Kala handed him a crossbow with two quarrels affixed. ‘Borrowed it from your friends. Can you use it?’ Fortunately, he was ambidextrous. ‘I can manage.’ He took his time and shot an arrow that knocked a rider onto the cobbled stones behind his horse. He shot the second arrow at the assassin on the roof, who ducked, dropping his own crossbow in the process.

The street ahead was waterlogged. Kala wheeled right into an alley. The horses skidded before righting themselves and taking the slope ahead. Karna could finally see a town adjoining the harbour, a tangle of serpentine alleys and streets, lit like a forest of fireflies from a hundred alchemical lamps. The sound of galloping horses, hot in pursuit, did not allow them the luxury of considering their options.

‘Where are we going?’ Karna asked.

‘Chilika Fort.’

‘But we cannot ride at full speed through that!’

‘I know, damn you!’

The next few minutes marked the wildest ride Karna had ever taken. Kala’s skill was exhilarating. The cart glided through the tangles, knocking over stalls, barely managing to avoid innocent bystanders… but it was enough. A while later, Karna turned to look behind, then leaned close to say, ‘I think we’ve lost them, Kala.’

‘I’m glad you are still alive, my Lamb.’

‘Not for long. You…your hair is different.’

‘What do you mean, not for long?’

‘Erm…’ he felt dizzy. Words were tangling themselves in knots on his tongue. ‘I have…have…been poisoned.’

‘Did you dine with Prakar Mardin?’ Kala’s voice was alarmed.

So, it was her. Karna groaned. ‘No. It was…an arrow.’ Karna held onto the rocking cart. ‘I know what you did, Kala. You...’ he groaned, feeling obnoxiously weak. ‘You…killed Prakar Mardin.’

‘An incident I’m sure you can forget…as repayment for breaking my heart. Savvy?’

‘You…you...’ he fell against Kala’s shoulder.

‘Let me rephrase it,’ she said, ‘...in repayment for saving your life. Admit it, I’m a guardian spirit, Lamb, sent here by the Storm God to save you.’

‘You…are a killer,’ he managed to say before slipping down into the back of the cart, poisoned, wounded, and drained of strength.

III

When Karna opened his eyes, he found he was lying on his back, looking up at a fiery mural on a stone ceiling. The mural depicted the Kalingan Ocean Goddess devouring mortal men. Karna glanced around the chamber. He lay on a pallet, wearing nothing but a breechclout. For once he was glad for the breastplate stitched to his skin. His left arm was in a cast. His thigh was on fire. His stomach felt twisted. Karna groaned and closed his eyes again.

‘About time you woke up,’ said a familiar voice.

Karna winked one eye open. He saw deep-set eyes peering at him over a stubborn jaw. It was as handsome a face as any, sporting a beard groomed with fastidious care. He wore a red, enamelled breastplate and maroon cloak. Prince Duryodhan, Heir Apparent of the Hastina Union, stood by Karna’s bed. A man of fierce emotions, his face was currently creased in furrowed lines of worry. He rested a hand on Karna’s shoulder and his lips curved in a smile. ‘I am not your wet nurse, you know.’