“In your books, there is talk of the agriculture of the tribes beyond Parijatdvipa’s borders,” Rao said lightly. “Who farm and harvest across vast swathes of land and travel with the seasons. What did that book say…” He frowned, clicking his tongue in his throat. “Ah.The Babure and Jagatay carry muskmelons across the hills, a sweetness for trade for cold winters.”
“We donottrade with them,” said Lady Asma. “The tribes are our enemies.” She shook her head. “In the past it was done. But that was during the Age of Flowers, my lord—before we were one empire.”
Her cup of half-emptied sherbet clinked against the table. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable outside the library, Prince Rao. To think that you’ve resorted to reading about agriculture!”
Clumsily done, he thought. Perhaps time would make a better politician of her.
He nodded, agreed, and drank.
Now that he was looking more closely, he noticed what they perhaps didn’t want him to: cloth that could not come from Dwarali, never mind any other part of the empire, made of some unfamiliar animal’s fur; fruit and meat that also screamedelsewhere.
He’d spent hours in the depths of the war against Chandra tracking supplies from every city-state of Parijatdvipa. He knewthat these items were not traded by Dwarali—and certainly had not been obtained from Srugna or Parijat, Saketa or Alor.
All these years of protecting the border… it was no surprise that some intermingling of trade had occurred between the residents of the Lal Qila and the people who lived beyond its walls. It would have been surprising if that hadnothappened.
Something about this called to him, and he didn’t know if it was the nameless or his own gut instinct. But he couldn’t let it go.
On a quiet night, he asked a servant for a basin of water.
In a temple of the nameless, he would have had the guidance of a priest. He would have gazed into a still pool of deep waters and sought the guidance of his god.
The water in the bowl before him was not deep enough for darkness. He could see the ceramic through it, slightly fractured.
In the past, he’d actively reached for the nameless with joy and hope. Now he looked down and waited, staring at the dark with a sense of grim resolve. He knew a vision was coming for him. A vision had been waiting all this time in the fire behind his eyes.
All he had to do was let it out.
A long moment of nothing. He stared foolishly at his own reflection. Then he turned away in disgust, poured himself a drink, and went to the narrow window—wide enough to let in nothing but a sliver of the sky.
The sky was dark outside. Flecked with stars.
His eyes burned once more. He saw snow again, bloodied. And then a jewel—glowing like fire, dulling to ash. And Aditya’s face, wavering. His hand reaching through fire—
He returned to himself. He was sweating, his eyes damp with tears. His drink had tumbled to the floor. With one sleeve he wiped his face and breathed with all the steadiness he could find in himself.
He snuck into Sima’s room before morning. She shot up in her bed, untangling herself from her sheets with a swear. Then she gave him a bemused look. Already, just on their journey together, he’d lost the power to frighten her. Good.
“You’re planning something,” she said. “Finally.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Your eyes looked like that before,” Sima said. “When you came to my room, when you were drunk—your eyes were like gold. Nothing in them but light.”
He swallowed. “I’m going beyond the Lal Qila,” he said. “Following a vision from the nameless. My men will keep you safe. But if you want to leave, I can take you to a horse now. Whatever you need.”
She snorted delicately, then said, “Don’t be absurd. I’m coming with you.”
He shook his head. “You don’t want to follow a vision with me,” he said heavily. “It never ends well.”
“I followed Priya, didn’t I? For less than a vision. And I can see it’s real.” She gestured at his eyes. “This is the adventure we wanted, Rao.”
“I never wanted an adventure.”
She huffed, ignoring him. She began to pack and draw on her warm long jacket, tightening it over her tunic.
“How are we getting out?”
“There must be exits,” he said. “The Lal Qila is meant to be impenetrable, but if someone is exchanging fruit or cloth, there has to be a route through…”
