“Sieging the fort would be well and good if we had a proper defense against their greatest weapon,” Malini said. “Have we gained one that I am unaware of, my lords?”
“Whatever weapons the High Prince may possess,” Mahesh said carefully, formally, “his people cannot survive starvation. In time, they will surrender to our greater might.”
“I see.” Malini allowed her skepticism to seep into her voice. “Have our supplies altered? Our rice stocks? Our fuel? Our water?”
A twitch of his jaw was her response.
He knew what point she was making: For all their superior numbers, a siege was lost by the side that starved first. Malini was an empress only by prophecy and her own proclamation. Everything she had was negotiated, borrowed or bartered from her allies. Everything those allies gave her, they gave in order to see Chandra removed from the throne.
And they were growing restless.
“The empress is correct,” an official piped up, much to the obvious ire of a handful of Mahesh’s favored lords, who turned and glared at him. “We do not have the supplies for an extended siege.”
“That is somewhat of a problem,” Khalil murmured.
“Will Dwarali send more supplies to remedy it?” This was asked by a low prince of Saketa, his expression sullen. Seated among Malini’s court, Raziya’s eyes narrowed.
“The Lal Qila has offered what it can,” Khalil said. “But I cannot speak for the sultan.”
“Then you offer nothing of consequence.”
Lord Narayan laid a placating hand on the low prince’s arm.
“Their water supply,” another lord offered. “If it’s cut off—”
“The city holds deep reservoirs,” Narayan said immediately. This was not new information to Malini, nor for any of the men present, and all the more reason why a planned siege was not remotely feasible.
“Nonetheless,” the lord said mulishly. “It is an option.”
There was a rustle from Malini’s left as Lata rose to her feet. The men fell silent as she lifted her chin and spoke, her voice clear and calm.
“I must speak against this plan,” Lata said, without wavering. Despite all the eyes upon her. “As a sage, I seek knowledge. I have learned about the history of our empire. And I can assure you, my lords, that the maze fort of Saketa has never been successfully sieged. It is famously impenetrable. Armies break upon its walls. In the Age of Flowers, it even kept the yaksa at bay, shielding the High Prince and his kin. To siege the fort,” she concluded, “is to choose failure and the death of many, many men.”
“Empress,” Mahesh said firmly, ignoring Lata. “It is a gamble. None of us deny it.”
She grimly marked how he was already aligning himself with the other highborn, and not with her. More proof that he would need to be dealt with.
“The High Prince,” Mahesh went on. “His fortress. I do not dispute that he possesses—weapons—that we do not.” She marked, again, how he paused over the wordweapons, with something akin to reverence. “We cannot simply leave him here at our backs. He will follow us on our journey to face your brother, and we will be crushed between two forces: Parijat’s and Saketa’s. Whatever can be done to weaken or starve the High Prince’s forces, the better. Our own difficulties may be significant, our supplies limited, but the High Prince is hemmed in. We are not. They will tire long before we do, and then we will have them. This path, Empress, and this path alone may bring us success. I am a seasoned general. You have placed your faith in me. Do not let it falter now. I beg you.”
He bowed deeply, every inch the loyal soldier.
It sounded compelling when he spoke in such a way, all fealty. But it was not the whole truth.
They are not worried only about sieging Saketa, she thought.They want to put Aditya in my place. They’re buying time.
She knew. It was, after all, not the first time men had tried. Every skirmish lost, every time the war bit like a dog at their heels—there were highborn who sought Aditya out.
A male scion of Divyanshi should rule us, not a daughter, they said to one another, when they believed she could not hear—the fools, never countenancing that she had eyes among their cup bearers, their maids, the boys who polished their armor.
Aditya is the eldest. The true heir.
Malini’s time was running short. And damn him, Mahesh was stealing what little she had left.
She made sure to not let her expression change. She knew him. He was devoted to the mothers of flame. He could yet be swayed, if he could be led to believe in her again—if she could capture the moment when she’d first proclaimed herself empress, a year ago on the road to Dwarali; if she could preserve the worshipful light that had filled his eyes, and spear it through his heart—she could keep control of him.
“Then let us wait,” she said. “And see what can be done, to remind Saketa that for all their weapons, they are our prisoners.”
Malini went to Aditya’s tent.
