The Mosquito and the Lion

four

As the sun rose over the distant mountains of Purti, casting soft pinks and dazzling purples across the skies, they finally arrived at the palace gate.

"What business?" the watchguard asked. He wore a gray plate of armor and a ring of light blue beads cuffed his upper arm. She recognized the beads as a symbol of his status in the Kingdom's sena. Though it happened rarely, sometimes members of the cavalry were sent into Toshalwar to protect valuable resources from Koloe.

Nandini glanced nervously at Alia. Her messages to the Queen had been vague in the hopes of smuggling her into the palace safely. Their skirmish in the road indicated just how foolish a hope that had been.

"I am Nandini Kaur, a messenger from Toshalwar. The Queen should be expecting me."

He nodded, disappearing into a small brick alcove. Wisps of hair clung to Alia's neck as she sweat nervously, her hands balled into the pleats of her sari. All of this was happening far too quickly, and bile rose in the back of her throat, the acidic taste burning her tongue.

When he returned, he carried a leaflet of papers. "Where's the Kshat you were travelling with?"

"Right here!" Vikram called from the front of the carriage. "We had a run-in with bandits. The driver didn't make it."

The guard started, his eyes wide with surprise. "They attacked an imperial carriage?"

Alia could not see Vikram's face, but she could imagine his convincing grimace as he said, "They are getting bolder every day." She smiled to herself. For a Kshat guard, with his love for order and laws, he was a surprisingly good liar.

Though, she supposed they lied to themselves about their worthiness every day. But Alia had seen enough officers take bribes and plant evidence to know they were no better than common thieves like her.

The watchguard sighed, shaking his head forlornly, but, thankfully, he did not push for more details. Instead, he went back into his makeshift office. The metal screeched as he opened the iron gate, sending an uncomfortable tingle through her teeth.

The gate was heavily ornamented, with the Maurya crest welded onto its bars. Two peacock feathers curved around to form the outer edge of the symbol. Though it appeared to be made out of gold, the smithing work was delicate and precise. The feathers were so fine that Alia was sure they would crumble in her hands if she tried to pry them off the gate. In the center of the crest was a blooming lotus.

Legend had it that centuries ago, a poor farmer prayed for the good fortune and blessings of the Goddess of Wealth. Sampradi, pleased with his earnest prayers and offerings, descended from the heavens and gifted him seeds. Though the man had expected coin or a bountiful harvest, he dutifully accepted the gift.

But soon after he planted the seeds, a terrible storm wreaked havoc on his town, the river flooding and levelling his farm. His crop was destroyed, and he was going to lose the land. Still, he toiled every day, tending to the plants in the blind faith that Sampradi would protect him.

He was right. The farmer had never seen a more abundant harvest. And when the lotus bloomed, he was stunned to find the center was made of pure gold. With the wealth at his disposal, and the graces of Sampradi, he was said to be the first King of Maurya.

The orphanage would make them recite the stories of Maurya. Alia always hated the task and would purposely change details of the tales to upset the teachers. Even now, she could see the scars from their beatings, when they would smack a stick into the palm of her hand until her blood dripped down her fingertips and her voice was hoarse from sobbing.

But when Vikram had stared at that damned plant in her room, when he explained how it was simply impossible for it to grow in the Toshalwar climate, she knew the story had to carry some truth. The Maurya line still carried the Goddess's favor.