Page 19 of The Prince Without Sorrow

Chapter Eighteen

Ashoka

P ROUD OBSIDIAN-CARVED LEOPARDS WATCHED WITH bloody eyes as Arush was crowned emperor.

The monarch’s ruby-studded circlet was placed atop a stone pedestal in the throne room, the surface draped in red silk. Seated at the front of the hall with his family, Ashoka watched as a solemn-faced Arush took the circlet in both hands and slowly placed it on his head. Then, he made his way to the Obsidian Throne, got down on his knees, and placed both hands on the seat as a sign of respect before he stood up and then sat upon it.

Coronations in the Ran Empire were a relatively simple affair. Monarchs were crowned with the royal family, consuls, advisors, and other important officials in attendance. Meanwhile, citizens in the Golden City and throughout the empire celebrated the occasion with much greater fanfare, with festivities and song, with dance and drink. Public rest days tended to bring out the more jovial side of people.

On the outside, his older brother appeared dignified and composed, but Ashoka knew that he was fighting glee deep down.

What is the point of his excitement , he thought, when he will keep things exactly the same?

Beside him, Aarya sat with her hands in her lap. She smelled overwhelmingly like a pink lotus and, with her gradient sari, she looked like one, too. Like him, she appeared uninterested, but perhaps for different reasons.

‘Where is your new guard?’ she asked suddenly, not taking her eyes off the circlet upon Arush’s head.

‘Who?’

The look she shot him was one of utter irritation. ‘The one who fought Rahil. Shakti . Have you not sent her to be trained as one yet?’

Ashoka eyed his sister with mild distrust. Why the sudden interest , he wondered as he shook his head.

Aarya tsk-ed. ‘Having her do such mundane tasks when she was able to make Rahil bleed,’ she said with a maddening air of superiority. ‘You are wasting her talent. How will you govern Taksila when you cannot organise your own staff?’

The urge to commence a full-blown verbal sparring match was strong, but Ashoka forced himself to calm. As usual, Aarya was trying to get a rise out of him. Why she resorted to such measures when peaceful existence remained an option was beyond him. It was as if his father’s ideals had sunk its claws so deeply into her that she had become infected, unable to be treated.

‘I am being sent there to learn , yes?’ he replied, keeping his tone nonchalant. ‘No need to worry for me, Aarya. I am sure that I will manage.’

Shaking her head with an irksome smile, his sister turned her attention back to the ceremony. Ashoka was left wondering whether he should take Shakti as part of his travelling party to avoid Aarya’s interest. Knowing his sister, she would poke and prod until her identity was revealed and then...

The mental image of witnessing his first mayakari burning made him shudder. The memory was deeply etched into his mind, unable to be erased. Blue flames, horrifying screams, burning meat, and smoke. His father, watching without guilt.

He never wanted to see it again.

After the official coronation ended to thunderous applause and the crowd in the throne room slowly departed, Rahil escorted him back to his wing. Ashoka was silent, lost in thought about Taksila. Only a week remained till he was set to depart. A strange sense of overconfidence was starting to take over him. He had Rahil. He had Sau. He had Harini. The latter was the most important in terms of brokering some kind of negotiation with the mayakari resistance in the city. If he wanted to solve a nature spirit issue, he needed the backing of a mayakari to obtain support from those who did not trust his family.

Once he was safely inside his study, Ashoka let himself slump against his chair, squinting from the sunlight streaming through the giant windows.

Rahil watched him with a wry smile. ‘Why so woebegone?’ he asked.

‘I am simply drained,’ Ashoka murmured. ‘Infuriated.’

He closed his eyes. Infuriated didn’t even begin to describe his well-deep emotions. Aarya would inherit two official positions following the coronation: commander of the armed forces, and chief strategist of the war council under the authority of the emperor. Meanwhile, he was relegated to governor. It was ridiculous. Though Aarya was trained in military and warfare strategy like the rest of them, she followed their father’s guiding principles. Extricating her thoughts from his would be nigh on impossible. It was a shame, considering the war council had the utmost authority on where and when soldiers were dispatched. For as long as he was alive, his father had concentrated his forces to the south. Here was a chance for redirection, and it would not happen.

‘Ashoka.’

He cracked one eye open. Rahil stared at him, as if peering into a soul that did not exist. Ashoka’s heartbeat jumped. Firecrackers exploded in his head, bright sparks and smoke overwhelming his ability to think.

‘I’m sorry,’ he blurted out. Embarrassment quickly followed. What was that?

The sudden proclamation also seemed to baffle Rahil. ‘For what?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Did you make a bet with Sau?’

‘No,’ Ashoka replied quickly. ‘I’m sorry for dragging you into my antics that day.’

‘Don’t be sorry when you saved a life,’ Rahil said. ‘You did the right thing.’

Ashoka sighed. ‘I know I did the right thing,’ he said. ‘I just... I’m sorry. Thank you.’

Rahil’s broad shoulders shook as he let out a deep, amused laugh. ‘Why are you fretting?’

‘I may need to take Shakti to Taksila with me,’ Ashoka replied. Rahil was never one to let a concern go. ‘Who knows, two mayakari may be better than one when attempting to speak to the resistance.’

‘Do you think Arush will approve of trying to contact the resistance?’ asked Rahil.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Ashoka audibly exhaled. ‘The hope is that I can convince him at the general council meeting,’ he said. ‘It baffles me that they’ll likely see my plan as idiotic. It’s like they don’t want peace.’

Deep down, Ashoka knew he would rule better than his siblings, his father. If the Obsidian Throne were his, there would be no more unnecessary violence, because what was the point of it? All it did was create suffering. It was an erroneous way to rule. If each rebirth happened to place them in the same position over and over again, he would do it better each time. Too bad he would never be given the chance. At this stage, the current Mauryas would destroy innocents along with the empire.

Spirits knew that Aarya would continue to concentrate soldiers to the south the moment she began her new duties. If only he could be there to redirect in some way, to temper.

‘They could have given me the chance to lead the war council,’ Ashoka said aloud to himself, picking at his burned ear. What he wouldn’t do to prove his dead father wrong.

Rahil coughed. ‘Ah, well... as much as I admire your ideals, do you think you would be suited to make the required decisions for war?’

‘My purpose wouldn’t be to start wars or maintain them,’ Ashoka replied, his tone fierce. ‘It would be to stop them, or, better yet, make sure they do not begin at all. There is no sense in an empire that continues to perpetuate violence. Is that not an objective truth?’

There was no reply from Rahil. Of course there wasn’t. Even Ashoka knew that his ideas were lofty and optimistic. His were the dreams of an ignorant child, that much he knew. That much, he was forced to digest.

Ashoka’s mood soured and Rahil, as he always did, noticed.

‘You could work with Aarya,’ he suggested helpfully. ‘Lessen her workload.’

Hah . Him and Aarya working together was akin to two crows battling for the same scraps. One would fly away with more and leave the other destitute. Opposite personalities on a war council only spelled disaster and in a battle of egos, she was the winning horse. Besides, he would never get the chance to be in the war council.

‘Are you sure you aren’t the wishful thinker out of the two of us?’ Ashoka asked Rahil.

He ducked as Rahil’s arm swept out to smack his neck and smiled. Although Rahil’s heart was in the right place, he had the wrong idea. The only way to win against Aarya would be to make sure he never faced her as an opponent.

And thus, a near-impossible idea sputtered to life.

Night fell when Ashoka found Arush in the throne room.

His older brother stood at the bottom of the steps, gazing up at the Obsidian Throne. With his back to him and his arms crossed it looked as if he were appraising a painting; an unlikely pastime for his brother.

At the sound of Ashoka’s footsteps, Arush turned.

‘Little brother,’ he greeted.

‘Arush,’ Ashoka replied and looked around. ‘Why are your guards outside?’

Several had been posted outside the entrance when he arrived, and they’d let him in with baffled expressions.

‘I could ask you the same thing,’ Arush responded. ‘Where is Rahil?’

‘Asleep.’ He’d sent Rahil to his quarters early, feigning tiredness. And he’d evaded the remainder of his guards by escaping from the balcony. This was a conversation that did not require others to be present. ‘I came to make two requests of you, brother.’

Arush didn’t answer him. Instead, he gestured to the Obsidian Throne. ‘Strange, isn’t it?’ he questioned. ‘To take father’s seat.’

‘Plenty of Mauryas sat upon the throne before him, and you will not be the last,’ Ashoka replied. He did not want to descend into conversation about Adil’s legacy at this hour. ‘You are not him. You can create your own legacy.’

Ashoka meant it to be a throwaway comment, but he did not expect Arush to consider it so seriously. In fact, he stood there for a good while, mulling over his words.

‘You are right, little brother,’ Arush finally replied. ‘Then, let me hear your request as an emperor should: upon his throne.’

‘You really don’t have to—’ Ashoka began but was stopped by Arush as he made his way up the steps and sat himself down on the throne with a look of newly filled purpose. ‘There was no need for such melodramatics.’

‘What are your two requests, Ashoka?’ his brother asked, ignoring his jibe.

Spiders crawled up Ashoka’s legs. There was a price in his request, not just a simple yes or no . A larger imbalance of power rested between him and Arush now; everything he said had to be carefully constructed.

‘This pertains to my role in father’s will,’ Ashoka said. ‘I understand that you may be reluctant to change it, but I was hoping you would allow for a change in positions.’

He was hedging, and they both knew it. ‘Out with it,’ Arush commanded, ‘and try not to blather on.’

Confident. Direct. That was how Ashoka planned to sound, and already he had failed. Shoving the anxiety down deep, Ashoka cleared his throat and wrung his hands together behind his back.

‘My first request is that I want you to acknowledge that I am the third-in-line to the throne,’ he announced. ‘It was never explicitly written in father’s will, and by now the entire council will have heard its contents.’

‘Vanity?’ Arush smirked. ‘I did not expect that from you, brother.’

Good. He hadn’t denied him yet. ‘On the contrary,’ Ashoka replied. ‘It is to make the council aware that I am a valid successor. You know how strictly they adhere to written laws, brother.’

Thankfully, his point seemed to get through. ‘That I do,’ Arush remarked. ‘I can certainly do that for you, little brother. Although, I don’t know how this will benefit you. There is no chance you will ever lay claim to the Obsidian Throne once I have a family of my own.’

‘Father as many heirs as you would like, Arush,’ Ashoka replied. ‘I simply want my legitimacy confirmed.’

Leaning back in his chair, his brother drummed his ring-studded hands on the armrest. ‘What is your second request, then?’

Behind his back, Ashoka wrung his hands tighter. Here was perhaps the trickiest entreaty. ‘I want to lead the war council,’ he announced.

Silence drowned the room following his proclamation. Arush’s expression was akin to a fish realizing it was out of water. ‘Are you insane?’ he asked, tone disbelieving.

Ashoka found his footing. ‘I don’t believe so,’ he replied.

Arush laughed. ‘Little brother,’ he said. ‘Surely you realize that you are the least suited for the job. What will you do? Bludgeon the concept of pacifism into the council’s heads until they listen?’

‘If that works, yes,’ Ashoka replied tersely. Arush’s pitying smile vanished at his serious tone. Their father’s ruby circlet glinting in the moonlight made Ashoka feel a jumble of confusing emotions. ‘If I return from Taksila successful, I want to lead it. Aarya can focus on her command of the armed forces. Would it not be less of a burden for her?’

His brother’s response was nothing short of insulting. ‘Little brother, this is not the time for jokes.’

‘This is not one.’ This was perhaps the most solemn he had ever been in his life, yet his brother thought him the equivalent of a court jester.

Arush eyed him like an abstract sculpture he could not quite decipher. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘You are... quite serious?’

‘I want it, Arush,’ Ashoka let himself say. ‘I want to lead it.’

A slow, devious smile arose on his brother’s lips. ‘Well,’ he remarked, ‘I certainly can’t leave my little brother disappointed, can I? All right, Ashoka – your request is granted.’

Half-pleased, Ashoka took a step back to evaluate his brother for a moment. But Arush was a watered-down version of Aarya, which meant that he too always had a trick up his sleeve.

‘What is the condition?’ he asked.

‘It is as you said,’ Arush replied. He cracked his knuckles, the sound of bone popping against bone oddly satisfying. ‘You can participate in the war council... if you return Taksila to its original glory; a city without its land dying and spirits rampaging the north. All these conditions must be met.’

He still thinks I can’t do it , Ashoka raged. I’ll show him .

‘Deal,’ he said.

Arush’s incredulous smile only inflamed Ashoka’s fierce need to prove him wrong. Arush spread his hands out, inviting a challenge.

‘It’s settled, then,’ he said. ‘I shall let Aarya know of our agreement, though I doubt she will be happy to hear it. I wish you the best of luck, little brother.’