Page 13 of The Prince Without Sorrow

Chapter Twelve

Ashoka

C ONSUL R ANGANA, THE PALACE’S OFFICIAL SCRIBE, STOOD in front of Ashoka’s family in the throne room. ‘The reading of Emperor Adil Maurya’s will shall now begin.’

Lifting a hand to his forehead, Ashoka felt the phantom graininess of ashes and dirt on his skin. The funeral procession was well and truly over; the pressure in his chest was relieved. He’d bathed himself immediately after they had returned, scrubbing desperately at his body and his forehead like a madman attempting to rid himself of an uncontrollable fever.

‘Please, Rangana – omit the granting of material possessions,’ Empress Manali ordered with a wave of her hand. She sat on the Obsidian Throne with a rigid posture. ‘I know Adil enough to know that he favoured granting power over possessions, and that is what I wish to know instead.’

Ashoka raised an eyebrow at his mother’s bluntness. Lounging beside him on the steps beneath the throne, Aarya straightened up with interest.

Rangana cleared her throat. ‘Very well, Your Highness,’ she said before opening the scroll with gentle movements. Ashoka and his family were silent as they waited for her to speak.

‘I, Adil Maurya of the Maurya dynasty, hereby decree my will as thus. Upon my death, I grant Arush Maurya, my first-born son, the throne of the Ran Empire. As written by the ancient laws, you shall be crowned emperor. The lands, both conquered and to-be conquered, are yours.’

Ashoka did not even flinch at this proclamation. The eldest inherited the land and the power first, after all. Briefly, he wondered then, what had changed. His father had altered it for a third time a few years ago and he remembered hearing of yet another stifled argument with their mother about it.

‘To my wife, Manali, I grant you the power to continue as the acting regent prior to the coronation of Arush Maurya, acting in the best interest of myself and the empire. Your ways may be far removed from mine; however, your strength and judgement have earned my respect.

‘To my golden daughter Aarya, I assign you control of the empire’s armed forces as their leading general. Your cunningness renders you fit to lead the nation’s finest men and women under the guidance of your brother. Furthermore, if Arush is deemed unable to rule, you are given the crown to assume the role of empress as the second-in-line to the throne.’

Ashoka was next. He waited with bated breath to see what was to be assigned or taken away from him.

Rangana’s voice sounded unsure. ‘To... Prince Ashoka,’ she paused for a moment, eyes scanning the page as if making sure the will was written correctly, ‘I command thus: shadow your elder siblings as they assume their positions of power in the royal court. Learn the makings of a good ruler. You will then be sent to govern Taksila to prove your worth. Attempt your ways of peace talks if you must but know that you will soon find my teachings to be true: to maintain control, blood must be spilled. My hope is that you return understanding my desire to eradicate the witches entirely.

‘As the rightful sovereign, I, Emperor Adil Maurya, decree my will as written.’

There was a stunned silence after Rangana read out Adil’s final line. Ashoka sensed his hands unconsciously clench. He felt everything and nothing all at once. His father had shot him with a metaphorical arrow to the heart while he already lay bleeding on the ground.

There was no mention of him being third-in-line to the throne. Surely, it was a mistake. Both his siblings had their succession mentioned except for him. Even his participation in the council hadn’t been allowed, only the chance to shadow.

That meant nothing .

‘Shadow the siblings? Govern Taksila?’ Manali echoed, looking startled. ‘Are you sure, Rangana? Ashoka cannot be the only child being ordered to govern, not when Aarya is yet to do so herself?’

‘I do not make mistakes, Your Highness,’ Rangana said firmly. ‘What I have read out is what has been written by Emperor Adil.’

Even Aarya seemed mildly put out. ‘No year of governorship?’ she said aloud to the silent group. ‘What a shame.’

‘I too am unsure of certain... peculiarities regarding the emperor’s will,’ Rangana said, eyes flitting towards Ashoka for a moment. ‘I understand your concerns, but the laws dictate that the will must be executed at the time of death, despite the circumstances.’

Ashoka did not understand it. Where was his acknowledgement of succession? And why had his father asked him to govern Taksila?

Ashoka knew of the infamous capital in the state of Satva. It had been one of his father’s most arduous conquests. Originally a hub for mayakari to gather and provide their assistance to its people, the city overlooked a vast forestland rich in ironwood and iron ore and housed a considerable number of Great Spirits, who now, due to the destruction of their forest for materials, continuously razed the city. They had ravaged the area for years following its annexation.

Karma, really.

Taksila was also the first city to have a resistance of both mayakari and civilians who operated against his father. Ashoka had been too young to know what truly happened in Taksila, but Adil had eviscerated much of the mayakari population within months. Whatever way the witches fought had not been enough. Without their advice, soldiers plundered forestland without proper rites, causing the Great Spirits to retaliate in anger. Even now, pockets of the resistance remained, causing minor troubles for the current governor.

Not once had his father attempted to rectify the situation in Taksila. Or perhaps, he couldn’t.

As far as Ashoka knew, the situation in Taksila remained complicated. Why on earth, then, would his father have thought his youngest son would fare any better than a seasoned governor?

The answer came like lightning: he didn’t . The only way his father had maintained relative stability over the area was by quelling dissent from the mayakari and their sympathizers, and largely ignoring the razing of land. Not even the elected governor had been able to stop the spirits in the several years that he had been appointed. His father was only commanding Ashoka to govern so that he was forced to use brutal tactics. So that his idealism could be tempered.

How unbelievably cruel.

‘May I read it?’ he asked as Aarya continued to complain about the absence of a governorship. He did not doubt Rangana’s literacy, but he wanted to see the will for himself. The consul’s posture stiffened, and she cast a questioning look towards his mother, who nodded her assent. Gently, she handed him the will.

Tuning out the noise in the room, Ashoka read his father’s will. He recognized the clear and sharp handwriting in a heartbeat and, almost immediately, he noticed a glaring disparity in his father’s writing.

In his last written will, Emperor Adil had referred to his children as my first-born son Arush, my golden daughter Aarya . And yet, Ashoka’s name was written without any form of endearment. It was written simply as: Ashoka. Beside it, as the consul had read out, was the order to govern Taksila without a mention of his being third-in-line to the throne. Godlike fury spiralled into him, working its way into his head, twisting into the deep trenches of his heart.

‘Did father hate me that much?’ Ashoka asked bluntly, turning to his mother. ‘Why am I not mentioned as the third successor?’

‘Ashoka,’ Arush warned. ‘Calm yourself.’

‘Your father didn’t hate you, my dear,’ his mother’s voice was soft as she answered him. ‘You frustrated each other, yes, but he didn’t hate you. You are his child.’

An untruth. ‘Children aren’t always loved.’

‘And your cynicism is not always appreciated,’ his mother replied. ‘It is likely a mistake, Ashoka. It was the third amendment your father made. Perhaps he simply forgot.’

Ashoka bristled. ‘He can’t forget that I’m third-in-line to the throne. He can’t ask me and only me to govern Taksila as if he wants me to fail. Why would he do this to me?’

His mother sighed. ‘Ashoka, he was a complicated man,’ she said half-heartedly.

‘ Mother! ’ Ashoka found himself practically shouting. Empress Manali appeared visibly shocked by his sudden outburst. His siblings fell silent, amazed too at the anger in his voice. It was the first time he had raised his voice towards their mother, and it wracked him with guilt to do so. ‘Can you stop defending his actions, just for once?’

Her silence was all he needed for an answer.

‘Ashoka,’ his mother said again, a note of grief tingeing her voice. ‘You do not understand.’

‘Then make me understand!’

More silence.

Enraged, Ashoka threw the scroll onto the ground, watching his mother flinch as it hit the floor. Aarya made a sound of disdain and barked out an order for the consul to retrieve the fallen scroll.

Ashoka watched with wary eyes as Aarya turned to him. The clean, precise lines of kohl around her eyes made her seem more catlike than ever. ‘Stop being a child,’ she said. Beside her, Arush nodded in agreement.

Ashoka found that at that moment, he simply did not care. He let himself relish in his father’s death, thankful that the man who once sat upon the throne of the Ran Empire was gone.

Arush’s voice held a note of pity. ‘Taksila, little brother,’ he said. ‘I wish you luck. If your governorship fails, I won’t be surprised.’

‘Arush!’ their mother scolded.

‘What?’ his brother shrugged in response. ‘I am not blaming Ashoka. If father could not fix it, I do not expect him to, either.’

His mother gazed at Ashoka with beseeching eyes. ‘You don’t have to go, my dear,’ she said. ‘Shadow your siblings until you feel comfortable enough to leave.’

Perhaps his mother had a fledgling suspicion that he would fail, too.

He thought of his father. Of how he had been so insistent that he learn his ways of brutality. Funnily enough, his father had cared enough to try to force him down a bloodied path to victory.

Glancing at his siblings, Ashoka realized that he had no interest in shadowing them in their newly instated roles. They were akin to ducklings taking to water for the first time: unsure and hasty, poised to make decisions based on emotion rather than logic. There was no sense in watching them blunder about like fools.

His family glanced at him with sympathetic eyes, even Consul Rangana, and he hated it. Before he had even stepped foot into the blasted city, they had made their minds up. Ashoka clenched his fists.

His father was wrong. He could govern without force or death. He could rely on peace talks and politics. And when he returned, he would ask for more than mere observation.

He wanted the chance to lead.

‘I will do as father says, mother,’ he said loudly. ‘I will govern Taksila.’

Not just govern. The final thought he did not say aloud to his family. Under his governorship, he could make sure the mayakari remaining in Taksila would be protected. Safe. With Arush, he knew he could evade any consequences with more ease than if it had been their father still on the throne.

This can be good , he realized. I can safeguard innocent lives.

At his announcement, his mother’s eyes widened. Aarya’s mouth fell open. Even Arush appeared mildly impressed.

‘But Emperor Adil’s will stated that—’ Rangana began, but Arush cut her off politely.

‘I don’t believe that Ashoka needs to shadow us first,’ he said, shooting Ashoka a sardonic smile. ‘If he wants to make a fool of himself in Taksila, I say we let him.’

Ashoka rolled his eyes despite the backhanded agreement. Their mother still appeared unwilling. He reached out his hand to clasp hers that gripped the throne. ‘Let me go, mother,’ he said quietly.

‘You’re still a child,’ his mother whispered. ‘You’re all still children .’

Every one of them knew it. However, a ruling monarch’s final will had to be followed. There was no refuting it.

‘I think we are well beyond being children now, mother,’ Arush said in gentle tones.

Empress Manali closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. She was silent for a long time until she opened them again. Ashoka’s heart lifted when he saw her wide eyes drowning in resignation.

‘All right, Ashoka,’ she said, nodding her head in agreement. ‘You have your wish. You will travel to Taksila.’

From his place upon the steps, Arush stood up and appraised the room coolly. ‘Well, now that this matter is settled, let us begin preparations for my coronation,’ he remarked. A euphoric grin was plastered across his lips. ‘Let the people greet their new emperor.’