SIXTY-ONE

Waiting, waiting, and more waiting.

Gods, I hated it!

My lady Amrita was not idle. Guided by her preternaturally clever son’s counsel, she met with the commander of the Royal Guard, which was the nearest thing to an army that Bhaktipur had. Together, they chose a spot in neutral territory suitable for an ambush, a plateau above the valley of Bhaktipur, but below the peaks of Kurugiri. It had enough open space to inspire trust, but there were copses of spruce trees that would hide a mounted battalion with a bit of creative effort.

A battalion of fifty skilled riders and archers was dispatched, hurrying to make camp and conceal it before the possibility of such an action might arise in our opponents’ minds. It was important to remain three steps ahead of them.

We waited.

On the advice of the commander of her guard, we confined ourselves to the palace grounds, and Amrita and her son abandoned their sleeping-quarters to pass their nights in the hidden room her husband had commissioned before he dared to wed a beautiful, young bride.

I had to own, it was a clever design. Young Ravindra must have inherited his head for strategy from his father. The steep, narrow stair that led to the hidden room was concealed behind an elaborately embroidered wall-hanging depicting the goddess Durga on her tiger. Nothing about the architecture of the palace suggested it was there.

The room itself was small, but not unpleasant. It even had a balcony that looked out onto an interior courtyard garden with a fountain at the center, filled with growing plants, and birds and monkeys, too. Amrita invited me to join them, but I refused, feeling I’d already imposed more than enough on their lives.

I tried setting ward-stones around my room as I had learned to do travelling across the Tatar steppe, but the charm didn’t work in a man-made dwelling. At least my own balcony was high and inaccessible; and clever Ravindra came up with the idea of stringing bells to the outer door of my own sleeping-chamber, so that if anyone were to succeed in forcing the lock, the clamor would awaken me before they entered, and I might summon the twilight.

In a week’s time, the Falconer’s messenger returned with the expected reply, delivering it with relish.

“His majesty Tarik Khaga agrees that the dakini Moirin is entitled to hear Bao’s refusal from his own lips,” he said smoothly. “His majesty invites her to accompany me to Kurugiri as his honored guest.”

Clearly, the Falconer’s messenger reckoned this was a counterstroke of masterful strategy on the part of the forces of Kurugiri. The Rani Amrita furrowed her brow and looked troubled, letting him believe she was at a loss for a response. “As ever, it is the dakini Moirin’s choice,” she said carefully. “Again, we will take counsel. Go, and come back tomorrow.”

He bowed, and went.

There was no need to take counsel this time. Our plans were set. Amrita would have liked to use the day to make another round of temple offerings, but her commander of the guard, a handsome fellow named Hasan Dar, was adamant about not venturing beyond the palace walls.

“Tarik Khaga may tire of this game you play with him, highness,” he said earnestly to her. “For all we know, he already has, and his assassins lie in wait. There are too many people in the streets, and it is too difficult to protect you. Please, take no risks. Make your offerings at the household altar. The gods will understand.”

Reluctantly, Amrita agreed; and we heaped the household altar high with garlands of dried flowers, offerings of food and incense.

A day later, the Falconer’s messenger returned, and Amrita delivered our final edict to him, a surprisingly stern note in her musical voice.

“Given your master’s history, the dakini Moirin does not believe this offer is made in good faith,” she said. “And I agree with her. So! We refuse.”

“Then-” the messenger began.

Once again, my lady Amrita raised her right hand in the pose of fearlessness, silencing him. “I offer a compromise. I propose a meeting of both parties on neutral ground. Do you know the plateau beneath the Sleeping Calf Rock?” she inquired.

He nodded warily.

“Very good.” She gave a brisk nod in reply. “Let us meet there, your master and I. The dakini Moirin will accompany me, and your master will bring this young man Bao. No weapons on either side. Each of us will be escorted by no more than ten unarmed guards. At a distance of five hundred paces, we will each exchange a guardsman to verify that both parties have honored these terms. Do I make myself understood?”

“Yes, highness.” The messenger licked his lips. “What do you expect this meeting to accomplish?”

I answered for her. “I expect to persuade Bao to leave your master’s service. If he does, I will honor my word and offer myself in his place.”

His gaze slid sideways toward me. “And if you fail?”

I called the twilight, wrapping its subtle dazzle around me. “I will not fail.”

The Falconer’s messenger looked away.

“I am weary of this game,” the Rani Amrita announced. “No more demands, no more offers. I will await your master on the plateau in one week’s time. Go, and tell Tarik Khaga the Falconer that that is my final word.”

“Yes, highness.” He bowed to her. “I will do so.”

Five days later, we set out for the plateau.

I was sick with unease. It seemed a good plan, but it was a dangerous one, too. With our hidden battalion, we would outnumber Tarik Khaga’s men six to one; but the battalion would have some distance to cross once the signal was given, and Khaga’s men were likely to be skilled assassins, one and all. Hasan Dar and the nine guards he had chosen to escort us were exceptional warriors, trained to fight with any weapon or none, but they were not assassins. And I had learned during my time in Bhaktipur that the Falconer was not the first to hold that dubious title, oh, no.

No, it was a hereditary mantle. For many generations, there had been a Falconer in Kurugiri, amassing years of knowledge of deadly killing arts. Until the advent of Jagrati the Spider Queen, none had killed save for hire.

This Falconer, Tarik Khaga, was different. Worse. He killed on a whim-his, or his Spider Queen’s.

It was a surety that his men would have weapons hidden on them-subtle weapons, garrotes and throwing knives, mayhap poisoned darts like the one with which Black Sleeve had killed Bao.

I was afraid for myself, but the insistent blaze of my diadh-anam told me I had to go. More so, I was very afraid for the Rani Amrita, and I wished very, very much that she would not undertake this venture.

“I have to go, Moirin,” she said calmly when I sought to dissuade her. “It is clear now that the gods sent you to me. It is my kharma.”

“I do not see why you must risk yourself personally!” I said in frustration. “There is no sense in it.”

Amrita was silent a moment. “I felt the same when my lord Chakresh insisted on facing the Falconer’s assassins with his men,” she said presently. “He insisted it was a matter of honor and duty. Now that the same choice is upon me, I understand.” She laid a hand on my arm. “Please, do not quarrel with me, Moirin.”

Reluctantly, I acceded.

It was an auspicious day when we set out, clear and bright. The Rani Amrita bade farewell to her son in private and for the first time, I saw Ravindra as a child in truth. His narrow shoulders shook as he embraced his mother and wept, his tears dampening the cloth of her sari. She held him close, kissing the top of his head.

“Be brave, jewel of my heart,” she murmured. “I will draw strength from your courage.”

Ravindra straightened. “I will do my best, Mama-ji.”