“I hope this will not happen again,” Malini said.
“You have my vow, Empress,” she said. “It will not.”
RAO
There was a single, makeshift shrine to the nameless god in the entire army camp. It was Rao’s men that carried it whenever the army moved, and Rao’s men that erected it whenever the army made camp. All it consisted of was a single water basin for communing with the nameless, a plinth—lopsided now, from being dropped during an unexpected ambush—and a thin tent of pale blue cloth, graying from long exposure to ash and dust and merciless sunlight. It was no monastery garden. But Rao’s men made do.
Rao himself visited it rarely. But today he walked in, ducking low beneath the entrance of the tent. Inside, the air was musty. The tent was empty. He closed his eyes briefly in relief, and settled himself on the ground.
He started by kneeling but soon ended up sprawled, arms on his knees, head bowed. His men wouldn’t be impressed if they walked in and found him like this, he knew. But no one else would be foolish enough to pray in midday heat. Just Rao.
The curtain rustled. So much for being the only foolish one.
“I’ve never seen you in here before,” Lata said, from the entrance.
“I… never expected to see you here at all,” Rao replied, turning to look at her. “Have you become a worshipper of the nameless?”
“I’m still a sage,” she said. “Still devoted to all knowledge, as always.”
“There’s no knowledge to be found in here,” he said. “No books. No other sages to argue with.”
“What I would give,” Lata said wistfully, “to argue with another sage again.” She let the curtain fall and stepped inside. “Thereisknowledge in here.” She gestured at the basin of water, which was oddly still. Waiting for a devotee to gaze into it, and seek the truth of the nameless. “But I didn’t come for books or the nameless. I came for you.” She sat down beside him.
“And what do you need from me?” he asked. “Preparation for a war council, maybe? Or are there answers you need me to pry out of one of my highborn fellows? I know how they can be.”
“No,” she said. “Nothing like that. You seem sad.”
He laughed, soundlessly. “Lata,” he said. “How could I not be sad?”
“Sad and lost, entirely adrift,” she told him.
“You’re not making me feel any better,” he said.
“Nothing can be fixed if it goes unacknowledged,” she said, lecturing in the way sages—or perhaps just Lata—liked to do. “Are you here looking for a path forward, Rao? A light at the end of the tunnel?”
“I’m still looking for the tunnel,” he said. Here, with only Lata next to him, it felt easier to admit the truth to himself: His future looked like endless space. Empty. “What do you suggest I do?”
“You could ask the nameless,” she suggested. “The water is right there.”
“I pray with Aditya,” he said. “And it calms me. But truthfully… when I’m alone, Lata, I’m not sure I can feel the nameless anymore. I don’t know if my god has a purpose for me any longer. Maybe… maybe when I gave my name to the empress, it was fulfilled.”
“If you don’t know the will of the nameless anymore, you should ask one of his priests. And helpfully…”
“Lata,” he said. Meaning,Aditya has enough burdens.
“Isn’t that what priests do? Guide?” She shrugged, and touched a hand gently to his cheek. Then she rose to her feet. “Think on it, Rao. You already look at him like he holds stars in his hands,” she said. “If he has the light you seek…”
“Lata.”
“Think on it,” she repeated, and left the tent.
Think on it. How could he not? He stared forward at nothing and thought of it. Going to Aditya’s tent. Looking into that familiar face. Saying,Give me a purpose, Aditya. Give me a path. Tell me what the nameless wants from me now.
Tell me what you want from me.
He exhaled and lay back against the ground, a hand over his eyes.
“Next time,” he muttered. “Just get me drunk first, Lata. That’s all I ask.”
