Dhanur and Janurana entered the lush garden of the Keep beyond its doors. With its exclusivity, the aristocracy and nobility had an undisturbed monopoly on the well–tended greenery. The common people mostly knew the arid plateau, dusty streets, occasional communal garden, and tradesmen of the bazaar hawking the food of distant lands instead of from southern cities elsewhere on the plateau.

The nobles were nowhere to be found in the morning. As the gate opened, Dhanur clenched her fists again, prepared for confrontation, but they grew slack as she saw no one. Almost with disappointment, she sighed.

“Ooh!” Janurana rushed to the budding flowers with almost unnatural speed. Her eyes sparkled at their quality tending, the vast array of colors, and genuine magnificence compared to the dead mundanity of the Outside. Even during the wet season it was rare to find a grove of flowers so dense on the plateau. Each brick planter box was just high enough for anyone to sit comfortably with trees at every corner to provide ample shade. Stone walkways split each with one near the wall being a pool filled end to end with blooming lotuses of every color. Local flora was supplemented by foreign shipments, creating a borderland between the two where new hybrid species were allowed to grow.

“Let’s go already.” Dhanur waved her hand forward.

“Can I enjoy the greenery for a moment?” Janurana rolled her eyes but obliged.

“I, uh.” With a stutter, Dhanur swallowed her words. “So, what was that name you gave yourself earlier?”

“I made it up,” she replied quickly.

The entrance into the Keep itself was as striking a contrast to the garden as the garden was to the Outside. Stone paved every floor as the garden, much more ostentatious than the basic laid mudbrick of Dhanur’s home. While dust inevitably settled, the few nicks and buffed edges told the keen eye they were routinely swept. Scenes of past events be they conquests or repeats of the Light’s miracles and wondrous landscapes of the plateau in full bloom decorated each wall the light graced. They easily drew Janurana’s attention, filling her with the splendor of their detailed artistry. Her gaze flew upwards as well as she tried to untangle the maze of walkways above her linking the doors of the second level.

Dhanur strode deliberately forward. The chambers and entrances of the upper level, the support columns, and art of the lower grew sparse as they reached the imposing throne room doors of the Maharaj, modeled after one of the great gates. 

There were no guards and not a single noble still. Dhanur scowled deeply. With trembling hands, she gripped the handles.

“Ja—Shzahd.” She motioned to the doors with a nod.

Janurana’s whole body tensed at the word coming out of someone else’s mouth. For an instant that felt like forever, she was dead in her tracks. She blinked once more at the intricacies of the Keep, closed her parasol, and caught up. As Dhanur shoved the doors open, Janurana gawked as the esoteric maze of entrances and walkways above gave way to the explosive emptiness of the throne room. Aside from the back wall’s window, showcasing a perfect view of the Capital, the swaths of golden lace blanketing the walls, and a haze of burning incense, there was only the throne. 

The throne of the Maharaj was a lounging platform. Like a bed made of cotton raised high above the cold floor at the center of the room. Rather than being situated at the back, the central placement meant the main entrance into the room could be changed regularly, modeled to fit the circumstances of the time. While there was an entrance to the room from all four directions, mimicking the walls and their gates, before the war with the north, the south facing entrance was the focus. Dignitaries, nobles, governors and the like would come mainly from that direction, so the southern courtyard and entrance was more splendid with more stunning paintings and plants. But the direction had been reversed for the war with the north. Although it would be changed again when needed, this could be done without having to move the throne on which the Maharaj lounged, its base was simply adapted so it faced the north door. 

The Maharaj seemed to grow out of it, her gleaming crimson and golden sari blending with the crimson and gold laced pillows strewn about her. The Maharaj had her head on her hand, her fingers parting her glistening black waves of hair behind her bronze chain tiara. As the pair entered, she continued to lounge, but they couldn’t tell if she was aloof or asleep. Two nobles were pressed right against the throne’s base. Governor Doivi rubbed her eyes since both she and Governor Hoika were up far past their bedtime. Their voices became clearer as the pair approached.

“Maharaj. Time to sit up,” Hoika stated. He raised his green clad arm to illustrate his point.

“For what?” she asked, sleepily rubbing one eye.

“You have a visitor. Now, rise to greet them. Hurry,” Doivi demanded, fiddling with her sash impatiently.

“Excuse me.” The Maharaj’s eyes narrowed as she processed what was said. “You can’t speak to me like that.”

They flinched at her outburst and tried to quiet her with submissive platitudes, but the Maharaj caught sight of the pair entering. Though she was plenty relaxed before, she drifted even further away at the sight of them. Her head fell back to her hand, her eyes glazed over, and she fell silent. The governors, who had been bold enough to give her orders, exchanged sidelong glances, then smug grins.

“We’ll take our leave,” Hoika stated as both bowed, slinking away from the throne and out the door from the throne room. A pair of Doivi’s personal guards from house Deuhera held it open on the other side. Their helmets were accented by a plume of peacock feathers. The guards and record keeper who would normally be beside the Maharaj were nowhere to be seen.

Doivi however, couldn’t resist. As her compatriot went through the door into the sanctums of the Keep, she came about, avoiding any direct light as she unnaturally slid across the floor. Although her sari wasn’t as massive as the Lord’s black cloak, nor as heavy as Janurana’s, it still hid the legs of any woman moving softly. But her speed was wrong and she glided across the floor like a cart with no bumps on the road. 

Her saccharine grin made Dhanur’s blood boil as her bow almost cried out on its own for the monster’s blood. She couldn’t hide her rage and preparations for battle. Rather than the serene focus she had at the inn, she shook with an uncontrollable lust for death. 

When governor Doivi stopped right in front of her, neither flinched nor changed their expressions. 

“Dear little warrior—Oh. Not a warrior anymore. So sorry, lower class. But the spy master wasn’t my friend,” she cooed. “Taking over her network has made my life so much easier, thank you.”

Dhanur didn’t respond, which Doivi took personally. She fiddled with her sash harder.

“Perhaps you should have missed Gehsek entirely and let him kill you. What do you think you can do by yourself with her now?” Her words oozed from her lips with perverse glee as she motioned to the monarch. “You’ve lost. Why not go to your nice new home with your free shells and jewels. Maybe return to the inn. That quiets the voices, no? Keeps her alive too.” She chuckled with a repulsive symphony and siphoned all confidence from Dhanur as she slipped away.

Dhanur did her best to keep herself composed, but as Doivi left, Dhanur looked up to the throne and the Maharaj who hadn’t arisen from her slump. Her fists loosened.

“Dhanur?” Janurana, who had turned her head away and stayed between Dhanur and the noble, stepped forward, unsure if she should have spoken. 

“Huh?” Dhanur snapped around. “Oh.” She shook her head, rubbed her temple, and did her best to take in a few deep breaths before proceeding. At first, she couldn’t bring herself to look at the Maharaj again. Though, as she drew closer, her resolve grew again, if only out of spite her mind repeated ‘maybe’.

“Maharani.” Dhanur bowed, her fist trembling. Behind her, Janurana did the same out of instinct, though she bowed further at her hips.

The Maharaj sat up, her focus returning slightly. “Well, a pleasure, warrior. You look familiar.”

“Yes, Aarushi!” Dhanur shot up suddenly, her eyes aglow. She smiled with as much force as the anger she had earlier. Further in the keep, the governors who had left felt their ears twitch. “We worked together after the war! It’s me!”

“Oh! Yes! The dhanur… Um…” The Maharaj circled her hand trying to remember. As her eyes settled on Dhanur’s bow, however, they went glassy once more.

And all at once, Dhanur released a sigh that rattled through her bones. Her dour expression came back with crushing force and a posture to match, as if the whole keep itself had fallen upon her. “Of course. Just a dhanur.”