The Tiger at Midnight (The Tiger at Midnight Trilogy #1)(30)

Kunal reached out to the man, shaking his head, but the shopkeeper almost recoiled.

“Then let me purchase something,” Kunal said.

The man looked as if he would protest again, and Kunal noticed the sideways glances thrown toward his cuirass and bronze cuffs.

The pieces clicked in his mind. He was a Blood Fort soldier, evidenced by his bronze armor. Normal infantry only wore leather armor.

It was easy for Kunal to forget the reputation of the soldiers of the Fort, spending most of his time ensconced within its walls or out to battle. It reminded him of Esha, how she had recoiled from him at first. Had that been an act?

He frowned at the realization but tried to relax his posture into something more welcoming. It made Kunal feel a pang of regret, that this was how they were received.

“I insist. I’ve been traveling and am sick to death of my rations.”

He smiled at the man and the shopkeeper finally eased the tension in his shoulders. Kunal followed him into the back of the stall with an eager belly. There he picked out a few items suited for traveling—dried mangoes, soft flatbread, and fried green pea cakes—but noticed the dearth of fresh produce. What was offered on the linen-covered tables was meager, wilted, and broken. Thin stalks of sugarcane, emaciated eggplant and okra.

The surrounding shopkeepers couldn’t keep their glances to themselves, circling their tent. Kunal supposed a soldier with an open purse was a prime target, but there was something about the fervency of their gazes that was hotter than normal.

Everyone looked thin, so thin, and at closer glance Kunal noticed the cracked skin of their hands, the desperation with which they offered their goods to passing travelers.

He hesitated, but found himself speaking before he knew it. “Master, do you get many soldiers traveling through this town?”

“No, no,” the shopkeeper said, shaking his head. Kunal held his gaze and he faltered, though he did not step back. There was something on his mind, and Kunal felt his curiosity grow.

“Master, you can speak your mind.” Kunal softened his voice, rolling a fig in his hand. “I am simply curious. I have not traveled much recently.” The small man, old enough to be his grandfather, ran his gaze over Kunal. Kunal straightened, wanting to prove worthy in this man’s eyes.

“Yes, we have had many soldiers pass through. But they will get no welcome here, not anymore.” The shopkeeper leaned closer. “The last group stole our precious water, which has become scarce since the Bhagya River began to dry up. It’s a sign of the displeasure from the Earth Mother. They should never have broken the janma bond.”

It was clear the man intended to say more, but he stopped. Despite the ends of his curling mustache trembling, he held Kunal’s gaze, and Kunal felt himself having to look away.

The general had told the soldiers the drought was only passing, a blip. There had been no reason to question the statement—the Fort relied on trade for food, instead of agriculture, and they’d always been able to fulfill all their needs. It was a privilege they were offered—other towns didn’t have that option.

He hadn’t realized that the bond was this fractured, hadn’t questioned.

“Our janma bond, it is a wild thing, a creation of the gods, that is true. Yet even my grandchild knows that the ritual required the blood of a Samyad woman and a Himyad man. How the king—” The shopkeeper quickly shut up, realizing his words were bordering on treason. He backed away ever so slightly.

Kunal was not angry at his words, though, only shocked, and he wondered if the king had known of this. It was a sobering thought, one that had never occurred to Kunal before.

“We will protect our remaining wells. The town of Ujral will not be cowed.”

Protect their wells.

He knew the soldiers had a tendency to be brash, single-minded even—but to take from those who were so clearly in need?

Kunal wanted to shake the thought out of his head, but the look on the man’s face was one he wouldn’t be able to erase. The firm, grim line of his mouth, the fear that hid behind eyes that had seen too much pain. Kunal found himself speechless.

The soldiers were tasked with protecting their people. And the Fort soldiers had endangered them instead. They had failed—he had failed, and he hadn’t even known.

Heat surged into his veins.

To become commander might give him the power to change this—hold soldiers to their oaths, imbue honor into their training, get justice for misdeeds. He could make a difference as commander.

All he could do was grasp the man’s hand and bow over it, fingers to his chest.

“You have nothing to fear from me, on my honor as Naria’s child,” Kunal said, invoking the old oath his mother had taught him.

The shopkeeper’s eyes widened for a second, as if he couldn’t believe he was hearing such an old oath of fealty from a Fort soldier. But his gaze softened and he pulled Kunal up by his shoulders, returning the salute.

A sharp crack emanated from inside the stall, startling Kunal. His head shot up, his hand going to the knives in his waist sash.

“What was that?”

The shopkeeper looked nervously at the back of the stall and Kunal strode forward to check out the noise. Contain any threat.

He had made it to the back of the stall when the shopkeeper lunged in front of him.

“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing at all. Our stove makes odd noises sometimes.”