The Tiger at Midnight (The Tiger at Midnight Trilogy #1)(47)

But she didn’t seem to be interested in talking anymore, her mouth a tight line.

“Fine, continue thinking I’m a heartless pawn of the king,” he said, anger winning.

“When you’ve seen the bodies of your friends found, unrecognizable due to torture, then you can talk to me about soldiers and their worth.” Esha tilted her chin up, defiance written across her face. Her eyes flashed with barely concealed contempt.

“I gave you my word. I owe you my life. You will get a fair trial,” he said back with uncontained force, more so because he had no idea if he could guarantee that.

“Oh? Did any of my fellow Blades get a fair trial after the last raid? Or the one before?”

He only stared at her. Suddenly Esha looked very tired, and the fight in her seemed to blink out. “You know what would be fair? If you let me sleep on that bed tonight.”

Kunal began to shake his head.

“I’m not asking you to untie me, just let me on the bed, Kunal. I’m exhausted, I’ve been sleeping in trees for weeks, and going forward I’ll only have howler monkeys as companions.”

He blinked at her. It was the first time she had called him anything besides soldier.

“All right.”

“Really?”

She looked shocked. He nodded, unsure why he had agreed, and a real smile broke across her face. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop the small flip his stomach did at the sight of it.

It wasn’t as if he would get any sleep with her staring at him from across the room. With a soft tug, he brought her to her feet, letting his hands linger on the soft curve of her waist.

She smelled like smoke and wood, and beneath it, a hint of night rose, which only bloomed in the harsh summer heat.

Kunal helped her to the edge of the bed and she hopped and tumbled in.

It took him a few seconds to still his heart as he pulled his shirt and uttariya off. He hesitated and then slid his armor off as well, cleaning it with care before lining it up neatly against the wall. Within a few minutes, she had fallen into a deep sleep. Then he eased himself onto the bed, fighting the fluttering of his lids as he stared at her sleeping form.

Her presence next to him was like a blaze under his skin, but it was no match for the overwhelming weariness of the past few days. Sleep took him quickly and he slumbered, plagued by the scent of night rose.

When he woke up in the morning, she was gone. The surprise he should have felt was replaced by a dull acceptance.

All that was left of her was the warm impression where her body had lain on the bed and a small note. As he bent to pick it up, he saw on the floor the remains of the ropes that had bound her wrists, sawed off in sheaves.

You searched me for weapons, but you didn’t look everywhere.

Kunal glanced at the next line, and he quickly looked aside, his cheeks blazing hot at the image she painted.

His eyes skimmed over the rest of the note.

A truce. No killing you in your sleep, soldier. You let me live and I did the same. Now catch me if you can.

Kunal could almost see the gleam in Esha’s eyes as he read the words.

P.S. Trade for trade. You wanted to be an artist. I wanted to be a troupe performer, though my mother would have never allowed it. Life didn’t quite work out for either of us.

He smiled at the postscript even as he crumpled the piece of paper in his fist.

She had slipped right through his fingers. Again. But she had told him something.

A troupe performer. He never would’ve guessed.

Catch me if you can.

It was a challenge, and Kunal didn’t like to lose.





Chapter 30


Kunal ran out into the street, the crumpled note still clenched in his fist. He hadn’t wasted time donning his armor or uttariya, choosing to go bare-chested in the heat.

When folding the note, he had noticed the ink had still been fresh—fluid enough to smudge. These were the things he was trained to notice. She couldn’t have escaped more than fifteen minutes ago.

He remembered she had mentioned howler monkeys in her exhaustion last night; only the jungles at the base of the Ghanta Mountains housed them. Kunal had spent enough time on the borders to be familiar with the wildlife, his first mission in the thick jungles and high groves of the Mauna Valley.

She must be going toward the valley—toward Chinta or Amali, the only towns around there.

Kunal took off to the right, toward the northern path out of the city, which followed the river. He cursed his own stupidity.

Kunal swerved into a dark alleyway, kicking up a cloud of dust with his sandals as he sped up, almost colliding into one of the many stray dogs that resided in Faor. The stone walls looked sturdy and were uneven enough that Kunal could hold on. Kunal grabbed on to the highest one he could reach, his muscles straining as he pulled himself up the wall.

In a few minutes, he was on the roof and running and leaping over the blazing-hot stones from one rooftop to another. The buildings tapered off toward the north.

With his armor and pack still behind in the blue house, he would be at a disadvantage. But he would be cursed if he let her escape that easily.

A troupe performer.

A troupe performer with a killer instinct.

The heat of the sun burned as he came to a stop, looking out over the wide expanse of land to the north of the town. Specks of color dotted the horizon—other towns—and green seeped into gray mountain in the far distance.