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The Kin'jal pilots had landed a half-dozen Acira at different locations around Jatan Forest. Overkill, by all accounts. Just about right for the Royal Balarian Guard.
They claimed it was to ensure sufficient air cover in case the Children pursued, though Maiya wondered if they’d simply used the mission as an excuse to conduct a field training exercise away from the castle. Or rather, whether Ira had gotten them out by convincing it could be used as such.
It was a wholly unnecessary precaution, as it turned out. They’d taken to the air with no one being the wiser, and it stayed that way the entire trip. The cover of night certainly helped, though Maiya doubted that things would have played out any differently had it been done under broad daylight. The Royal Guard were easily stronger than Ira’s handmaidens, and many boasted Balar Ranks in the hundreds.
The strategy had another benefit, however—it allowed some of the other Acira to race ahead to Sonam with advance warning of Maiya’s impending arrival. And Maiya felt there was indeed a great need to warn Ira.
The truth was, after learning of the Blessed Chosen’s powers, Maiya was no longer sure whether she ought to meet with Princess Ira in person. Ever again. The Blessed Chosen might only be able to track the locations of the cultists, but it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out who she might be interacting with if he learned she was frequenting the Royal Quarter.
Then again, she had already done exactly that, so she figured the damage had already been done. Rather, she couldn’t understand why the Blessed Chosen had chosen to ignore her Kin’jal affiliation. Was he simply too deranged to care? Or, as he claimed, was he working under the influence of some greater power?
He certainly seemed to believe so. If that was the case, however, and Maiya was being handed power, the question became why. Nobody granted such powerful gifts without strings attached. Least of all gods.
Maiya’s turmoil was abruptly cut short when their Acira landed in one of the stables for Sawai—outside the royal quarter.
I suppose that’s one way around it, Maiya mused as she gracefully alighted. Meeting outside the castle grounds won’t give anything away to the Blessed Chosen.
Yamal approached the moment they landed.
“I was beginning to think we’d never get you out of there,” Yamal said, visibly relieved.
“Kin’jal forces would’ve had to work with someone on the inside. I take it that was you?” Maiya asked.
“Well, I just put them in touch with the Sisters. If not for your groundwork, none of this would’ve been possible.”
Maiya gave Yamal an appraising look. He was useless in a fight, but it seemed he had other talents she’d overlooked. She’d remember that.
“And Camas?” Maiya asked.
“Surprisingly helpful. You seem to have gained quite a posse with that group,” Yamal said, his lips taut.
Maiya guessed the man was thinking of the demonstration she gave Camas’ little gang. True to her word, she’d been putting them to good use, getting them to squash cultists who didn’t quite agree with the idea of a new member ascending the ranks so quickly. She’d initially expected little, but they’d done a decent job.
About time he atoned for all the evil he’s wrought.
“This way, madam,” a Balarian Royal Guard said, gesturing for Maiya to follow. “Your friend is welcome as well.”
A look of surprise passed over Yamal’s face, though he fell in beside Maiya as they walked the wide Sawai streets.
“Any words from the Silent One?” Maiya asked. “I feel like he disappeared off the face of the realm.”
Yamal shook his head. “I put feelers out as well. No luck. No one knows what happened to him.”
Maiya suppressed a frown. What would he do if he learned I killed his brother?
She only hoped the princess could shed some clarity on this murky situation. If she couldn’t, Maiya doubted anyone could.
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Princess Ira Kin’jal was seated alone in a private room on the third floor of an upscale Sawai lounge. She wore no disguise, though she wore no lavish dress or makeup either, and that was almost as good.
Ira was naturally beautiful, but she was as thin as a needle. Those who knew of her reputation would never expect her to leave the castle without guard, and those who’d seen her with her puffy gowns and masterful makeup would never guess she was as frail as she really was.
Though, in her case, the frailty was a carefully crafted deception. Ira purposefully ate little and kept her frame slim, precisely to maintain her image.
Which only made her scarier in Maiya’s mind.
The princess rose from her table and embraced Maiya in a tight hug.
Maiya, who’d never grown accustomed to Ira’s casual behavior, stood awkwardly, waiting for the moment to pass.
“Would it kill you to reciprocate, even just once?” Ira said, pulling away with a pout.
Maiya simply raised her brow.
“Hah, fine. This room is secure,” Ira said somewhat irritably, gesturing for Maiya to take a seat across from her. “We have much to discuss, so tell me everything.”
Maiya glanced out the window, which overlooked the clean, orderly streets below. It didn’t look like a secure location, and not a single guard was with them inside the room. That, however, meant little. Maiya didn’t doubt Ira’s handmaidens had the building covered and surrounded. That, and the fact that no one likely knew of this meeting, granted them security.
So Maiya shelved those concerns aside, organized her thoughts, and dove into the heart of the matter.
“The Blessed Chosen knows I’m an agent. The Sisters of Gray want me to take his place. And there may be eldritch gods who wish for the same.”
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Maiya spent the next hour narrating events, pausing only to provide her thoughts and analysis of the situation. During that time, food and water had been brought, though she’d hardly touched her plate.
Ira, as usual, allowed her to speak uninterrupted, and even after she’d finished, the princess said nothing, opting to gaze out at the streets below.
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It was when Maiya was halfway through her third vegetable kebab that she finally spoke.
“I agree,” Ira said at last.
“With what?” Maiya asked.
“With your assessment that something may very well be going on here. Though, it is not some unseen deity that I fear, but rather the political machinations of another nation. I fear we may already have lost the battle for dominance over the Children.”
Maiya frowned. “If that were true, though, why would he be so afraid of me? You think it’s a ploy to bring me down?”
Ira stood and paced around the room, one hand tapping her chin. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. The situation in Sai has unfortunately taken a turn for the worse.”
“The rioters,” Maiya said, understanding Ira’s meaning. “You hadn’t known?”
Ira shook her head. “On the contrary, I’d known about the rebels’ activity for some time. It was why I wanted you there before they acted. I’d hoped that your actions would have bought us some time, forcing them to reconsider their actions. I hadn’t calculated they’d move as quickly as they did.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Riyan?” Maiya asked softly, keeping all traces of accusation out of her voice.
Ira sighed. “I’m sorry, Maiya. You deserved to know. I am aware of your history with that man. I wasn’t sure how you’d react. If the rebels hadn’t moved that night, you’d never have met him. I see now that I was wrong. For that, you have my sincerest apology.”
Ira didn’t lower her head, though Maiya never expected her to. An apology was already far beneath her station.
“It’s fine,” Maiya quickly said, acutely aware of the gravitas of a royal apology. “Did, er… Did they succeed?”
“Not yet, though Sai is in quite the predicament at the moment. While your actions had the intended impact, I’m afraid the rebels’ attack has pushed the current regime to their breaking point. It is difficult to say how long they will last.”
“Thus realizing your worst fears,” Maiya said, addressing the elephant in the room. “If Sai falls, Andros will move in under the guise of re-establishing order. At best, he’ll install a puppet regime. At worst, he’ll expand Kin’jals borders, seizing Sai entirely.”
“Indeed,” Ira said, chewing on a fingernail. “I’m afraid that events are accelerating out of control.”
Maiya was silent for a moment. Then she said something she never thought possible. “We should contact Riyan. It’d be foolish not to work together.”
Ira threw her a look of surprise.
“Perhaps, though I fail to see how this solves our biggest problem. No matter how strong this rebellion is, they will fall before Kin’jal’s military might. Being a new government, they’ve yet to forge relations with the Altani—relations that would have kept them safe from my father.”
“Maybe. I wouldn’t underestimate Riyan, though, if I were you. I abhor that man, but I have to admit he’s fanatical about Hiranya. If there’s even a baby’s chance in the Ash, he’ll wrangle a deal with them. I’m sure of it. Besides,” Maiya said coyly. “There’s another angle we could take.”
“A baby’s chance in the Ash, is it?” Ira said with a wry smile, causing Maiya to flush. “But please—do say more. I’m listening.”
“As I said,” Maiya said, clearing her throat. “Riyan wants Hiranya’s prosperity above all else. King Rayid is… Well, you know how he is.”
“Incompetent,” Ira said flatly. “Neither great nor truly terrible. Mediocre.”
“Exactly. And there just happens to be someone in the line of succession who, by all reports, is anything but mediocre.”
“You speak of Prince Sanobar Hiranya?” Ira said. “I’ve met the boy once or twice. It is true that he has a good head on his shoulders… But I fail to see your point here. If you’re suggesting we incite a coup within Hiranya to put Sanobar on the throne…”
“If I am?”
“Then I am disappointed, and you are far more naïve than I’d thought. Rebellions are not simple affairs, Maiya. Even if Sanobar was willing to oust his father, which I highly doubt he will be given his nature, where is his backing? Where is his army?”
Maiya smiled devilishly. “Riyan would be more than happy to handle all the legwork. Mark my words. Also, I never said anything about a successful coup. Did I?”
Ira ceased pacing. Her eyes widened as she caught onto Maiya’s plan.
“You truly do wish to see your country burn, don’t you?” Ira said, a hint of sadness in her voice.
“Not everyone,” Maiya muttered. “But Rayid? Mina, and her ilk? Gladly.”
“A daring gambit,” Ira commented. “Nay, an insane one. You hope to play upon Andros’ obsession for conquest. You hope to draw out his forces to the borders of both Hiranya and Sai. If we instigate both rebellions in tandem…”
“It’d leave Kin’jal, and specifically Sonam, quite unprotected, don’t you think? After all, who’d be crazy enough to waste valuable Balarian warriors defending an impregnable citadel like Sonam while there’s conquest to be had, let alone two?”
“Certainly not Andros,” Ira said, her eyes envisioning this potential future.
“Certainly not Andros,” Maiya echoed. “It’ll be the opportunity of a lifetime. Too irresistible for someone like him to pass up. You’ll never have a better chance.”
“And yet, Fate could not be more cruel. It is too soon,” Ira said. “I am not ready.”
“Get me a meeting with Sanobar and Riyan. I can work with them to coordinate. Maybe they’ll even help come up with a plan to take down Andros. At least, I’m sure Riyan would. I know you’ve been struggling with that.”
“Indeed,” Ira said pensively. “There is just one flaw with your plan.”
Her expression turned into a predatory smile, and Maiya almost shirked back.
“Yes?” she said, mustering her confidence to counter whatever Ira was about to say.
“The Childrens’ intelligence network is far too valuable an asset to ignore. Especially if we plan to go after two countries at once. If we do this, you will have to assume the mantle of Blessed Chosen.”
Maiya opened her mouth… but couldn’t find the words to argue.
“I know. I will.”
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Bheem stole through Kaiya’s cool night streets with the natural grace that only a native of the city could. One might assume that, despite his great stature, he’d have a difficult time remaining unnoticed. Bheem, however, had no such issues.
A hunched back, short, timid steps, and averted eyes went far to make the big man appear smaller from afar, allowing most peoples’ attention to slide right off. He would know—he’d had a lifetime to perfect the art, even if he’d had no cause to dust off those skills in a while.
Angling off the thoroughfare, Bheem turned onto one of many breezy streets that led to the ocean. The northern chill had rarely ever bothered him. Quite the opposite, actually. Kin’jali weather might have been idyllic, but there was something visceral about a Saian winter he sorely missed. Most would call it difficult and harsh. For him, it was home.
Tracing his steps to the familiar access hatch he’d used countless times, he dropped into the sewers.
The stink and the pitch-black darkness would scare anyone. Bheem had felt the same the first few times he’d delved its depths, pulled along by his elder brother.
But feelings—whether of happiness or terror—never won against the unavoidable might of monotony.
By the dozenth time, Bheem felt no fear.
By the hundredth, he’d grown bored of it.
Now, the long journey to the bottom-most depths of the ancient sewer system was nothing more than a chore—a task to be completed. Danger was the furthest thing from his mind.
No, what he feared was his response. After all, the Silent One had failed. He’d run away, tail between his legs. What would he say? Would he provide guidance, as he always had? Or would he banish him?
The closest thing Bheem had to a father. Who’d named him and his brother. Names they’d treasured and kept as secret as precious gems.
The pitch-blackness gave way to beautiful shimmering blue lights, illuminating a long-lost city. Or rather, an Outpost, as Janak had corrected him so many times.
If there was one thing, however, that had never once dulled in its awesome grandeur, it was this place. Bheem’s amazement at the buildings’ grandeur remained as intact as it had been on that day when he and his brother had first discovered it.
This was their secret. Something no one else knew.
For Bheem had been raised by a god.
Janak appeared—as he always did—without warning or indication, his brilliant white-and blue form materializing as majestically as ever. His flowing white beard and glowing azure eyes always commanded a measure of respect, and Bheem fought his instinct to kneel.
It’d taken many years, but Janak had broken him out of that habit long ago, and Bheem didn’t want to start off this reunion on the wrong foot. It was unlikely to be pleasant, as it was.
To Bheem’s surprise, it went nothing like he’d thought—though by now, he really ought to have expected it.
“Unable to bear the weight of your task, you have returned,” Janak said in a voice both deep and full of divinity. Even now, Bheem refused to believe he wasn’t real. That he was a mere copy of the great Lord Janak. To Bheem, Janak was every bit a deity. Especially when his wisdom ran so deep.
“No, child, I am not disappointed. Merely… weary. Weary that, I must be the messenger of terrible truths.”
Bheem opened his mouth, though a wheeze was all he could manage. It was all he could ever manage, ever since that day his tongue was cut.
“If you cannot save your brother, then you must be the one to kill him,” Janak’s words, though spoken softly, thundered in Bheem’s ears.
Kill…
“No matter what, you must be the one to take his place. Do you understand? She cannot succeed. If she does, the future of this realm may be lost.”
A lone tear rolled down Bheem’s cheek. Then the hesitation was gone. He closed his eyes and nodded.
Bheem understood what needed to be done. He would not let his brother die. No matter what. Not even if it went against his brother’s wishes.