motto.

Problem was, that had never been Kunal’s way. He prided himself on being calm and cool-headed, looking at all sides of a problem before arriving at an opinion. What if he was wrong and he took an innocent girl back to the Fort in chains? He would never forgive himself for acting without proof.

And therein lay a dilemma. Kunal had nothing but the words of a drunken soldier who claimed he saw a girl, and for him, it wasn’t enough.

He had to be more sure before he could act. Until then, observe and report.

Kunal grabbed his cuirass and made a face at the dent in the armor, right below the breastplate. If he could find a branch or a stone, he could bring some of the shape back so it wouldn’t dig into his skin. As he searched for a rock big enough, Kunal planned his next steps.

He would leave Esha outside the camp, grab his mare before the others noticed, and then head off to the next port town. Either he would see her safely on a ship or he would put her in irons and take her back to the Fort.

The next few days would be crucial in determining which path he’d take.

A perfect rock—pointed yet curved enough to deliver an exacting blow—was nestled into the soft forest floor near Esha’s canvas pack. He leaned down to pick it up—it would be perfect for hammering his cuirass back into shape—and his eye caught something silver on the ground.

A small silver pin was caught in the underbrush. He tugged at it and found it caked in dirt. As he began to rub it clean, Kunal glanced at Esha’s bag next to him, which had fallen over.

The handle of a whip peeked out, a crisscross of snakes emblazoned across it. It took Kunal a moment to comprehend what he was seeing.

When he did, he almost dropped the rock.

He stood there, staring at the pack, unable to move. His heart began to hammer, his fingers fisting around the pin.

There was no denying it now. There it was—the proof he required. The matching whip, one of a pair, exactly like the one left behind in his uncle’s bedroom.

His mind eased into a cool calmness, as it did before every battle started. Analyze the situation. Make a plan of attack.

Now he needed to figure out how to get her back to the soldiers’ camp without raising any suspicion. She hadn’t left yet, so it was possible he could continue this farce. Kunal grimaced at the thought of it. He had never been skilled at deception.

When he finally felt his limbs loosen with decision, he donned his still-dented cuirass with rapid speed and tucked the silver pin into his waist sash to examine later. He edged the whip back into her pack with the toe of his sandal, tipping the bag back over so it stood upright. The thought of touching it made him queasy.

Kunal ignored the small part of him that had seen a girl and a bit of hope. That still didn’t believe she was the Viper—didn’t believe she was capable of being the Viper. That part of him had been a fool.

A sharp crack resounded through the air. Kunal whipped around, his instincts pushing him to check out what the danger was. He shot off toward the sound.

Had the tiger returned? Had something happened to Esha?

He needed to return her to the Fort alive.

Kunal ran toward the sound but quickly realized nothing was amiss, except for a large tree branch having fallen on the paved path. He peered at the branch. It had been neatly severed—by the monkey trap.

Sun Maiden’s spear.

He sprinted back toward their banyan tree camp, pumping his legs as fast as he could, defying the wind to move even faster. He had done exactly what he shouldn’t have—gotten distracted. Even if it had been only for a minute.

A minute was all the Viper needed.

He cursed himself as he came upon the empty clearing, seeing what he expected.

Everything was gone—the pack, the girl.

He caught sight of her ivory-colored uttariya a few paces ahead and turned toward it, jumping through the leaves and branches to follow the trail of cotton in the air. She started moving faster.

Kunal threw himself forward, using every last bit of his speed, and caught the edge of the uttariya in his grasping fingers. The bolt of fabric streamed off her but got caught around her shoulders and torso, pulling her back. She stopped, her lips forming a perfect “O,” mimicking the wideness of her shocked eyes. She hadn’t expected him to catch her.

The uttariya had fallen off her head, revealing her riotous mane of dark curls. They flew in the wind, lashing her stricken face.

But in the next moment, her shock faded and she turned her head to face him. Her entire face broke into a grin, slow and coiling. Gone was every shred of meekness, every trace of the retiring, demure trader girl.

When their eyes met, he knew they both were aware the performance was over and the game had begun. No words had been exchanged, but Kunal knew in his marrow that he and Esha understood each other. She wouldn’t stop running and he wouldn’t stop chasing her.

She held his gaze as she tugged loose and threw off the rest of the uttariya, her eyes flashing with a reckless danger.

Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought he also saw a hint of regret in her eyes.

Kunal leaped forward, to grab Esha, tackle her, anything. A sharp pain lanced up his shins and he tumbled to the ground, finding himself sprawled across the tangled roots that grew across the forest. By the time he got back on his feet, wincing in pain, she was gone. The source of his failure: a thin metal wire that stretched between the base of two trees.