Page 35 of The Prince Without Sorrow
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ashoka
I T WAS LATE AFTERNOON WHEN N AILA FINALLY LEFT, HIS father’s words hanging like a death sentence above them.
The witch deserves burial, not fire.
Her treasures will be mine to keep.
Vague words. Unclear meanings. What had he expected? Usra was likely murdered and buried somewhere only his father knew. That much Ashoka was willing to bet coin on.
If she was buried and not burned, perhaps a nature spirit can be tasked to help , he thought to himself. But if Usra’s body was unable to be found, where did that leave him?
A pathetic child who thought to subvert me , his father’s voice answered viciously.
Fatigue made it hard to dismiss his father. That, and Naila’s additional request stuck to him like glue. A permanent removal. Murder.
He understood her logic, but his mind rejected the proposal almost immediately.
I won’t kill. I would never kill.
That was his heated declaration to Rahil so many moons ago. Was that not a promise to himself? Was that not a loud pronouncement of himself as a person, of his guiding principles?
He can be deposed without killing , he reminded himself.
The dark, disbelieving corner of his mind refuted him. Can you? One death to prevent many. Is that not justification enough? One life ordering the deaths of dozens, is that not an imbalance of power? For all the death he has presided over, is this not repayment in kind?
Ashoka knew he was standing on a ledge with these thoughts, but he found that he was paralysed, unable to decide. To relieve his ever-growing anxiety, he took a short walk to the garden where the gold flowers were placed. It was as if he needed to see some kind of proof to tell him that his agreement with Arush was not in vain.
Like a ghost, Sachith followed him.
‘Won’t the minor spirit attack you again, Prince Ashoka?’ he asked, worry clear in his voice.
‘It didn’t attack me,’ Ashoka replied, ‘it showed me something, that’s all.’
He became lost in thought as they entered the garden feature, wondering again when Rahil would arrive. Since Sau’s letter indicated that the deal was complete, surely he would have arrived in the Golden City’s port by now? If he’d taken a winged serpent from the palace, it would have taken even less time to get here.
And the Ridi soldiers would take much longer. Just because an agreement was made did not mean that its terms were carried out in an instant. It could take days, or even weeks, till their arrival.
The flash of gold flowers against dying sunlight caught his attention. The moment he stepped past the neat hedges, a familiar face appeared next to him, with pale green and mismatched arms.
‘You again,’ he said. ‘Hello, spirit.’
As usual, no human words came out of the minor spirit’s mouth. It skittered around him, eyes wide, and engaged in steady chatter. It reminded him of when Sau was frustrated, moving about this way and that, arms flailing. Floating towards the gold flowers, it repeated the same motion he’d seen before; the human hand curled into a fist, pumping up and down.
Pity flooded him. Poor creature, habituating a garden where its main attraction had required death to achieve beauty.
‘I’m sorry,’ he told it. ‘My father’s cruelty has affected you, too.’
Behind him, Sachith was quiet. The nature spirit chittered and held out its tendril hand. Fascinated, Ashoka watched as it grew in length, curling like the very vines he had stepped on in his haste to descend from the balcony. The pale glow reminded him of glow worms in a cave.
The tendril snaked around his neck before its tip reared up in front of his eyes like a cobra and pressed against his forehead.
He felt nothing upon impact, but his mind shattered into a million pieces.
Pain. Fear. Earth. Lungs full, heaving with dirt. Manic laughter. Rubies. A circlet.
Ashoka clutched his head between his hands. He could barely feel Sachith’s hand on his shoulder, could barely hear him shout for help.
A hand pushing through the ground, first flesh, then strips of muscle eroded away to reveal bone. Tendon.
Horror clawed through him as the images receded and he glanced up. The nature spirit watched him.
For such a small creature, it radiated so much rage. So much pain. Keeping such traumatic memories would cause it so much suffering. It did not need to ache all because of some ridiculous gold flowers.
‘Do not be angry, little spirit,’ he told it, face sombre. ‘I will take away your pain.’
Wobbling slightly, he stood and turned to a panicked Sachith who grabbed his arm to offer support. ‘You shouldn’t come here, Prince Ashoka,’ he chastised. ‘This is the second time now.’
‘It needs help,’ Ashoka murmured. ‘I need to remove it.’
‘Remove it?’
Before Ashoka could respond, he heard commotion. Sachith’s call for help had been answered in moments, for several soldiers burst through the garden entrance, weapons drawn. They stopped in surprise when they saw an unharmed Ashoka and a beleaguered Sachith.
‘Excellent timing,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to remove these –’ he pointed to the gold flowers ‘– immediately.’
One of his soldiers, Lalitha, cocked her head. ‘You’re unhurt, Prince Ashoka?’ she asked, sounding baffled. Her eyes drifted to the minor spirit in suspicion.
‘Very much so,’ he replied. ‘Fetch some shovels immediately – dig this eyesore up.’
At his command, they scattered. Thick gardening shovels were brought and, soon enough, the sound of metal slapping against soil filled the air. Only Sachith remained behind, as always.
‘It was causing you distress, Prince Ashoka,’ he began, ‘why provide it aid?’
‘You didn’t see what I did,’ Ashoka responded, keeping his eyes on the other guards. The process of removing the gold flowers did not seem to be as easy as he thought. They had been pinned to the ground by metal poles to achieve better retention. It made for a difficult removal. ‘Imagine fighting to live, Sachith. Imagine your last thought before death being absolute fear. This little spirit lives on haunted ground; its unhappiness was a result of my father’s cruelty. Is it not virtuous to relieve its sorrow?’
Sachith did not respond at first. Rather, he frowned. Following his gaze, Ashoka saw what had distracted him. Two of his guards were struggling to move the centrepiece, the largest gold flower. The minor spirit’s flutelike chatter rose to a higher pitch as it wandered towards the guards who paid it no mind. Eventually, they managed to shovel enough dirt away to rip it out from the ground, a manmade weed. The ground around the pole caved in as it came away and then, he saw it.
Attached to the end of the pole was something long and thin and white.
The hair on his body stood on end. Was that...
‘Step away!’ he exclaimed, rushing towards the two guards who dropped the flower and its metal stem to the ground. It rolled towards his feet, and his stomach distended as he recognized the white-grey object.
Bones of a hand. A human hand.
No wonder the little nature spirit had been so distraught. All this time, it had been giving him an answer the only way it knew how. The flower patch hewn from stolen gold was not what caused it distress.
No, it was the grave beneath them.