‘Manu was rather verbose, Your Grace,’ said Kripa. ‘If I may be excused from reading on? Unless, of course, Prince Sahadev is of the opinion further excerpts require it?’ He smiled at Sahadev, who stood slack-jawed. ‘In short, Your Grace, unlike the decision on the Crown Prince, which was a referral from the Tribunal, amendment of a Diktat requires the entire Council of Eight. Not the Tribunal, not the Hundred, but the Eight; a process I can initiate rightaway.’

Kripa allowed Sahadev an agonizing moment to consider the implications, then said, ‘Prince Duryodhan is a member of the Eight, as is Lord Shalya. We will send our fastest riders on Gandharan steeds to them, and pray they return to Hastina swiftly. With Mathura under siege by the Magadhan host, we can only hope the Emperor will spare Prince Bheem and Princess Draupadi from his wrath. Loathe as I am to admit it, with Greek Fire and airavats, I am afraid Mathura’s chances does not look promising.’

Sahadev stared at Shakuni. All the books on earth cannot prepare you for what comes with experience, bastard, Shakuni wanted to say, but for now he decided to let Sahadev imagine Shakuni’s words. A few hours ago, it had been he chewing his nails, silently stewing and turning over various unlikely scenarios to get what he wanted. When the White Eagle had set them on the path of partition, Shakuni had to ensure Yudhistir got nothing out of it. That is why he had immediately drawn a line on the map of the Union. A clever line. Equal only in size. While Hastinapur itself was marked for Duryodhan, along with Gandhar and Anga, the enormous swathes of the Khandavprastha forest, along with Madra and Varnavrat, fell in Yudhistir’s domain.

But Yudhistir would never have agreed to this. Madra was already Nakul and Sahadev’s maternal legacy through their mother, Madri. And it was well known that Madra was a part of the Union only in name, for Shalya played his own games. Varnavrat barely passed for a town. And Khandavprastha was a ruin, worse, a dangerous place.

Shakuni could have forced it down their throats had he had the time to plant his seeds, or if he were alone with them. But with members of the Eight present in the chamber, and the Hundred outside…no. This was a different battlefield, with different rules. And that was when his prayers had been answered in the form of the scroll from the messenger. A messenger, who had ridden his horse to death to deliver a request. A request for urgent aid, it would seem, from a neighbour. How fortunate that he had run straight into one of Shakuni’s Mists. All Shakuni had to do then was goad Yudhistir into digging a trap for himself, so the survival of his wife, brother, and allies, depended on how quickly he surrendered. And his plan had worked like a well-oiled rat trap.