Chapter 29: Priya

PRIYA

She had no idea how long it would be before Pramila woke up, and reason told her it would be best to return to the Hirana as fast as possible. Certainly before dawn came.

But she’d been without her freedom for so long. She was used to being able to travel—to leave the mahal and go to the market, buying fresh fruit or morning dosas with sweet chutneys to cut through the fragile lattice of gram flour. She’d enjoyed hiding from Gauri with Sima, getting sick on palm wine in the orchard, laughing so hard her sides hurt. She missed lying on her own sleep mat.

She missed Rukh, a little. And when she thought of his face the last time they’d spoken, when she thought of Ashok and what a man like her brother could do with a starstruck child who was willing to die for him…

But she couldn’t go to Rukh. She had no excuse to be in the mahal, or see Sima, or touch even the shadows of her old life.

But there was one thing she could do.

The house at the edge of the forest looked exactly as it had the last time she had visited; it struck her as odd, when so much else had changed.

She rapped lightly on the door. Waited.

It opened a crack, and Gautam’s alert gaze met her own. He didn’t look at all tired. There was something tight and terrified about his expression. Even in the dark, she could see that his hand was clenched on the handle of his scythe, holding it at the ready.

“Priya. What are you doing here?”

“I need to speak with you. I won’t be long.”

“It’s the middle of the night, you stupid woman.”

He looked as if he was going to shut the door in her face, so Priya leaned in, getting her body between the frame and the door itself. She stared him down, unblinking, keeping her expression calm.

“Gautam,” Priya said. “My brother sent me. Let me in. And lower the scythe.”

As she’d suspected, he hesitated. Then obeyed.

He led her beyond his workroom, beyond his own private chambers, into the central courtyard of the house. From there he led her to another room, dusty and quiet, and shut the door.

“How is business, Gautam? Still thriving?”

“Why did he send you?” Gautam demanded.

She shook her head minutely, never letting her gaze waver. He seemed to sweat more heavily under the steady pressure of her eyes. She’d learned that, at least, from Malini: how a gaze could pin and bind and compel, as powerful as any magic.

“He didn’t,” she said. “How long have you known my brother is alive?”

Gautam’s gaze turned flinty. “Get out.”

“You were friends once,” she said.

“We were never friends.”

“You owed him something. Or he knew enough to scare you into obedience. That’s friendship enough. How long have you known?” When Gautam was silent, she said, “I’ve seen him again. Don’t lie to me.”

Gautam seemed to deflate. “I’ve known the entire time. I don’t like him, you understand? But he’s a hard man to refuse. He knows too many people. And he pays well. Not many people can, these days.”

“With stolen money.”

“Money is money,” said Gautam. “I wouldn’t expect a lecture on ethics from someone like you.”

She ignored his pettiness. “And what does my brother buy from you, with his money?”

Gautam crossed his arms. “If your brother is back in your life, you should ask him directly. Don’t involve me or mine in your family business again.”

“You’re afraid,” she said. “You don’t need to deny it, Gautam. I know what my brother’s like. You’re frightened of what he’ll do if you tell me. But he doesn’t know I’m here. And you have to know that when you take money from dangerous people, there are always consequences.”

“Don’t lecture me,” he said tersely. “You’re nothing but a floor sweeper, a rat. A whore probably too—”

“Stop talking,” said Priya. The words came out of her with a vicious edge. In one motion she removed his scythe from his sweaty grip and broke the handle in her palm.

Gautam’s throat clicked. His eyes widened.

“You forget,” Priya said calmly, “that whatever my brother is, I am too. If you’re afraid of him, then you should be afraid of me. Oh, I know I’m usually very nice, and I’d like to continue to be. You allowed me to sleep on your doorstep once, after all, and that was a service. I’m thankful for that. You may speak, if you like.”

He gave a choked noise. Didn’t.

“What,” she said then, “does he buy from you?”

Gautam massaged his throat with his knuckles.

“I…” He cleared his throat. “He started coming a little more than a year ago. He said he needed supplies. His own were running low. The normal medicines, to heal wounds and hold back sickness. But also…”

“Go on,” Priya prompted impatiently.

“My mother, when she still lived, was a regular pilgrim to the Hirana,” said Gautam. “And she also paid other pilgrims for it. You have to understand. She knew it was dangerous, but kindling soaked in it almost passes for sacred wood. And for some of her clients, it was good enough. I’ve never sold it to you, though, Priya. I promise.”

“Deathless water,” Priya murmured. “I thought so. And where is it?”

He leaned down and lifted a covered slat in the floor. Below, a staircase descended into darkness.

Gautam pulled a lantern from the wall and lit it deftly; its dim glow guided them down, shimmering off a small, depleted collection of little bottles of fine colored glass that hung about the walls when they reached the bottom. The bottles were all carefully stoppered; all full of water that gleamed with its own muted strangeness in the flickering dark. Priya slowly touched her fingertips to one. It was cool, not fire warm like a sacred mask. But something in her heart—in the part of her that Ashok had twisted in the vise of his hand—recognized the call of it.

“You can’t take them,” Gautam said quietly, desperately, behind her. “You can’t. I’ve thrown my lot in with him. I’ve promised them to him. Everything I have left is his.”

“I won’t take them,” said Priya. She traced the edge of one vial. “But I should destroy them.”

“Please,” said Gautam. “No. Please.”

She tapped the glass a little. Watched the vial waver on its hook.

“You called me a rat,” she said. “And a few other things that you probably consider unkind.”

He said nothing.

“I want you to remember that that’s all I’ll be—as long as you give me no reason to be more. And I want you to do this floor-sweeping whore a kindness and share a little of your knowledge with her.” She turned to look at him squarely. “In return I’ll leave these alone. My brother does not need to know anything.”

Gautam’s exhaled breath was shaky with relief. “What,” he said, “do you want to know?”

“Tell me about needle-flower,” she said. “Tell me exactly what long-term ingestion does to the body. And tell me what the consequences are when the doses are stopped.”