Beside him, a window taller than the tallest palace guard, was carved along the curve of the tower. Shakuni shaded his eyes with his hand as he looked out. Hastinapur spread before him in neat grids of houses divided into sectors for Namins, Ksharjas and Drachmas, a place for everyone amidst a map of straight roads speckled with wide squares. This part of the city, around the Crest, was called Crowns. The Crowns was carved from rose coloured quartz, the beautiful pink lanes vaulting downwards around quartz-lined avenues, turning Hastinapur into a palette of red, pink and lilac pastels. Even the gardens were perfect, for the Hastinas were obsessed with order. There was not a vine, flower or tree in the Crowns that wasn’t sculpted as it grew. From this point of vantage, it seemed a place of supreme beauty and peace.

But Shakuni knew better.

By the time he reached the King’s floor, he looked so victorious it was as if he’d just scaled a peak. Pathetic. When he arrived, only the King’s old guardsman, Ahira, was present. The eunuch always cut an intimidating figure, no matter how exalted her surroundings. She’d guarded three Hastina Kings in her lifetime. Fair skinned and white haired, she turned to face Shakuni as he approached. He always wondered whether Ahira and the White Eagle had ever got round to talking about their snubbed desires. Then again, who was he to speak of desires? The House of Kauravas had taken care of that long ago.

‘Lord Shakuni, you are late,’ Ahira said.

Shakuni glanced down at his crippled leg, then at the stairs, and shrugged.

‘The King is now…busy in his chambers.’

Shakuni was well versed in the language of nuance, so he narrowed his eyes as if to ask: Do you want me to spell out what I can do to your adopted son?

She must have understood, for she bowed slightly, saying, ‘But you may enter.’

That’s more like it. ‘You are too kind,’ Shakuni grated. ‘The Union thanks you for your dedicated service.’ Saying which, the most feared man in the Union walked into the King’s chamber.

II