Chapter 47: chapter 47

S A N M A Y I The halls of Amaravati were not as cold as they were sharp. Every glance, every word exchanged between the nobles was a dagger cloaked in silk. I moved through the court with the careful precision of someone walking a tightrope over a pit of vipers. I was neither welcome nor completely excluded, an uneasy presence in a place that thrived on centuries of carefully maintained hierarchies.Ranajay had offered me a seat at this table—a gesture of unity, he claimed. To the court, however, I was a scar on Amaravati’s pristine visage, a reminder of rebellion and war they wished to bury. But scars do not fade so easily, and I had no intention of fading away.Today, the court was gathered to discuss the distribution of resources to the provinces ravaged by war. The map stretched across the central table, its edges curling as if even the parchment could not bear the weight of its contents. Lord Devendra was speaking, his voice measured but dripping with derision.“Your Majesty,” he began, his eyes flickering toward Ranajay before landing on me, “while I understand the need for rebuilding, perhaps we should prioritize the inner provinces—those more loyal to the crown.”A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. I clenched my hands beneath the table, nails digging into my palms.“And what of the outer provinces?” I interjected, my voice cutting through their murmurs like a blade. “The farmers who tilled your fields, the weavers who clothed your courts? Are their lives less valuable because they didn’t bow low enough during your parades?”The murmur stilled. Devendra turned to me, his thin smile barely concealing his disdain. “Lady Sanmayi,” he said, his tone mocking, “with all due respect, the crown’s resources are not infinite. Perhaps you are unaware of the complexities of governance.”I leaned forward, meeting his gaze. “I am more aware than you think, Lord Devendra. And if the crown’s resources are so limited, perhaps you could suggest which of your estates we should forgo maintaining in favor of feeding the starving families in the outer provinces?”A few of the younger nobles suppressed their smiles, though most of the older ones bristled. Devendra’s face darkened, but before he could reply, Ranajay raised his hand.“That is enough,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “This council is here to rebuild, not to assign blame.”Devendra inclined his head, but the tension in his posture betrayed his frustration.Ranajay turned to me, his expression unreadable. “Sanmayi, your point is valid, but the tone does little to foster cooperation.”I bit back a retort, knowing he was right. Still, it stung. Cooperation was a luxury when lives were at stake.After the council adjourned, I lingered in the hall, tracing the intricate carvings on one of the marble pillars. The details were exquisite—stories of Amaravati’s glory etched in stone. Stories that ignored the suffering beneath the surface.“You make quite the impression,” a voice said behind me.I turned to see Lady Vashini approaching, her silken robes rustling softly. Her smile was as sharp as her words.“You seem to have a talent for stirring the pot, Lady Sanmayi,” she said.“I speak the truth,” I replied.“Truth,” she mused, circling me slowly. “An admirable quality. Dangerous, too, in a place like this.”I met her gaze, refusing to flinch. “If the truth is dangerous, it’s because this court prefers lies.”Her smile widened. “Perhaps. But you’d do well to remember that lies have built empires, while truth has toppled them.”She turned and walked away, leaving her words hanging in the air like a warning.Later that evening, I found myself in the gardens. The air was heavy with the scent of jasmine, and the soft rustle of leaves provided a reprieve from the constant hum of court life. Yet my mind was anything but calm.The resistance had been clear in their expectations. I was to ensure the redistribution of wealth and power, to break the cycle of oppression that had defined Amaravati for so long. But here, among the nobles and their veiled threats, the path forward seemed impossibly narrow.“Lost in thought again?”I turned to see Ranajay approaching, his expression softer than it had been in the council chamber. Without the crown and the weight of the court, he looked almost like the man I had once known. Almost.“Shouldn’t you be celebrating your victory?” I asked, my tone sharper than I intended.He sighed, stopping a few paces away. “Victory feels hollow when the kingdom is as divided as ever.”I studied him for a moment, searching for cracks in his resolve. “You chose this path, Ranajay. You wanted to rebuild Amaravati.”“And I still do,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “But it seems every step forward reveals another chasm.”I crossed my arms, leaning against the stone railing. “You’re learning what I’ve always known. Change is never easy. And it comes with a cost.”He moved closer, his gaze intense. “What about you, Sanmayi? What has this cost you?”I looked away, the question striking too close to home. “Everything,” I whispered.The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, he broke it.“You challenged Devendra today,” he said. “It was reckless, but you were right. The outer provinces need our help.”I raised an eyebrow. “Is that an apology?”“It’s an acknowledgment,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t get used to it.”Despite myself, I smiled back. But the moment was fleeting, like a fragile truce in a storm.“Ranajay,” I said, my voice serious again. “This kingdom is on the edge of breaking. You can’t rebuild it alone.”“I know,” he said softly. “But neither can you.”For the first time, I wondered if he was right. Perhaps this uneasy alliance was the only way forward. But as I looked into his eyes, I couldn’t ignore the scars we both carried—the reminders of a war that had torn us apart even as it bound us together.“Then let’s see if this kingdom can survive us,” I said.His smile was faint, but it reached his eyes. “Let’s.”And for the first time, amidst the ruins of what had been, I felt the faintest glimmer of hope for what might still be.