Ever since, they had been a family known for its military prowess and its religiosity.
And Mahesh had always been loyal to Aditya, not Chandra; had unwaveringly supported the idea of Aditya taking back the throne he had abandoned. His refusal to agree with Chandra’s form of faith had won Malini followers she would not otherwise have had.
She had chosen him as her general for all those reasons. His presence at her side was an advantage.
But his affection for her brother was a…
Well. Not exactly an irritant. But a potential problem in the making, for all he had been unfailingly respectful of her. Respect did little good if she could not grasp control of his loyalty and bind it to her permanently.
“You sought him out again?” Malini asked.
“He refused my company. As he refuses everyone’s.”
Everyone’s but Rao’swent unsaid. And Malini’s, of course.
“My brother feels adrift,” she said. “He seeks to focus upon his relationship with the nameless, and find a new path for himself. When he finds his way, he will surely welcome the comfort of old friends and allies.”
“Perhaps you can speak to him, Empress.”
“I do,” said Malini. “And I shall.”If he refuses to listen, she thought grimly,then that is his own business.
A rustle of cloth. A guard drew back the tent flap.
Yogesh, one of the military administrators who managed her army’s supplies, entered and bowed low. He was dressed plainly, in a turban and sash-bound tunic, but even if she had not known him by sight, the single chakram on his wrist and the dagger neatly tucked into his turban wrapping would have marked him as an administrator from Alor, and accordingly loyal to Rao—and through Rao, to her.
“My sincere apologies for the interruption, Empress. My lords.” The light of the oil lanterns flickered over his face as he tilted his head in Malini’s direction. “But an urgent messenger has arrived for the empress.”
Her heart gave a sudden thump.
She had many, many riders in her service. An empress needed even more eyes and ears than a princess, and Malini had ensured that she would have spies and messengers across the breadth of the empire. Not a day passed without word from allies arriving or departing, carried by men on horseback.
But among all these riders, she had used only one of Rao’s loyal men. And that man had been tasked with one particular journey.
An urgent message could have been anything, absolutely anything; and yet, the presence of Yogesh and no other administrator, and the meaningful look on his face, made hope grasp her insides.
“Well then,” she said, and rose.
Mahesh gave her a grave look, half rising himself.
She waved a hand.
“Enjoy your meal. There’s no need to stop for my sake.”
“Empress,” Yogesh said, ducking his head in respect. “The messenger is in Prince Rao’s company. I can ask for him to be sent to you immediately—”
“No need,” she replied. “Take me to them.” Better to have this conversation with Rao present; she’d learned that messengers did not respond well to being spoken to directly by a prophecy-blessed empress, and she could not see Rao alone in her tent, even with Lata and guards for company.
The tent the military administrators shared was full of books and ledgers carried from site to site, expertly wrapped in scented cloths that kept the paper from rotting in the heat or rain and repelled the various insects they encountered. As she entered there was a scramble of bowing, papers dropped. She ignored the commotion, seeking out the messenger.
She saw Rao first; dressed up in his princely finery, with his brace of daggers and his chakrams, speaking to a broad-shouldered, very nervous-looking Aloran man.
When they saw her, Rao bowed; the rider scrambled to press his face to the earth.
“Rise,” Malini said to both of them, and they did, though the rider kept his face lowered.
“What news?” she asked Rao.
“Ahiranya has new rulers,” said Rao. “The regent is dead.”
