The Tiger at Midnight (The Tiger at Midnight Trilogy #1)(64)

Since he was a boy, he had gone bare-armed with his hawks and falcons. Something about the connection of skin to claw resonated deep within him. It was a feeling he couldn’t ever quite explain—as if for a second, he got to feel the fierce freedom of being an animal. He felt it in his bones, in his blood, and it never failed to make him feel whole.

He produced a small piece of leathered meat, which the animal snatched into its beak happily. Now it turned its eyes fully to Kunal, willing to engage. He tied the small note to the hawk’s claws and watched it fly away, majestic and free in the wind.

He had always wished he could fly as a child, climbing trees so high that his mother’s cries were distant and enveloped by the clear air above. That need hadn’t changed as he grew older, and he had often taken the worst shift times so he could be alone at the top of the Fort, a moment of respite and wholeness that he found nowhere else in that massive structure.

It was why he had seen Esha. And how this whole mess had started.

Alok’s latest note had arrived earlier that day, before he had found and lost Esha.

Hullo Kunal,

The Fort isn’t the same without you or Laksh. I’m hoping one of you comes to his senses and returns home. Is it really worth it to become commander? They always have to work so much. Yes, yes, I can imagine you frowning at me, Kunal. But you’ll be happy to hear, I opened your mail and saw that you received your official Senap posting. You’ll be in Gwali.

Kunal felt a little flutter of pleasure at learning of his posting in Gwali. He hadn’t expected it, but it was nice to have the option now, with all the uncertainty in his life.

So just come back, all right? You’re already going to be an important Senap, no need to capture the Viper and add another feather to your turban.

Anyway, we’ve been told to remain quiet about the general’s murder, though the commander hasn’t said much about it anyway. The cease-fire is still on, at least. It’s all very odd and there’s a tense undercurrent in the Fort. Normally, I’d say it was in anticipation of the Sun Mela a moon from now, but my gut says otherwise.

Perhaps everyone is just scared about how badly I’ll trounce them in archery during the Mela games. Mark my words . . .

The rest continued on like that, and Kunal folded the note away, pondering Alok’s almost desperate plea for them to forget their quest and return home. Knowing that Uncle Setu had orchestrated the Sundara massacre, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to be commander and follow in his footsteps, his idea of greatness.

Kunal had seen what he was made of—and it wasn’t steel and blood. He was neither here nor there, unwilling to let go of his training and unable to let go of his feelings.

He was stuck.

On the bright side, he now had information on the whereabouts of the other three soldiers, after stopping by another garrison and bribing the guards with jellied candies.

Rakesh was the one he had to worry about—the soldier in the last town said he had made his way inland and was boasting his way through each town, sending back tales of his progress in gaining information. Apparently, he had been tracking the tales of the whip after Laksh had shaken him off his trail. Laksh hadn’t checked into another garrison since Onda, it seemed. Which could be good or bad.

None of them were here in this town, so none of them were close to the truth regarding the Viper. When Esha had suggested he pretend he had never met her, he had seen a future with that in it. It would be a blow to his ego, but that was a small thing now.

Go back and admit defeat, but admit defeat to a supposed assassin shrouded in myth. There would be ways to atone on his journey back—maybe take in a criminal or rebel to even out the scales of justice.

He could do it. His old life would be waiting for him, like the way the shore welcomed the sea no matter the time of day. Life would go on, he’d take on his Senap post in Gwali, and he might rise to commander in his own time. Or be released from duty and carve out a life for himself, somewhere quiet, with tall trees and a view of the ocean. Somewhere he could paint to his heart’s content.

Kunal sighed and sat down on the rooftop, rubbing the tension out of his neck as he let the vision envelop him. He breathed into it and it gathered around him like a haze in the slowly fading swelter of summer.

The scenery was softer here near the Ghanta Mountains; the heat kind enough to allow blooming tendrils of flowers across houses. In front of him, the land stretched out greener than he had seen in many moons. It was a visceral relief to see the land and river thriving and it reminded him of all that he had missed. It would be easy to absolve himself of blame—he wasn’t a general or a royal or a son from a noble house.

But he found himself unable to forget.

The images of the shantytowns, the drought-stricken land in Ujral, replaced the greenery, memory tugging at his mind.

Would becoming the commander even allow him to fix these people’s lives, or would it simply be another collar around his neck? Would he be forced to order the deaths of innocents? Or had that been his uncle’s choice?

He realized he no longer felt that raging ache under his ribs at the thought of his uncle’s dishonorable death.

Could death ever truly be honorable? It was always a loss, a period instead of a comma.

And Esha.

She wanted nothing from him but for him to leave. Their story had ended; this was when the hero went home in the tale. But he didn’t feel like a hero returning triumphantly. He didn’t feel like a hero, period.