Chapter 45: chapter 45

The fire crackled low, embers pulsing faintly in the dimness of the rebel camp. Sanmayi sat alone near the edge of the tented clearing, her back pressed against the rough bark of an ancient tree. The murmurs of the others reached her faintly, words she couldn’t or wouldn’t hear. They had summoned her to speak, demanded answers she wasn’t sure she could give. But for now, she lingered in the shadows, cloaked by the weight of indecision.The parchment in her lap—bearing Ranajay’s offer, written in his careful, steady hand—felt heavier than it should. The words on it danced mockingly in her mind, echoing promises of unity and peace. Yet how could she, who had fought so long and so bitterly, accept such a thing from the man who was once the embodiment of everything she hated?Her fingers tightened around the edges of the parchment. How easily it would crumble if she willed it.“Sanmayi,” a voice called, drawing her gaze toward the tent at the heart of the clearing. The council awaited her. They would not wait long.As she stood, tucking the parchment into the folds of her sari, a flood of memories gripped her. The voices of the slain whispered in her ears—the father who had cradled her as a child, the mother who had sacrificed everything, the innocents lost to Amaravati’s greed. Their blood called for vengeance, and she had promised to answer.But hadn’t she also promised herself peace? And what of the strange and inconvenient truth that Ranajay, for all his faults, had changed?Her steps were slow as she approached the council tent. Every footfall was a battle.Inside, the air was thick with the scent of burning oil and sharp herbs. A half-circle of faces turned toward her, lit by the wavering light of a central brazier. They were worn faces, scarred by loss and hardship, eyes hardened by years of fighting. These were her people, the rebels who had bled beside her, who had followed her lead.“Sanmayi,” Bhairav said gruffly, his deep voice cutting through the heavy silence. His grizzled beard and lined face marked him as one of the oldest and most seasoned of the resistance. “We’ve waited long enough. What is your answer?”She looked at him, then at the others. Their expressions varied—some filled with expectation, others with thinly veiled suspicion. She had been their beacon, their symbol of defiance against the crown. Now they feared she might falter.“I’ve not yet decided,” she admitted, her voice steady despite the unease churning in her chest.“Not decided?” Bhairav’s brows knit together. “You’ve had days, Sanmayi. Days to weigh this offer from the very man who stands as heir to our enemy’s throne. What’s there to decide?”Her jaw tightened. “Everything.”Another rebel, Lakshmi, leaned forward, her sharp eyes glinting with accusation. “The king’s son offers you a seat at his table, and suddenly you’re unsure where your loyalties lie?”“That’s enough,” Sanmayi snapped, her tone sharper than she intended. “Don’t mistake my hesitation for disloyalty.”“And what should we call it?” Bhairav retorted. “We’ve followed you because we believed in your hatred for Amaravati, your fire to tear it down. But now…” He gestured toward her, his hand trembling slightly. “Now I see hesitation where there should be conviction. Doubt where there should be resolve.”Sanmayi’s throat tightened. The weight of their disappointment pressed against her, but she forced herself to meet their stares.“Yes,” she said, her voice softer now but no less firm. “I hesitate. Because this war has cost us more than we can bear. It has taken our families, our homes, our very humanity. And for what? To replace one ruler with another? To fight until nothing remains of what we hoped to protect?”Lakshmi’s gaze hardened. “You speak like someone who has already made their choice.”“I speak like someone who has seen enough blood to last a lifetime,” Sanmayi countered. “If there is a chance—however slim—that peace can be won without further slaughter, shouldn’t we take it?”“Not if it means trusting the enemy,” Bhairav said. “Not if it means forgetting the lives lost to their tyranny.”Sanmayi inhaled sharply, her hand instinctively brushing against the hilt of the dagger at her waist. “You think I’ve forgotten? Every step I take, every breath I draw, I am haunted by the faces of those we’ve lost. My parents. My brothers. My people. But I also see the faces of the innocent who will die if we continue this fight without reason.”The tent fell into an uneasy silence. The rebels exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of anger and reluctant understanding.Finally, Bhairav spoke again, his voice quieter now. “And what of Ranajay? What of his motives? Do you trust him so easily?”Sanmayi hesitated. The question cut deeper than she cared to admit. Did she trust him? The man who had once been her enemy, who had taken so much from her? The answer was not simple.“I trust that he wants peace,” she said slowly. “I trust that he’s tired of war, as we all are. But trust does not mean blindness. If he falters, I will hold him accountable.”Lakshmi shook her head. “You risk too much, Sanmayi. And if you fall, you’ll drag us all down with you.”“Then don’t follow me,” Sanmayi said quietly but firmly. “I won’t force any of you to take this path. But I will take it, because I cannot lead a cause that demands endless suffering for the sake of vengeance.”Her words hung in the air like a blade poised to strike.Bhairav’s expression softened, though his eyes remained wary. “If you believe this is the way forward, you’ll have to prove it to us. And to yourself.”“I will,” Sanmayi said, though the weight of the promise settled heavily on her shoulders.As she left the tent, the night air struck her like a balm. The stars above seemed dimmer now, their light muted by the haze of doubt and uncertainty. She pulled the parchment from her sash once more, running her fingers over the words Ranajay had written.Could she trust him? Could she trust herself?The answer lay not in the stars, nor in the parchment, but in the choices she would make in the days to come. Choices that would shape not just her future, but the future of a kingdom.