The Tiger at Midnight (The Tiger at Midnight Trilogy #1)(65)

Thwarted and outsmarted at every turn, his own heart and conscience turning against him when he needed to stay strong.

He had left the Fort with such a clear idea of what was right and wrong, who was right and wrong, and what the world was. If he returned now, he would return with no such comfort and with an ache in his heart that he supposed only time would mend.

But it would be less torture to turn around empty-handed than watch hatred grow in her eyes when he dragged her back.

Kunal bit the inside of his cheek, pushing away the parts of him that whispered that life after Esha would never be the same.

Kunal tugged at his mare’s reins, tying them to the wooden post in the stable of the inn as he moved to brush her coat.

He had decided to take his time today, leisurely strolling through the town, stopping to fill up his rations for the trip back, buying an unnecessary trinket or two—which would have made Alok happy. He had found a companion to his marble miniature, a small, delicately carved copy of the Aifora Range, the home of the gods and spirits.

Kunal tossed his horse a few small sugar cubes as he finished up, patting his pockets absentmindedly to check that the miniature was still there. When he got the chance, he wanted to paint it all, every town, all the vibrant colors and people. Maybe even work with marble on his own.

Kunal had an idea where Esha would have to go next, but instead of rushing after her, he had spent the past day in thought, working through every option, every strategy to see how he could still win. Still win and keep his own sense of honor. The idea of getting her a fair trial was uncertain and the idea that he might take her back to her death made him shudder to his core.

He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let Esha die.

Was this one girl worth his whole future? A future he wasn’t sure he believed in anymore, but nonetheless, the only future he had.

For a bleak second, he had considered finding another person and pretending they were the Viper. But he hadn’t had the forethought to steal one of Esha’s whips for proof and he couldn’t stomach the thought of an innocent’s death on his hand.

Then he had considered a criminal, but couldn’t stomach that either.

How could he be a soldier and start thinking about whether the enemy or a criminal had their own reasons for being there, for making the wrong choice? In battle, he would be killed in the few seconds of hesitation such thoughts would cause.

Kunal longed for those childhood days at the summer palace. Life had been so simple as a boy, with his mother to guide him and his nurse to watch over him. In the stable, he put away the brush and tied his mare up again.

He sighed as he opened the inn door, letting out a cacophony of noise into the street.

The main room of the inn rose into a high domed ceiling with flowing reams of silk separating the large room into quadrants. Red-and-white patterned cushions acted as seats for the variety of patrons, from merchants with elaborate gold necklaces to scholars in pristine white robes to giggling young women with tinkling anklets. He elbowed his way to the back of the room, close enough to the exit and the stairs.

The maid had already found him, glancing up at him through her eyelashes as he sat down on the low cushions. He wore the clothes of a traveler, an uttariya thrown across his shoulders and over his head.

Food arrived in minutes, perfumed with steam and the heavy spiced aromas of Dharkan cuisine. Kunal let a small sigh of pleasure escape. They weren’t allowed Dharkan food at the Fort and he had loved it since a child.

Something about the spicy, robust flavors, the heaviness of lentils and rice, warmed his soul. The food seemed to fill a small hole in him that he hadn’t realized had been forming, gnawed into place by worry and confusion and frustration.

He closed his eyes for a second, leaning his head against the wooden wall. Light filled the right side of his face but Kunal didn’t worry too much. Anyone who would have known him wouldn’t recognize him now.

His hair had grown out into soft waves, streaked dark brown by the endless sun, and his beard was becoming thick. He rather liked the feel of it. His father had had a thick, flowing beard and a striking head of hair. That much he remembered of his father—when he had known him.

The maid came to fetch the emptied plate, ever attentive, and as he opened his eyes, thanking her in soft tones, something caught his eye.

A glimmer of bronze cuirass walking straight across the room. Curls and a red face that despite its disdain seemed hungry, needy.

Rakesh sat down among a group of sell-swords, the rice wine in his hand sloshing out of its metal cup onto the ground. Kunal snapped to attention, straining to hear the conversation. The girl was still standing in front of him and looked startled at the sudden change in Kunal.

Kunal smiled at her and leaned in. “Who is that man?” he asked.

Her eyes opened wide and she played with the valaya at her wrist. A Dharkan-run inn that hadn’t been burned to the ground, protected by the town’s inhabitants—it was a wonder in this new Jansa. But it was a flimsy protection in the face of a soldier. Kunal understood the expression on her face now. Fearful but uncowed.

“He came in earlier and has been holding court. A soldier come from Faor,” she whispered. She flicked her eyes between them and brought herself closer. “He claims to have found the Viper and is planning to bring the traitor to justice.” She blushed. “Traitor was his word. And to justice for what, I do not know. It seems a bit late to go after the Viper for his crimes after all these years.”