Page 40 of The Prince Without Sorrow

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Shakti

W ATCHING THAT MAYAKARI BURN TO DEATH HAD GIVEN her daymares.

Shakti could smell nothing but burned flesh for the rest of the day. It lingered around her like a curse, clung to her clothes like leeches against wet skin, sucking any form of happiness from her tired body.

She didn’t want to feel drained. She wanted to feel happy. But by some cruel directive, one of the few people who had made her happy was dead, and the only way to feel any sort of joy again was to find some semblance of calmness in a place that welcomed the quiet. Unfortunately for her, peace had come in the form of The Collective, as she lay in her bed at night, meditating.

‘You’re too attached to The Collective, girl,’ Adil remarked as Shakti appeared in the throne room. ‘It is an affliction.’

‘ You’re an affliction,’ she muttered.

Her comment didn’t go unnoticed. ‘Must you reply so childishly?’ Adil asked, his tone belittling. ‘Why are you here?’

Because he’s standing on a ledge and refusing to fall.

Harini’s assessment of Prince Ashoka in Taksila nagged at her. The knowledge that he had promised to ban mayakari killings was all well and good, but it sounded as if the governor was a hindrance.

She found it unlikely that Arush would remove the governor from his position. Neither did Prince Ashoka have the authority to demote him, not when his older brother outranked him. Not when the governor only listened to the emperor.

To her, the answer was simple: kill . Though it could be done by a soldier’s hand, there was more impact in a Maurya killing for a witch. In this case, it sounded as if the young prince needed a reason.

Like anyone else, he could be pushed. But unlike anyone else, she had better means to push him.

Leaving Adil’s question unanswered, Shakti thought of Prince Ashoka, and entered his dream.

Out of all the dreams she’d visited, his was by far the most peaceful.

Two boys sat on a grassy plain, watching the sun rise as it bled bright yellow and red into a night sky that refused to recede. One was Prince Ashoka, the other was Rahil, oddly free of the broadswords he always carried. The young prince, meanwhile, held a dagger in his right hand while the left clasped Rahil’s.

‘Drop your dagger, Ashoka,’ she heard Rahil say in muted tones. ‘You are not cruel.’

Ashoka complied.

It appeared so innocent . Ashoka was innocent. Everything in this dream, from the brown hands clasped together to the drop of the dagger – Shakti was looking at a prince repulsed by cruelty. And yet, there was something underneath that harmless facade. The dagger that he’d dropped bled shadows onto the grass in an endless, contained smog. She couldn’t quite understand it, couldn’t quite place the gnawing unease erupting from the pit of her stomach.

Forcing herself into Emperor Arush’s dreams had been easy, and Aarya’s more difficult. Prince Ashoka’s, however, had required three times the effort of his sister’s. The feeling of pushing past a thick cloud of cotton was not present. Rather, it was as though she were pushing against a heavy brass door that refused to budge. It took a great deal of strength to get beyond it.

His mental fortitude was strong.

What else should I expect , Shakti thought, from a prince who was burned and yet continued to push back against his father?

Gut feeling told her to transform herself into Emperor Adil. Gut feeling also told her it would be a terrible idea, but she did it anyway.

‘Son,’ she called out, watching Ashoka’s shoulders stiffen before he turned. Immediately, she was caught off-guard by his innocent eyes that threatened to spill tears, and was rendered mute, unsure for the first time about what to say to a child of Adil. ‘I... I’ve come to speak to you.’

What are you doing , her mind was screaming. Aggravate him, push him. Make him cruel .

‘Father?’ Ashoka asked as he scrambled to his feet. Dream Rahil, meanwhile, sat perfectly still with his back to the commotion.

‘Ashoka, I...’ Shakti began hesitantly, marvelling at how it translated into Adil’s voice. How unusual it was to hear uncertainty through his voice. She didn’t realize that Ashoka’s dagger had reappeared in his right hand until she saw the gleam of silver against the light.

‘Get out,’ he said emotionlessly.

‘Ashoka, you cannot speak to your father this way,’ she replied. She saw nothing but emptiness in his eyes.

‘Get. Out ,’ he repeated. ‘Or I will kill you.’

Shakti startled. Soft seemed to be the most inaccurate descriptor of Prince Ashoka Maurya at that moment.

‘You won’t kill me,’ she said. For once, she was unsure. ‘You can’t bring yourself to do it.’

Ashoka laughed, the sound clipped and bitter. ‘Don’t test me,’ he said. ‘I can kill – I just choose not to. I always choose not to do what you do.’

Dreams held truths. She wondered how far she could push him, the prince who was whispered to abhor violence. He had a weakness and, just like his siblings, it was his father. Only, where his siblings were determined to gain affection, Ashoka was determined to keep away from it. He had anger in him, too, but it was rarely seen.

She wanted to see it. Wanted to see his anger in full force.

‘Then you are weak,’ she hissed, Adil’s resulting baritone an icy tundra.

Ashoka’s dagger was at her heart before she could even blink. Shakti could only watch as the prince’s silver blade nicked Adil’s – her – chest. There was no pain in the dreamscape, and yet she felt nothing but dread as she gazed upon Ashoka’s eyes. At that moment, they were without mercy.

‘I am not weak,’ he said. ‘I am the answer to your problems, father. I am the one saving the land in Taksila when you left it to rot.’

‘And yet you cannot save its mayakari,’ she responded, ‘because I am right – you are weak , Ashoka. The governor must be removed, and you know it. To destroy me is to destroy my empire, and you will not do it.’

The weapon in the prince’s hand retracted. The dreamscape turned grey. ‘I-I can,’ he replied.

‘ To destroy me is to destroy my empire ,’ Shakti repeated. ‘To save many, you must harm one. Will you do it?’

Prince Ashoka wavered; she could see it in his eyes, in the way his shoulders hunched inward. Grey clouds wafted from his body like steam. His dagger began to crack until he started. In an instant, colour returned to the dream, and the weapon mended itself.

‘Leave me, father,’ he said, looking up to meet her gaze. Nothing but hatred was nestled behind those eyes. ‘The dead should not haunt the living.’

Answer me , she thought, frustrated.

He charged again. Just before his dagger drove into her heart, Shakti leapt out of his dreams, pulse racing and her skin slicked with sweat. The Obsidian Throne reappeared once more with Emperor Adil upon it.

‘Whom have you terrorized this time?’ he asked her blandly. ‘What my children have done to receive your vengeance is beyond me, witch.’

‘I went in hopes of putting some sense into your youngest,’ Shakti replied. ‘It worked. He was quite violent, in fact.’

Adil let out a bark of laughter. ‘Ashoka?’ he chuckled. ‘Violent? Well, I suppose he could only be so in his dreams.’

‘You clearly show no favouritism to him,’ Shakti commented, ‘and yet you’ve named him after the emperor himself. How perplexing.’

Adil narrowed his eyes. ‘Ashoka’s name was not of my choosing,’ he said. ‘It was his mother’s decision, and I do not wish to alter it. Such tradition must be respected.’

What an infuriating paradox this man was. She couldn’t understand what he deemed followable and what he did not.

‘It’s a pity you don’t believe in your son,’ she told him. ‘Dreams tend to tell us truths, Adil. Despite you not believing in Ashoka’s inclination towards brutality, I do. That dream was proof enough.’

Adil scoffed. ‘You think you can force Ashoka to be cruel?’

‘It’s not a question of force,’ Shakti said, smiling confidently enough that the emperor’s smug expression vanished. ‘Ashoka wavers. I think he has always wavered. All he needed was a little push.’