"What exactly are you two doing?" Amita's figure is only a vague silhouette against the aching bright sunset when I squint at her, but the voice is undeniably hers. Shura apparently recognised her immediately, because it takes a warning hand on his shoulder to prevent him from scrambling to his feet and giving her the obligatory overly formal greeting.

"Not much," I say lazily, and hope for Shura's sake that she's not paying attention to how tense he suddenly is. Maybe it's not as visible from her vantage point - with his head on my stomach and shoulders jammed into my side, I have a pretty direct measure of his freakout levels. "We're lying here whining about all our self-inflicted problems."

Amita steps around my legs and I whine and screw my eyes together at the sudden influx of light on my face. She pauses a few paces away from my left side. Shura hasn't breathed since she got here. What a dork.

"Must be nice," she finally says bitterly. "If my problems were self-inflicted, that would imply that I have any semblance of control left over my life."

Shura flinches at her tone. I slowly drag a hand up to my forehead so I can shield my eyes and properly look at her. "You're still welcome to joing us in complaining about them." I wave my left hand in her general direction, then let it flop back onto the ground. Amita laughs.

"I might just do that. Does it require me to lie on top of you as well?"

"Absolutely. That's mandatory."

She snorts again, but sits down on the ground to my left without another word.

"You could also lie on Shura," I say and successfully keep a straight face while his entire body stiffens, "but we don't want to squash the poor prince."

Amita pokes me in the shoulder. "You know, I hardly know if that was meant to insult me or him."

"It's probably both," Shura manages to croak out. The back of his head digs further into my stomach as he looks at her upside down. "Nikita's philosophy is all about hitting as many enemies as possible with one blow."

She laughs again and carefully places her head on my lower ribcage. The sides of their heads are nearly touching. How adorable. "That's certainly true. I taught him well."

"I will have you know I developed that philosophy entirely without your input," I snark. "It's not like I was a complete walking disaster before you met me."

"Oh, you're still a complete walking disaster," she retorts, "but do elaborate. What sort of intense battlefield enlightenment led you down this path?"

Her voice is much calmer already than it was when she arrived. Sunlight filters down onto my closed eyes, comfortably warm, and if Shura's heartbeat keeps it up the boy might very well have an aneurism. I don't remember the last time we were this peaceful. If there's one thing this moment doesn't need, it's a detailed account of one of my actual battlefield enlightenments. "It was a gruesome battle I fought in my early childhood," I say. "I was in charge of killing mosquitos in summer and made it my mission to kill as many as I could in one swoop."

They laugh, then Amita adjusts her head again. "Please keep your teeth locked," she remarks. "I don't like how my head moves when you talk."

"I would also appreciate that." Shura's quick to side with her, the little traitor. I scoff, but hold my peace.

"Thank you."

A breeze skims over our faces in the ensuing silence. The sound of rustling trees joins a cricket performing somewhere behind my head, with the occasional accompanying bird call.

"So much for complaining." Shura's voice only trembles slightly, compared with the tremor in his shoulders.

"I guess that's what happens when you tell Nikita to shut up," Amita quips and easily blocks my retaliatory poke with her arm.

Shura chuckles quietly. "Nikita hardly complains all that much."

"Are we speaking of the same person?" Amita says disbelievingly. "He holds the unchallenged title for biggest grump I've ever met."

"He is rather grouchy. But have you heard him truly complain before?"

I don't like where this is going. "I'm still here, you know," I grouch. "If you two want to analyse me, at least do it when I'm out of earshot."

"There," Amita says. "That, right there. That was a complaint."

Shura shakes his head (which might just be an excuse to touch heads with her if I'm being very honest). "It was intended as a joke. You'll hear Nikita complain all day long if it keeps us entertained, but not about things that actually matter."

The observation is terrifyingly accurate, even more because it's the first time I've heard it put so explicitly. I hate it when he does that. "I resent that," I interrupt again. "Can we move on to the part where you two spill your souls to me?"

Silence.

Try psychoanalysing that, princeling.

"You first," Shura finally tells Amita.

She sighs, and her shoulders dig into my ribcage as she stretches her hands out above her. By now, the sun has dipped below the mountains, leaving a general chill in the air.

"I was just officially released from Wedhanda service." The sentence started out confidently, but her voice hitches on Wedhanda.

What.

I screw my eyes shut and think of all the unsavory Yudhir phrases I know that I want to toss in Idhamiya's face. (There aren't enough.) (The Wedhanda are Amita's home, her entire life. Kicking her out isn't just wrong, it's inexcusable.) (I knew I never liked Idhamiya.)

Shura's head jerks up and he turns around to look at her. His chin is now jammed into my stomach. "What do you mean?"

"They sent a message, just now, by hawk. Dear Amita. We don't want you anymore. Your vows are null and void, all communications will cease, have a nice life." Her voice is trembling, I assume it's with the effort of not bursting into tears.

"But... what?" Shura sits up entirely and begins to fidget. "What reason could they possibly have?"

"Apparently my conduct was unworthy of Wedhanda standards," she hacks out. "I've spent more than half of my life trying to become one of them, and now I got kicked out because I wasn't good enough."

"That's bullshit."

Amita turns to face me, and I assume Shura does the same, but my eyes are still closed. "It's political."

"Pardon?"

"You've done nothing but follow their orders and ignore Senge's. So if they dismiss you now, it has to be political."

Amita sits up as well to consider this. "That does make sense," she finally mutters.

"But it doesn't make it better."

She scoffs. "Oddly enough, no."

"Wait, I'm confused," Shura says. "How does it make sense to dismiss you if all you did was follow their orders?"

"Following their orders necessarily meant disobeying his. How would a king react if he found out a political faction he's consistently hated for the past decade ordered one of their operatives to disobey his direct orders?" The bitterness in her voice makes Amita sound at least thirty years older. I ache at the thought. If there was one person in the universe who didn't deserve this, it would be her.

"... rather badly," Shura admits. "But the damage is done. What good does it do to dismiss you now?"

"Well, what's more concerning to the king?" I ask. "If a single person disobeys, or if an entire organisation systematically contradicts him?"

"I'm the rotten fish," Amita growls. "If they point me out as an individual case, then maybe my... maybe the king won't throw away the entire barrel."

Shura seems stunned into silence. It's hard to respond to that.

"It's never a good feeling," I say, eyes still carefully closed, "when you realise that you're just a figure in another person's game."

It feels like losing my grip on a dagger in rolls of fat. Like scrubbing the skin off of my forearm along with the blood. Like sweaty nightmares and lying about them the next day. Like giving up my name, my anonymity, only to be rewarded with an awkward hug and a sack of money and realising that it was never about freedom or justice to begin with.

I know the feeling well.

In my case, it was accompanied by a steady, nauseous ostinato of "I should have known", building up until I couldn't take it anymore. It still rings in my head when I remember those weeks, though retrospectively I suppose we've migrated to "I should have known better". But for Amita? The Wedhanda are everything to her. The north on her moral compass. She defends policies she barely understands with a naive, unshakeable faith in those who make them, as if they really are the epitome of all those ideals they claim to stand for. As if they're all just as committed to serving Yudhithir and the world at large as she is.

The Wedhanda could do no wrong in her eyes, until now, because now they've done it to her.

And unless she's much stronger than I give her credit for, this might just break her.