Page 18 of The Prince Without Sorrow

Chapter Seventeen

Shakti

P RINCE A SHOKA WAS LOOKING FOR HER.

At least, that was what Harini told her the next morning while Shakti was collecting fresh linen sheets to be brought to the young prince’s bedchambers.

Anxiety spiked her heart rate. Spirits, it was too early in the morning for this.

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ Harini shrugged, glancing at her shrewdly, ‘perhaps it has something to do with your little escapade.’

With practised ease, Shakti threw a dyed-blue sheet at Harini’s face. The mayakari let out a shrill squeak and tugged it away. ‘Why must your first response be violence?’

‘Where is Prince Ashoka?’ Shakti asked, ignoring her jab.

‘He’s left for the serpent pens,’ Harini replied.

Murmuring her thanks, Shakti set down the linens and prepared to leave, wondering what fresh horrors awaited her there.

‘Shakti...’ Harini called out. She paused for a moment, as if stringing together her thoughts, ‘... I admire you for helping that mayakari. But please be more careful – there are a hundred more ways to die out here than you would find in Kolakola.’

Shakti sent her a sad, knowing smile. If anyone knew about her unusual ability, there would be a hundred and one more ways to meet a grisly end. After the audience with the Great Spirit, she’d tried to re-enter The Collective, but to no avail. It was hard to still her mind when anxiety came as easily as breathing.

She headed towards the serpent pens, palms sweaty. No matter how many times she wiped them on her blouse, her hands seemed to be permanently damp.

There’s nothing to be afraid of , she told herself. He helped you. Surely, he won’t betray you.

Repeating the thought like a mantra, Shakti found herself calming down when she entered the pens. Dead leaves and bark crunched beneath her feet. Her breath caught as she observed the serpents.

Spirits, she’d never seen one in real life.

One at the furthest end of the courtyard caught her eye, curled up into its pen and dozing with occasional contented hisses. It was larger than the others, with beautiful opalescent wings that glinted in the light. Its scales were a mesmerizing amalgamation between soft pink, silver, and white. Cautiously, Shakti approached it, noticing the thick leather bonds that it was tied to with disappointment. Chained like a prisoner, the poor creature.

‘Careful with Sahry,’ said a voice behind her. ‘She’ll bite.’

She hadn’t heard the footsteps. Alarmed, Shakti turned to see Prince Ashoka. He’d appeared out of nowhere along with Rahil – were those two ever apart? – staring at her with interest.

‘Hello, again,’ Rahil greeted her with a smile. Meanwhile, the prince moved closer towards the serpent.

Gold and jewels did not adorn him the way they did Princess Aarya. She wore so much that Shakti thought it was armour. The prince was a minimalist: two gold rings on his right hand, a ruby pendant dangling from his neck to match the deep red of his robe and sash, and circular studs. That left ear was truly a nasty burn.

‘Prince Ashoka,’ she greeted. ‘Good morning.’ In her haste, she forgot to bow. Fortunately, the prince didn’t notice or, if he did, he paid it no attention.

‘They’re magnificent creatures,’ he agreed, ‘but perhaps you should step away from this one.’

‘Why?’

‘Sahry is my winged serpent,’ he explained. ‘She does not allow anyone else to approach her alone. One handler was bitten and died from the poison. Some got flung several feet, suffered from broken bones, concussions – the lot. Rahil here tried to ride her once and ended up breaking his leg.’

‘A truly riveting experience,’ Rahil deadpanned.

Interesting . Said serpent seemed quite non-threatening as it dozed. Meanwhile, the prince eyed Shakti curiously. Those cavernous brown eyes held the inquisitiveness of a tiger cub venturing out into the forest for the first time. ‘How are you?’ he asked.

‘I— sorry?’ Shakti had been ready for an interrogation, a deep probe into her history. Being asked how she was in such a casual manner was not what she expected. ‘Fine. Relieved now, Prince Ashoka, that the mayakari is safe.’

‘Good. You managed to travel to the mountain without delay?’ he inquired. Beside them, Sahry stirred. Her filmy eyes opened as she let out a low, lengthy hiss.

‘Yes,’ Shakti replied. ‘Thank you.’

Her thanks seemed to confuse the prince. ‘Not necessary,’ he said. ‘There is no glory to be had in watching the death of an innocent.’

The more he spoke, the more Shakti relaxed. There was something about his manner, the slight lilt to his speech, that lowered her defences. Authority did not ooze out of him like it did with Princess Aarya or Prince Arush. He appeared more grounded, more approachable.

Unlike his father .

Shakti watched as Sahry hung her impossibly large head over the gate. Tongue flicking in and out, the serpent ran it over Prince Ashoka. In response, he rubbed the underside of her jaw.

Ask him.

‘Why did you help me?’ she asked instead. It was hard to concentrate with the serpents here. ‘Help us?’

‘I helped you because two witches would have burned in the city otherwise,’ he responded. ‘You do not need to be scared – I won’t turn you in. I’m offended you think I would.’

His quasi-harangue astonished her. It also brought her attention to the fists she was clenching so tightly. ‘Forgive me for holding a modicum of distrust against a Maurya,’ she replied, ‘but how could you tell?’

‘Tell what?’

‘That I’m a mayakari?’

‘Oh, I couldn’t tell based on action – there was nothing to suggest it. It was what you said,’ Prince Ashoka answered. When she shot him a look of confusion, he elaborated further. ‘You said that Ruchira was able to find you work here. Sau had told me a few days ago that Ruchira came to her asking for some strings to be pulled because she wanted to find work for another mayakari in the palace. Admittedly, I was slow to connect the two that day at the stables. I panicked when Aarya nearly got her hands on you.’

Stunned into silence, Shakti could only look elsewhere. He’d known all this time? That was why he’d been so insistent in declaring that she worked specifically for him.

‘How chivalrous of you, Prince Ashoka,’ she replied.

‘Not really. I would call it plain common sense,’ he said. ‘You will only suffer a painful death if she ever finds out what you are.’

He’s the safest bet .

Sahry hissed again, chains rattling as she shifted, this time towards Shakti. Unafraid, she craned her neck to lock eyes with the serpent. Ignoring the prince and his guard’s worried expressions, she placed a gentle hand on the animal’s underbelly. The mayakari and wild creatures naturally didn’t fear each other; they had a stronger connection to the land than humans did. After all, it was always humans who drove and killed creatures out of fear or the need to urbanize.

As expected, Sahry didn’t react violently to her touch. Prince Ashoka raised an eyebrow.

‘Interesting.’

Shakti frowned. ‘Why?’

‘You are not dead,’ he replied. ‘Do you want to ride her?’

He didn’t have to ask. The ‘Yes’ tumbled out of her without a second thought. It was only Rahil, who had been listening along to their conversation in silence, who started. ‘Ashoka, I beg you, don’t perform any death-defying tricks in the air with someone who hasn’t been on a winged serpent before,’ he chastised.

‘Why?’ the prince teased. ‘Afraid you’ll lose me?’

Rahil snorted. ‘Hardly. I’m afraid we’ll lose a competent new staff member.’

‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that you don’t care about me,’ Prince Ashoka replied, laughing. ‘Shakti, I promise you will not die.’

She wasted no time helping Prince Ashoka saddle Sahry, though it took some time. They led her out of the pens and into the open air before placing a two-seater saddle between her iridescent wings. It was odd; very different to a regular horse. Sahry’s scales were dry and cold to the touch. Prince Ashoka hauled himself up first before extending a hand for Shakti to take. Careful not to tread on Sahry’s wings, she found footing on the stirrup, accepted his hand, and swung herself over.

When they were properly saddled, Prince Ashoka tugged at his reins. Sahry’s wings flapped loud and insistent as she responded, body twisting and rising from the ground to keep herself steady as she began her ascent.

‘Hold onto the saddle horn,’ the prince yelled when Sahry picked up speed. Shakti complied, not wanting to risk a premature death. A strong gust of wind hit her face, and she squinted. Her stomach muscles tensed until the winged serpent stopped her ascent and maintained a steady pace in the air.

Shakti looked down. The prince had directed them towards the forestland that lay to the north. For once, she could see the world how a Great Spirit would in its enraged form. Lush shades of green sprawled the hills and brown-yellow grass flooded the flat plains.

She grinned. Flying was phenomenal.

The prince kept his promise to Rahil. No death-defying stunts were performed; they simply flew in a leisurely manner in the quiet, still air. Eventually, she saw him loosen his grip on Sahry’s reins.

‘What are you doing, Prince Ashoka?’ she called out.

‘Giving her control,’ he replied and looked over his shoulder. ‘You don’t appear concerned.’

‘Why would I?’ she asked, confused.

He grinned. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Why indeed.’

A lengthy silence followed, with only the steady beat of Sahry’s wings to fill it.

Ask Ashoka.

‘I don’t believe I have ever offered my condolences to you,’ she raised her voice hastily, trying to keep the conversation afloat. When Prince Ashoka shot her a puzzled glance behind his shoulder, she added, ‘For the loss of your father.’

He offered her a small, tight smile. ‘Of course,’ he said.

Interesting. The response was too blunt, like there was no love behind it. She thought back to Emperor Adil, of how he spoke about Ashoka with disappointment. Maybe the feeling was mutual between father and son. But why?

An interesting question, but one that she couldn’t ask; it seemed far too personal. Besides, she was not here to hear stories about emotional neglect. She was here to get her own answers.

‘I had the chance to visit the palace library, Prince Ashoka,’ she began, ‘and I found there to be a distinct lack of texts on the mayakari and our history.’

Prince Ashoka outwardly winced. ‘My father burned most available texts on the mayakari before I was born, but he did have a private collection that he kept. I used to read them too, until he found out.’ The stud on his left ear winked as he fiddled with the burn.

She eyed it curiously. ‘How did you burn your ear, Prince Ashoka?’

He gave her an odd look, as if this was something she should know. ‘I’m surprised the palace staff haven’t told you yet,’ he said. An arid chuckle escaped his lips and, for a moment, his bright eyes dimmed. ‘When my father found out I was reading mayakari texts, he was furious. As a punishment, he showed me how the soldiers tested for signs of a witch.’

Spirits .

The emperor had burned his own son’s ear as punishment. Picturing a young Ashoka mewling in pain as Adil hurt him was shiver-inducing. More disturbing was that the prince recounted the story without much feeling. He stated it like it had been some sort of forgettable memory, like this was something he had learned to expect.

Not just witches had suffered under Adil’s hand, then.

‘Tell me.’ He changed the subject. She didn’t blame him. ‘What is something true of the mayakari that my father says is a lie?’

‘He claims that the mayakari raise the dead to cause havoc, but that is not true,’ she said without thinking. ‘We do not like to raise the dead. There are stigmas. Rules.’

She wanted to kick herself in the foot following that comment. There was a price in letting others know such knowledge. But instead of interrogating her like she was a criminal, the prince appeared to be genuinely interested.

‘Stigmas?’ he asked.

‘When mayakari raise the dead, they’re bringing something back,’ she explained. ‘A fragment of a consciousness that once was. Not a soul, but not nothing, either. Perhaps it is because they are forcing a halt of samsara when they do raise the dead, I do not know. I do, however, understand why it is looked at with such apprehension.’

Shakti was telling the truth this time, because she too did not know what was being brought back. It was the great mystery that had confounded mayakari scholars decades before the persecutions began and continued to confound to this day.

Meanwhile the prince had been listening to her, enraptured. ‘I suppose, you are harming something in the end,’ he added, ‘and the mayakari do not hurt.’

Such a sure admission. Guilt burned her like fire. Despite members of older generations like her aunt refusing to partake in harmful action, Nayani’s admission that younger witches like her would likely not keep their heads down and suffer remained. Mayakari were not atypical; they were still human.

Shakti changed the subject, not wanting to think about Jaya. ‘There have also been discussions on a... group consciousness of sorts. A collective. Have you heard of it?’

Disappointment came swift like a butcher’s knife against meat. The moment Prince Ashoka’s brows crumpled, she knew that he was lost. ‘I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of such a thing,’ he admitted.

Ask Ashoka . Did this blasted consciousness lie to her?

‘Neither have I, Prince Ashoka,’ she replied. ‘Much of mayakari history remains a mystery these days.’

The prince rewarded her with a bitter smile. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘My father declaring a war against innocents – I do not expect this was what Ashoka Maurya foresaw when he first founded the empire.’

The hostile sentiment against his father did not escape her notice. However, all thoughts of Adil flew away when she digested his last few words.

Her mind cleared. A key turned in a lock. A door opened.

Ask Ashoka .

She was so stupid. That was why she had doubted the ludicrous message of asking the youngest prince for help to remove a curse. It wasn’t Prince Ashoka that man had referred to. It was the Emperor Ashoka Maurya. Ashoka the First, the founder of the Ran Empire. The ultimate predecessor of Adil Maurya.

This is a collective; a gallery of consciousnesses past and present.

The answer had always been there; she had simply failed to listen to it. To speak to Emperor Ashoka, she needed to find him inside her head.