Page 7 of The Prince Without Sorrow

Chapter Six

Ashoka

S WEAT SOAKED A SHOKA’S BACK AS HE AIMED A BLOW AT Rahil’s chest. He took the hit and tumbled – or so he thought. As he fell, Rahil retaliated with a swipe to the leg in Ashoka’s illusion of momentary victory. He had feigned his fall – of course . With a grunt, his knees hit the grass of the courtyard where the two were training.

‘Don’t let your guard down,’ Rahil said, already back on his feet.

‘I’m not,’ Ashoka panted as he scurried back up. He arranged himself into a defensive position with his hands shielding his face before aiming a well-timed punch at Rahil’s abdomen. Faces were off-limits – it was one of the few rules that Ashoka had requested early on in his training. Part of him accepted it as vanity while the other part refused to have his skull cracked in pieces if Rahil landed a blow to it.

Deftly, Rahil jumped out of his way and paused for a second before he charged Ashoka at full speed. His friend’s feet moved quickly, arms reaching out to seize his waist before Ashoka regained his bearing. There was no time to think, no time to pivot. His back hit the grass with an unceremonious thud as Rahil tackled him with the force of a charging leopard.

‘Let go!’ he grimaced, twisting around this way and that to free himself. Unfortunately, Rahil was stronger. He caged Ashoka in and held him down with his weight alone.

‘I hope that won’t be your response in real combat,’ Rahil grunted, trying to keep Ashoka’s flailing arms pinned down. Realizing he was unlikely to rid himself of Rahil’s crushing weight, Ashoka slapped the ground twice, disgruntled.

‘I yield,’ he said, watching a bead of sweat trace a path down Rahil’s face. ‘Let me up.’

Grinning, Rahil stood and extended a hand for Ashoka to take.

‘I’ll beat you one day,’ Ashoka grumbled as he dusted himself off. Rahil was more muscular, more agile, more of everything that was required of a fighter. ‘Mark my words.’

Rahil cocked his head to the side, smiling. ‘Ashoka, if I can’t beat you, then I shouldn’t have been given this position at all. Besides, I’d like to keep my winning streak.’

The scent of dry grass, sweat, and frangipanis permeated the air around them as Ashoka stretched out his sore muscles. Idly, he inspected the appearance of a fresh bruise blossoming a pale red underneath the skin of his arm. It used to be that he’d got hundreds of them after his rigorous training sessions with Rahil such that his body looked like a poppy field. Now, one bruise was nothing.

A warm, calloused hand grasped his arm. Unable to stop the flush that was creeping up his neck, Ashoka glanced up to see Rahil observing his bruise in concern.

‘It’ll heal,’ Rahil assured, shooting him a soft smile. Ashoka hoped with all his might that Rahil couldn’t feel his pulse quicken, his heartbeat thud. The traitorous muscle had started to act this way several years ago and hadn’t stopped since. Whenever Rahil got too close, his senses sharpened. He felt everything around him more acutely.

‘I wish I had Sahry’s healing,’ said Ashoka. Her laceration had healed within a day. A human like him, meanwhile, took a lot longer to recover from simple contusions.

‘Well done , little brother.’

Snapping his head up, Ashoka spotted Aarya approaching them with her guards right behind, a smug smile plastered across her face. She wore a bright red sari that was adorned with intricate gold stitching on the borders. Impossibly long earrings dangled as she walked, and a solid gold throatlet decorated her otherwise bare neck. For as long as he had known his sister, Aarya was not one for subtlety.

Ashoka frowned as she stopped in front of him. ‘Well done?’ he asked. ‘That doesn’t sound like you.’

Aarya shook her head. ‘No, I meant that to be a “well done” for finding more painfully average ways to lose to Rahil in combat,’ she said. Her smile was as sweet as sugared caramel, but her words were as acrid as bitter gourd.

Ashoka sighed. ‘If you’re here to make fun of me, you’ve come in vain.’

Aarya jutted out her lower lip. ‘I simply came to observe how my little brother is faring in unarmed combat,’ she said. ‘Didn’t father say that your skills were still poor?’

Ashoka clenched his jaw hard enough for his teeth to hurt. ‘I’ve improved beyond you .’ There was hardly a point mentioning Arush who could probably crush them both with his little finger.

Letting out a tinkling laugh that was as disbelieving as it was infuriating, Aarya stepped closer. Her eyes flicked towards Rahil who stood just behind him.

‘Jealousy does not become you, mūsī ,’ she said.

He was always thrown off by Aarya’s term of endearment for him. Mouse . Rahil thought it to be somewhat affectionate, considering Aarya’s intemperate nature. Ashoka thought it signified his position as the weakest in the family and hated it with a passion.

In fact, Ashoka was so irritated by it that he almost missed the gleam of silver that appeared out of nowhere from Aarya’s left hand. Dagger , he thought belatedly before years of combat training kicked in. He beat Rahil to action and swiftly jumped sideways. With a vicelike grip, he latched onto his sister’s left hand. Aarya let out a yelp of surprise. Using her discombobulation to his advantage, Ashoka used his other hand to pin her free arm behind her back.

He saw Aarya’s expression shutter. ‘I thought you’d be slower,’ she murmured.

‘Drop the dagger, Aarya,’ Ashoka ordered forcefully. He shook his head when Rahil and his guards made to step closer.

A pitying smile danced across Aarya’s lips. ‘Make me,’ she said.

A hot flash of anger sped its way down Ashoka’s body as he tightened his grip over Aarya’s arm. He did not wish to fight.

‘ Please ,’ he said shortly. ‘Drop your dagger.’

Thankfully, his sister dropped it from where she stood, albeit with great reluctance, and watched it clatter on the ground. Lapis-encrusted, the weapon bore a singular name on its hilt: Adil.

He let go of her arms, guilt worming in when he noticed the small crescent-shaped indents he’d left behind on her skin. ‘You could have sliced my arm off!’

Despite his reprimand, Ashoka couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction at having bested Aarya. How foolish it was to consider him weak.

Aarya shrugged and she bent down to pick the dagger up. ‘I wouldn’t have hurt you. Nicked your skin, potentially, but not enough to gouge.’

‘I could have hurt you,’ Ashoka said, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘No,’ Aarya cocked her head to the side, ‘you wouldn’t have.’

Ashoka’s left eye twitched.

‘You don’t know me, Aarya,’ he said.

Expression brightening as if he had issued her a challenge, Aarya gave him a sickly-sweet smile.

‘Don’t I?’ she smirked. ‘How did that hunting expedition you took a few days ago fare, little brother?’

Ashoka looked away. ‘It was fine,’ he said.

The look Aarya sent him was full of scorn. ‘Oh, so did you kill the deer like you said you would?’ she asked.

His silence was answer enough.

‘I knew it.’ The condescending, I-know-all tone made him feel as if he were nine again.

‘What is the point of harming an innocent?’ he repeated for what seemed to be the umpteenth time that week.

The bark of laughter that escaped his sister’s lips was disbelieving. ‘ Innocent. Grow up, Ashoka. You say that so self-righteously, but hurting is unavoidable. Why are you so reluctant to accept that?’

Because hurting was his father’s domain. Because Ashoka would not be like him.

Meanwhile, Aarya had switched her attention to Rahil. ‘Ashoka’s weakness comes from his docility,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think?’

Rahil did not rise to meet Aarya’s provocations. Much like Ashoka, he had learned not to react with the same energy.

‘On the contrary, Princess Aarya,’ Rahil said smoothly. ‘What you call docility, I call pacifism, and I consider that a strength.’

Ashoka stopped himself from snorting out loud. It was only yesterday that Rahil was berating him for being too pacifist, but he had to admire his loyalty. Rahil had always stood by him when he needed him.

‘Hmm,’ Aarya appraised Rahil with a gleam in her eye, ‘if only I could find someone as loyal as you.’

Sullenly, Ashoka stepped in front of Rahil, blocking him from Aarya’s view. ‘Don’t you have someone else to go terrorize?’ he asked her.

Aarya shook her head. ‘Only you,’ she said before her attention shifted to something behind them. ‘Although, I could always terrorize Saudamini.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ Ashoka said immediately. Unlike him, Sau could only hold in her temper so much.

‘I would very much dare,’ Aarya replied. ‘But she already appears flustered. I wonder what sort of trouble you are in.’

Ashoka turned to find Sau rushing towards them, the blue skirt of her sari swirling like ocean currents around her. Her dark hair was almost free of its bun. Aarya was right – Sau did appear worried, which made him worried because she rarely was.

‘Sau,’ he called out, watching her hurry towards them, frowning. Her face was lit with consternation. ‘Are you all right?’

When Sau reached them, she was huffing. She had never been one for physical exertion, always preferring to stay indoors whenever possible. Her deep brown skin gleamed under the sun, and her brown eyes were fierce as she spoke.

‘I’m all right, Prince Ashoka,’ Sau said in her unusually low voice. She glanced at him and Aarya nervously. ‘Your father has fallen ill during his return from Kolakola.’

Ashoka made to gripe about how it had been less a visit and more of a premeditated slaughter, but the news of his father stopped him cold. Beside him, Aarya stilled.

‘Fallen ill?’ he echoed, sensing Rahil’s own body tense behind him. ‘How?’

Sau winced. ‘He collapsed,’ she informed them. ‘A nature spirit disrupted his camp at night three days ago. He is being returned to the capital by riverboat.’

Ashoka could barely listen. His father, ill?

It seemed unbelievable. Adil had always seemed so... unbreakable to him. Impenetrable. So caged in by his own pride and hate that none could touch him.

‘Father...’ His sister’s voice was deathly quiet as she stared dully at the ground. Warily, Ashoka glanced at his sister. By no means was Aarya the kind of person to immediately explode, but when it came to their father, she was a match ready to ignite. Aarya looked up to meet his stare, and Ashoka was shocked to spot her tears.

‘I must go,’ she said in a gravelly voice.

Pushing past him, Aarya very nearly sprinted away, her hair flying in the breeze. His sister was in shock, but she still possessed the vanity to hide her crying from the rest of the world.

‘Well,’ Saudamini remarked as they watched her go, ‘that’s the first time I’ve ever seen Princess Aarya cry.’

‘If Emperor Adil has fallen victim to some type of countryside sickness, he should be healed by the physicians soon enough,’ Rahil told Sau. Ashoka noticed that he sounded unsure, too.

Sau let out a haggard breath. ‘He can’t be healed,’ she said. Her voice dropped down to a whisper. ‘This is no mere illness. Reports say that the cause is from magic; a black stain is spreading across his chest, uncontrolled. The physicians are unable to slow it to a halt.’

His father had the best physicians in the empire. If they could not rectify the problem, there was little hope that anyone else could.

‘Magic?’ Rahil asked the question for him. ‘Are you sure?’

Sau nodded. ‘I’ve spoken to the palace physicians. They have not heard of any natural disease like this,’ she replied. ‘And if not natural, what else would it be?’

There was nothing else it could be. ‘Mayakari magic,’ Ashoka said quietly. But that was unlikely. Their teachings denounced causing others harm.

Sau nodded grimly. ‘Ashoka,’ she leaned in even closer so that only the three of them could hear, ‘I don’t think he will survive.’

It was a dangerous thing to say, and even more dangerous to predict. Sau stepped back. ‘Your mother is awaiting further news in the throne room,’ she said. ‘You should go.’

Ashoka knew that his mother would be fretting with anxiety. He could just imagine her pacing the throne room, gold bangles clinking with every worried step.

‘Wash yourself quickly and go,’ Rahil urged him. ‘I’ll meet you in the throne room.’

His mother sat upon the Obsidian Throne when he entered, hastily bathed and no longer smelling of sweat, grass, and Rahil. Having changed out of his fighting gear, Ashoka was now clothed in the colours of the royal family – black and red – the shift stifling, the black sash too tight.

The throne overwhelmed his mother’s birdlike figure: a large black lacquered chair whose topmost aspect was carved with the face of a leopard – the symbol of the Ran Empire, of its army that rode the beasts into battle, weapons gleaming. Beside the throne were two enormous leopards in seated positions, all carved from black marble and polished to a lustrous shine. Their eyes were beset with brilliant red rubies the size of Ashoka’s palm.

Empress Manali was dressed in a pale red sari that seemed to be spun from gossamer and light. It enhanced her dark brown skin and wide-set eyes, enhancing the gold jewellery that adorned her wrists and neck. Standing in front of her was Aarya, her face a picture of anger as she gesticulated to their mother. Likely she now knew the cause of their father’s illness.

His mother’s sharp eyes immediately noticed him shuffling into the throne room. ‘Ashoka,’ she said. Her voice sounded scratchy. ‘My dear, you’ve heard the news of your father?’

‘Yes, mother.’ Ashoka made his way past the royal advisors and servants who bowed respectfully after him, and for whom he bowed in return. As he came closer, he was able to spot her watery eyes and tremoring hands as she clasped the armrests.

Ashoka knelt at his mother’s feet and felt her soft hands cup his chin. Her eyes resembled those of the obsidian leopards.

‘He’ll live,’ Ashoka said to his mother, despite knowing that it was nothing but a false promise.

‘He’ll live,’ Manali echoed, but her smile wasn’t believable enough. She patted his cheek fondly and stroked his hair in a reassuring manner.

‘Indeed. Our father will live, and the mayakari will burn for what they’ve done,’ Aarya vowed. Her cheeks glistened with streaks of salt and water.

Ashoka couldn’t help himself from cringing at Aarya’s words of reckoning. Their mother frowned.

‘Aarya,’ she reprimanded. ‘All we have is hearsay until the physicians arrive with the definite story. Never assume anything without certainty. Have I not taught you this basic principle?’

In response, Aarya rolled her eyes. ‘Of course, mother,’ she scoffed. ‘How natural it is for a poison to spread like black cobwebs. It can’t possibly be a mayakari’s doing. My, what was I thinking ?’

Being the only daughter had not prevented Aarya from choosing her favoured parent and it was not their mother. Empress Manali was a mediator, a peacekeeper. Aarya respected hard authority, and that was not their mother.

Ashoka would, of course, have answered differently.

Empress Manali narrowed her eyes a fraction. ‘Already jumping to conclusions,’ she said. ‘You are too much like Adil.’

Aarya seemed unruffled by their mother’s statement. ‘Thank you, mother,’ she smiled.

‘That wasn’t a compliment, Aarya.’ Arush’s loud voice boomed from behind them. His older brother entered, flanked by his guards. Though his voice was snide, his eyes were downcast.

Aarya crossed her arms defiantly. ‘I don’t see how. It is a compliment to be compared to father,’ she said, her eyes flashing with sudden ferocity. ‘He will recover and inflict punishment on the wretched mayakari who did this to him.’

Ashoka flinched. Aarya talked about murder the way Saudamini talked about the weather.

It was then that Ashoka caught sight of Rahil entering the throne room and silently taking up position just beyond the family cluster. His dual broadswords were strapped to his back, encased in an ironwood sheath. They had been Rahil’s father’s.

Having Rahil nearby placated Ashoka’s nerves. Emboldened him.

‘If this was the work of a mayakari, should you be surprised?’ he asked. ‘Even the supposedly peaceful can break after being subjected to years of oppression. Sounds like karmic retribution to me.’

The way Aarya reacted; it was as if he’d slapped her senseless. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I think you heard me well enough the first time,’ he retorted.

Aarya glared at him. She was easier than Arush to argue with, but more difficult to temper. As a child, most of the fights he remembered had started with her.

Just as his sister opened her mouth to fire what would have been an acidic retort, the sound of commotion could be heard outside the door of the throne room. Ashoka saw his mother straighten and tense, her hands gripping the seat rest as if bracing herself for an emotional onslaught.

Suddenly, the doors opened with a loud groan and a woman dressed in a loose black shift and trousers entered. She was a senior court physician, and one of his father’s most trusted: Lata. Dark shadows painted her under eyes, and her curls were in disarray.

‘Empress Manali!’ Lata rushed in, dropping onto one knee immediately at the sight of them, head bowed. ‘Your Highness. Emperor Adil, I-I—’

Even before the physician uttered her next words, Ashoka guessed the remainder by instinct alone.

A terrible, gnawing feeling reached around his neck and pulled tight. He knew the next few words as if they were prophecy. Knew it as surely as he knew the constellations in the night sky.

‘Emperor Adil,’ the physician repeated, her forehead lightly dusted in a sheen of sweat. ‘I— my condolences, Your Highness. Your husband died on the steps of the palace entrance. We suspect that it is due to mayakari magic and... we could not revive him.’

Your husband died.

Could not revive him.

His father, dead.

Dead .

His father. The emperor.

Dead .

Aarya was as still as a statue, and her normally cold eyes appeared glazed. Arush’s stance was rigid, his lips parted in disbelief. Ashoka found himself unable to move, as if his mind and body had completely separated from shock. His hands were tremoring. His breaths were shallow.

On the throne, his mother remained still, as unmoving as the mayakari that burned in the night.