The Fox Prince was here.
3
WINTER BLACK
VIKRAM
The past two days blurred behind Vikram’s eyes. At the ashram, a messenger from Ujijain had been waiting to take him back to the palace. He barely heard what the messenger said. Something about diplomatic urgency. Vikram ignored him. His thoughts were elsewhere, caught inside the ruby. Even now, his skin felt too tight, as if his bones had soaked up the promise of magic and he could hardly fit inside himself. Standing outside the Ujijain throne room, he darted a glance out the window. A new future called to him. His body felt restless. Hungry. The doors opened. Birdsong, ruffled feathers and scraping claws filled his ears:
“His Majesty will see you now, Prince Vikramaditya.”
Over the past decade, his father had turned the throne room into a menagerie. The ceiling soared out of reach and warm sunlight puddled through the glass windows. Bird droppings splattered the tapestries. Huge tracts of the rugs had been gouged out by the claws of various animals.
“Son!” said the Emperor Pururavas.
Vikram smiled. His father, portly and close to losing his sight, toddled forward. On one of his shoulders sat a one-eyed golden monkey. A great leopard strode at his side. One of its paws was missing, but the animal looked more regal than half the court. It stood protectively at his side, leaning on the old Emperor as if to prop him up against the heavy hand of Time.
Vikram eyed the animals. “I see you have not lost your hobby of collecting the weak and defenseless.”
The Emperor harrumphed. “I do not see them complaining.”
“Why would they? They are grateful. As am I.”
He flushed. “You are not some broken thing I rescued.”
Wasn’t he though? Eleven years ago, the Emperor found him crouched over the lip of a cliff. His limbs and skin were intact, but the pieces of his heart had shattered and cut him from the inside. Vikram never knew what the Emperor saw in him that day. He could have tossed him some coins and left. But he didn’t. He brought him to a palace, filled the hollow in his heart and gave him a crown for his head.
“Are they feeding you at that ashram?” asked Pururavas. He prodded Vikram in the ribs. “Stop spending your time running. You look bonier.”
“You mean leaner.”
“And you’re as wiry as amoringa!”
“You mean taller.”
He laughed. “You always had a way with words. You’d make a fine ruler.”
“You mean puppet,” Vikram said, before he could stop himself.
The Emperor’s face fell. “Not again, my boy. Perhaps over time you may convince the council to defer to your judgment. You are as clever as any trueborn prince.”
Vikram choked at the thought of convincing the council. He’d already tried that when they placed the Royal Trials before him. He’d shown them new life, a flame that never burned and the strongest weapon with nothing but a piece of wood, a bright insect and a lie. But all his success—or performance as some still called it—had earned him was a nickname and a reputation.
“What did you bring me here for, Father?” he asked. “Your messenger said it was a matter of diplomatic urgency. Is the leopard fighting with the monkey?”
The leopard, whose muzzle rested on its paw, huffed indignantly.
“It’s a curious situation. Bharata is willing to enter peace negotiations with us. But only if we publicly execute a prisoner who was sent to us. The prisoner, however, is the Princess Gauri.”
Vikram’s eyebrows shot up.
“… the Jewel of Bharata?” he scoffed. It was a ridiculous title. And then he remembered that his own people compared him to a sharp-toothed, fluffy-tailed animal and stopped smiling. “I thought she was in line to take the throne after the Raja Skanda. I doubt he’s sired a child after all this time. Why would they want her dead?”
“They will not say.”
When he first heard of the Princess, a pang of envy had stabbed him. What had she done to earn the throne other than be born in the right place? She had a reputation as a warrior, but reputations were slippery. So often they were little more than threads of rumors strung together. Unlike him, she probably never had to fight for anything.
“And the Council of Ujijain is willing to consider this? It could be a trap. Nothing is more war-inducing than a beloved princess turned martyr. We’d all be slaughtered.”
