The Prince Without Sorrow by Maithree Wijesekara

Author:Maithree Wijesekara
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2024-12-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ashoka

‘THAT’S THE YOUNGEST . . .’

‘. . . looks nothing like Emperor Adil . . .’

‘. . . those leopards are magnificent creatures, aren’t they . . .’

‘. . . heard he’s the mayakari sympathizer . . .’

The murmurs floated like dandelion seeds in the air, rife with accusation and wariness. As Ashoka had expected, curious heads and tentative whispers fluttered out onto the streets like moths towards a flame. The people of Taksila wanted to see the prince who had come to govern them. Did he share his father’s face? His countenance? His temper? Or was he just a sad counterfeit of a man they associated with power?

Neither, he thought. I am none of those things.

Heartbeat quickening at all the eyes that were placed firmly on him, Ashoka adjusted the reins on Rāga, his leopard. Rāga let out a displeased growl when he tightened her muzzle, and he instantly loosened his grip.

‘My apologies, Rāga,’ he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

Rāga simply huffed.

His small travelling party rode behind him as they passed through the streets of Taksila’s affluent half on their journey to the royal estate. Determined to avoid the confines of a stuffy ship for much of the journey, Ashoka had first elected to ride Sahry from the air. He only chose to return to the boat when she tired and they needed to dock for the night. That, and to ascertain Harini’s mood occasionally. Her nervousness had doubled the day he’d told her of the loss of Sau and Rahil, tripled when she heard of Shakti’s new position.

‘She shouldn’t be alone, Prince Ashoka,’ she’d told him. ‘Once I help you negotiate with the resistance, I want to return to the palace.’

He’d agreed without argument.

Sahry now flew freely above them, an additional marvel for the people to gaze at if she ever descended from the clouds. When he’d first seen Taksila from the air, its inharmonious contrast surprised him. The city lay at the base of a mountain range. Areas close to the wilderness, the north, were nothing but rubble, a muddied wasteland. Further south, where stretches of flat plains met the river, was a bustling metropolis. A clear demarcation was made between the northern and southern areas, the former of which were lined with drab, rundown houses tightly packed together, and the latter with more spacious, multi-storeyed palatial residences and well-maintained courtyards.

The royal estate where he was to reside was built on the affluent side, sticking out like a white peacock among its more colourful counterparts.

Despite knowing that there were a dozen solid bodies behind him, there was an ache, a gaping hole in his chest. The one person he’d wanted in Taksila more than anyone else was on a ship, sailing to Makon, and he’d been rash enough to send him there.

Sau needs Rahil more than I do; Ashoka repeated the phrase in his head like a mantra. Some part of him had been entirely convinced that he would be fine without Rahil, that he would be perfectly at ease for a few weeks without him.

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