The Tiger at Midnight (The Tiger at Midnight Trilogy #1)(78)

Bhandu bounded out, Kunal still dangling from his huge arms.

“That was refreshing,” he said, smiling toothily at everyone.

His ears were poking out slightly and the faint sheen on his broad forehead had almost frozen in place. He raised his arm to his head and dropped the reins to the gelding with Rakesh, allowing the horse to whinny and rear up, causing Rakesh to fall.

“Oops.” Bhandu stared down at Rakesh, who had landed in a heap, not a whit of remorse on his face.

The moment was so painfully typical of Bhandu—so lighthearted amid all the dark she had been in—that Esha burst out laughing. Bhandu beamed at her, though he also looked confused.

His eyes darted to her face as he carefully placed Kunal on the ground, before kneeling next to Rakesh and poking him. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed—not in mockery, not with a smirk, but out of pure joy. Esha let herself be warmed by the sound and crouched down to help Bhandu drag the soldier to his feet.

They had climbed up the mountain, gotten through the clouds, and now all that was left was to descend. Then she would be home.





Chapter 50


They were caught by the rain as soon as they got to the base of the other side of the Ghanta Mountains.

Silence fell between them, crackling with unspoken words and orders. They had done this so many times—spoken, fought, schemed together—that words weren’t necessary.

The monsoon was ingrained in all of their blood, its melody, harmony, and percussion. They rushed through the damp and squelching mud at the base of the path, slipping and sliding through it like snakes.

Esha took the lead through the mud and low-hung branches of the tight jungle that lined the path, able to easily scout out any obstacles with her slight frame and quick movements. Harun and Bhandu were safe in the middle, and the twins took up the back, each armed with their matching curved longbows and arrows, nocked and ready.

They were like a well-oiled door, working seamlessly at its purpose without ever drawing notice. They finally broke out of the forest and Esha stopped, overcome by the sight in front of her.

The city of Mathur was majestic in the evening twilight, an exquisite painting against the rough wilderness of the Ghanta Mountains and the bright green jungle nestled along its base.

Curved sandstone buildings wrapped around the towering white marble palace at the center of the city. To the east the river wove through the city, carving it in two. Mathur was surrounded and protected by nature since its birth, with fortifications carved into the taller slopes of the Ghanta Mountains to the west and towers peeking out of the thicket of jungle that bordered the city to the east.

Stars dotted the sky like jewels on a scabbard, the moon casting its loving light over it all, illuminating the city against the peaks of the Aifora Range in the far distance.

It was home, and this was what she was fighting for.

They hadn’t passed any rebel guards on the path on their way back. And there had been no border soldiers lurking about. She would have to talk to Harun about that later—it seemed Tana’s information had been right.

But for now, she feasted her eyes on the city below.

Harun drew up behind her. She knew it was him without looking—the scent of the almond oil he always wore preceded him, his warmth welcome in this moment.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Esha nodded.

“Welcome home,” he said softly, putting a calloused hand on her shoulder.

She smiled, breathing in the air.





Chapter 51


Kunal felt coolness against his temples, and he hungered for it.

Inside, he burned. Every edge and curve and point within his body hurt and scorched with a depth that was endless in its misery.

Words croaked out of a dry throat. Had he asked for more?

But the coolness was gone.

A halo of light appeared.

No, someone. Gentle hands. They helped fight the tide of fire in his body. At the edge of his vision he saw purple. His hands were purple, tainted with something he could feel moving in his blood. Faint, in the back of his mind, he remembered the word—poison.

The Viper.

Esha.

The same. They had poisoned him. Was that it? His thoughts came in and out, broken fragments and specks of anger and pain.

He was in a dark, dank dungeon. The walls and floor were cool and he had lain against them. He didn’t know for how long.

The cool hands had lifted him up.

Now they tilted his mouth open and blissfully frigid liquid poured down the furnace that was his throat. He gulped it down, thirsting for more. But no more came.

“You can only have a little at a time, Kunal.”

The voice was kind, gentle.

He tried to speak, to say no, bring more, don’t go away, I want more, stay with me. But no sound came out of him.

The halo hovered over him and he reached out. Warm, soft skin. The halo gasped, a soft one, almost imperceptible if his every sense hadn’t been magnified by the heat.

She reached out, stroking her fingers against his cheekbones and across his jaw.

His eyes cleared, just a bit, the fog lifting.

Esha was crouched down in front of him, dipping a thin cloth in a small metal bowl of liquid. She wrung it out and turned to him but he recoiled, scooting back and away from her.

He was angry at her and he didn’t know why.