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In Lodra, that would be unacceptable.
A few other soldiers gather around me, and I start to talk about Lodra and the war that is almost certainly going to happen – if I get my way.
“It is inevitable,” I tell them, and I cannot help but smile.
This war is the only way I’ll get my revenge. It cannot not happen.
“Lodra will fall to the other powers of Nagaland. Right now, Lodra’s Royal Guard is being run by a traitorous naga who gave himself to a human woman. They have half-bred children and are tainting the royal family’s image.”
“Didn’t Prince Zalith do that already?” one of the naga asks me, and we all burst into raucous laughter at the mention of Prince Zalith.
I spend the rest of the day, and then the week, speaking about the war. Speaking about overthrowing Lodra.
Planting seeds of what’s to come. Creating murmurs that might reach the King.
And by the end of the week, Dransa is taking me back to the throne room.
“It seems your little motivational speeches have made quite an impression on His Majesty,” Dransa says.
I shrug and do not answer. Dransa presses his lips into a thin line, his face grim with disapproval.
“There he is,” King Kriseri calls, almost cheerfully. He orders everyone else in the room. “Leave us!”
Within seconds, we’re alone. The only thing audible enough to reach my ears is my own breath.
“Now,” Kriseri says. “I’ve been thinking about our last conversation. And I think it is time we start planning a revolution. I think we owe it to the naga of Lodra.”
And just like that, Kriseri and I plan a mutiny.
2
MAYA
“Well,” I tell Ella, my voice as cheerful as I can make it. “At least it wasn’t worse.”
She lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob as I examine her leg. Ella and I are out in Yadat’s fields, which are a few miles away from Yadat’s main town.
Ella and I, along with the rest of the slaves, have been out here since just after dawn. It is harvest time in Yadat, and the fields need to be culled.
Everything was going fairly well. At least, as well as it can go for a bunch of slaves forced into back breaking labor. That is, until noon when Ella fell and scraped her leg.
Actually, ‘scraped’ isn’t the right word.
The wound in her leg is an ugly gash, and the pain of it must be intense because her usually beautiful almost copper skin has gone gray with pain.
“It’s okay,” I murmur to her as I pull a few supplies from my pockets. “I’ve got just the thing here.”
When I look up, just before I pour my cleansing liquid over the wound, I see that Ella’s eyes are tightly shut and she is biting down on her lower lip.
I know that the pain must be excruciating for Ella, and despite my cheerful, optimistic exterior, I am quite worried about her.
We are slaves to the naga, and our usefulness is dependent on our ability to work.
I’ve seen what happens to the injured and the elderly. The naga won’t be merciful if Ella is badly injured.
I know the same thoughts must be going through her head, even faster than in mine, and I try to inhale slowly so that I do not let out the gasping breaths of pain that I want to.
I need to remain optimistic. I need to remain cheerful. I cannot let her see me worry for her.
