The Tiger at Midnight by Swati Teerdhala

Author:Swati Teerdhala
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Katherine Tegen Books
Published: 2019-04-22T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 39

Esha breathed a sigh of relief as she wound through the streets of Amali. Finally, she was here, and not a moment too soon—in a week, it would be almost a moon since she had left the Blood Fort, leaving only one more moon before the peace summit.

Amali was nestled right in between the mountains and the desert like a diamond in a jeweled tiara. It was a part of the Parvalokh region, a swath of land that bordered the mountains and was crisscrossed by roads for traders and caravans.

It was a sophisticated system of roads for a region of Jansa whose nobility hadn’t allied with Vardaan, due to their distance from Gwali and proximity to Dharka. And it was the perfect region for Dharkan smugglers looking to bring their wares to eager Jansans who missed the days of open trade and borders.

And now with the drought, it was a key town in ensuring supplies got through to people who were in need. Harun had sent the team here more than a few times. It had made finding the scholar easier, knowing her way around this region.

Esha bit down a smile as she passed a frowning couple arguing over whether they needed to buy their young son a new knife as he stood to the side, playing with his own shadow and oblivious to both of them.

The boy reminded her of a friend she had shared a tutor with at the palace—a happy, silly boy who had too much action and joy in his heart for their poor tutor and his mother. She still remembered how they would climb up lemon trees and lob lemons at anyone who dared to pass by and pored over scrolls in the library till their eyes went crossed.

A type of friendship that only children could have—sweet, simple, and hopeful. Esha took a deep breath at the thought. Her rebels were her friends too, but as the Viper, there would always be a part of her she couldn’t show them. She had a reputation to keep up.

Esha reached the house she was looking for and knocked on the cracked wooden door to no answer. She had raised her hand to knock again when the door banged open and a stout woman with a round face peered out at her.

“I’m looking for a tailor. I caught my hem while on horseback,” Esha said, repeating the phrase Tana had written down for her.

“Yes, in here.”

The woman leaned out, looking left and right, before ushering her into the house. It was a rather small home, made all the smaller by the towers of opened and unopened scrolls that seemed to have been sneaked into every nook and cranny of the house.

“Our mutual friend tells me you used to be a scholar at the university in Gwali,” Esha said.

“I was a scholar of languages when the coup happened. Haven’t been allowed back in the Great Library since then.” She said the words straight, without a plea for sympathy, but Esha winced anyway.

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