‘What happened?’ Satyaki croaked painfully, raising his head and squinting through bloodshot eyes, his throat raspy from dust and smoke.

‘Why Satyaki, didn’t you hear the news?’ Krishna smiled weakly, half-blinded by tears. ‘I won the War.’

EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE

JUSTICE

He had been a loyal friend. He had done the honourable thing, hadn’t he? Yet this was where honour and loyalty had brought him. Imprisoned and chained like a rabid dog.

Karna squinted, then stared, seeing nothing but dust-hued blackness. He could not see his own hand in front of his face. Not that he could move it anyway. They had chained his wrists to the ceiling. His ankles had not been spared either, for chains tethered him to the ground. He was grateful for the thin breastplate he had been born with. It soothed the pain in his ribs. But it did nothing for his exposed arms. If he stretched his toes, his feet just touched the clammy stones, giving his wrists momentary relief from the throbbing agony of bearing the weight of his suspended body. But the respite was short-lived, for his calves protested, burning fiercely till he had to let go and swing by his chafed wrists once again.

The cell felt thick with fear, the looming threat so heavy it made the hairs on his neck prickle. Without his horse, had Duryodhan been able to escape? Or even survive? The jump had been a deep one. But, with Karna holding up an army at the only exit, the Prince had not had the luxury of options.

Marzaana’s freckled face under her red hair swam before Karna’s swollen eyes. I should never have brought her into this. Did the Emperor think she was connected to their foolhardy plan? If he did, would he be content to exile her, or would he be more direct in his punishment? She would live. She was the most resourceful woman he knew.

Perhaps I should think about saving myself for a change. He would have laughed if he could. But there was little to ponder on the subject. His mind had already flipped around like a frog in hot water, seeking any desperate way out of the trap they had so stupidly walked into. Would he have to negotiate with his captors? After all, the guards had called him a ‘political prisoner’. He grunted. He had been done with talking after Prakar Mardin, yet here he was again, in an even more disadvantageous position than he had been on the Fat Mistress.