Chapter 27: Priya

PRIYA

It was one of the easiest things she had ever done. She prepared all the food, after all. She was the one who made the evening meal, the parathas, the pickles, the little pots of dhal or yoghurt if any happened to be available. She assembled a plate for Pramila and placed the smallest dose of needle-flower into Pramila’s tea. The sweetness of the sugar she’d heaped into the cup would hopefully hide the taste.

With hands that shook far less than they should have, considering how nervous she was, Priya prepared the rest of the food. The maidservants had left bags of rice and wholemeal flour on their last visit, purses of ground spices, and bags of onions and ginger. As Priya heaved one bag of flour, she saw a piece of paper flutter to the floor. She leaned down and picked it up.

It was a letter written in indigo ink, smeared from long being folded between two sacks, though someone had gone to some trouble to dry it and had pressed a cloth between the two edges to blot the color. She recognized it as Sima’s hand, crude Zaban. Sima was not a habitual writer, and her knowledge of written script was shaky.

Stay safe. Thinking of you.

Beneath it, Sima had drawn a little bird—a fat fledgling dove, marking in its dark eyes and fluffy down with painstaking care.

She thought of Sima sitting and carefully capturing words on the page for Priya’s sake, and a lump rose to her throat.

She stuffed the note into her blouse, finished her cooking, and took the food to Pramila’s chamber with a fixed smile on her face.

When she finally returned to Malini’s room, she found Malini on the floor of her cell, her cheek pressed to the stone and her eyes wide. Priya ran over to her.

“What happened? Are you well?”

“Clearly I am not well,” Malini gasped out. “I just—fainted.”

“How…?”

“My vision went black,” Malini said. “And I felt sick. And now I’m on the floor. That’s all I know. Please, help me up.”

Priya did, taking Malini’s weight as she rose to a seated position. She could feel the clamminess of the princess’s skin.

“The dizziness will pass,” Malini said firmly. She looked angry. “It’s going to pass. This is a natural impact of giving up needle-flower, is it not?”

“I don’t know,” said Priya helplessly.

“You said you knew about the effects of the poison.”

“I do. But I’m no healer.”

“Well, then.” Malini’s jaw tightened. She raised her head higher, as if fighting some invisible force pinning her skull down. Carefully, she rose to her feet, then lowered herself to the charpoy.

Priya watched her.

“It’s the lingering effect of the needle-flower,” Malini added, eventually. As if to assure them both. “That’s all. I’ll be better in time. Are you ready, Priya? Is Pramila dealt with?”

“She’s sleeping. I checked. If the guards come…”

“They won’t come to my room,” said Malini. “They know better.”

“But if they do?”

“I’ll pretend to sleep,” said Malini. “And if they wake me, I’ll tell them I don’t know where you are.”

“Then I’m ready,” said Priya.

“You remember—”

“I remember everything you told me,” Priya said impatiently. “We have a deal, Malini. Don’t worry about anything.”

The palace of illusions, Malini had told her, was the place she needed to go. Priya knew of it. It was a pleasure house in a rather elegant—if not terribly reputable—part of the pink lantern district. Its name was both a joke and a mockery: It had been named for the palace in an old myth found all across the subcontinent, the palace of a beautiful queen who had many husbands.

She knew she was to meet the young lord who was staying there, a distant cousin of a low prince of Saketa—although that was not, according to Malini, his true lineage. She was to give him a message from Malini, ask Malini’s questions, and then return. All before Pramila woke.

She would need luck on her side.

Priya threw a shawl around her shoulders.

“Priya.” The expression in Malini’s dark eyes was unreadable.

“Yes?”

Nothing. For a long moment.

“I hope you come back safely,” Malini said finally. “I hope you’re well. I’ll be thinking of you.”

Why did Malini keep insisting that she really cared? It made Priya feel raw. She wanted Malini to care for her—wanted to bask into that caring, melt into it. But the rest of her was wary. The rest of her wanted armor.

“Of course you will,” Priya said. “I’m the only ally you have here. You’d be helpless without me.”

Malini did not flinch, but there was something about her stillness that made Priya’s own heart twist, just a little, with unwanted guilt.

“I’ll be back soon,” Priya muttered. “Just wait and see.”

She left the room and walked out onto the triveni.

The darkness beyond was almost complete. The glow of the sickle moon was faint, the lights of the city mere scatterings of gold on black.

She closed her eyes. She felt the pull of magic, a river running beneath her skin. She thought of the way the Hirana had shifted beneath her; the way the carvings had become clearer, resurrecting from their old obliteration on the walls. She thought of the way her connection with the Hirana had grown too.

She sucked in a fortifying breath—and stepped down onto the Hirana’s surface.

The stone was warm beneath her feet. She could feel new moss against her soles.

She took a step down. Another. Another.