Chapter 59: Priya

PRIYA

There was no sign of the woman who had whispered to her in the tent.

But Priya strode into the dark of the trees surrounding the seeker’s path, where time tugged and pulled strangely, the uneasy blur of light beyond the maze of trunks breaking into even deeper fractures. She felt movement around her, like water. Then she left the path and felt the strangeness melt away.

There was the woman. Waiting.

And there was Rukh, bound to a tree by its own roots. There was a gag in his mouth, and when he saw Priya he made a guttural noise that would have been a shout if it were not muffled.

“I expected him to come quietly,” the woman said. “But the boy was—reluctant.” Her mouth pursed. “How quickly the loyalties of children change.”

“I should fashion a spear of wood and set it through your skull,” Priya said, clenching her hands tight. “Or perhaps I should sink you into the ground and let the worms have you.”

“I have roots around his throat,” the woman said calmly. “I can strangle him before you can save him or murder me.”

“You can’t.”

“Strangulation takes time,” the woman agreed. “Instead I’ll just snap his neck.”

“He was one of your own,” said Priya. “Loyal to you and your cause. You’d really kill him?”

“If still he had any loyalty, he’d die willingly for the sake of seeing Ahiranya free.”

“He’s a child,” Priya snapped. “You’d truly murder a child you know, with your own power?”

There was a noise—a hiss, as the roots coiled tighter, and Rukh kicked his feet furiously against the ground.

Well, that was certainly an answer.

A line of watery blood oozed from the woman’s nose. Trickled down her lip. She brushed it away with the back of her hand.

“We’re spitting distance from Parijatdvipans who’d be happy to see rebels strung up,” said Priya. “And the people traveling with me have no reason to like you very much either.”

“Well, they didn’t stop me,” said the woman, who wore no mask and carried none. There were strands of silver in her hair, lines around her mouth. “Without my mask, you and I are alike enough. Maidservant and maidservant. Common woman and common woman. Invisible.”

“We’re nothing alike.”

“No,” agreed the woman. “You are a temple child. You have a duty to Ahiranya. When I was your age, I was no more than a worshipper, a pilgrim at your temple. And now I am your brother’s follower, here to seek your help and ensure that you fulfill your duty. All you need to do is tell me the way.”

“And where is Ashok? Why are you here, and not him?”

The woman cocked her head slightly. “You won’t give me the way? Even now?”

“If Ashok wanted to hurt or manipulate me, he’d do it himself,” said Priya. “He doesn’t even know you’re here, does he? But you’re loyal to him. Obedient. Why would you come here without his blessing?”

The woman said nothing.

“He’s dying, then,” Priya murmured. She hated the way her heart twisted at the thought, a dull ache in her breast and throat.

The woman said nothing again, but Rukh made a choked noise, low and terrible, as if the roots had tightened further still.

“I can’t simply tell you the way,” Priya said quickly. “The way must be shown. And if Ashok is dying, there’s a high possibility he won’t have the strength to reach the Hirana before the end.”

The woman shook her head. “The way alone isn’t all I desire from you. Ashok has a vision that must be fulfilled whether he… whether he lives or not.” The woman swallowed, grief flickering over her face. “You have condemned him. But I know the vision is greater even than him, so I will put any thoughts of justice aside if you will come with me, and hear him speak.”

She could not leave Bhumika and Sima and the rest of them vulnerable. But she couldn’t leave Rukh either.

“Come with me and listen to your brother,” said the woman. “Or the boy dies.”

“Let him go now, and I’ll come.”

The woman snorted. “No,” she said. “He comes with us.”

Priya looked at Rukh. His hair was stuck to his sweat-damp forehead, his face flushed, terrified and angry.

“Fine,” said Priya. “Let’s go.”

The woman’s name was Kritika. She’d been a pilgrim once, one of the men and women who climbed the Hirana and collected deathless waters, to place at the feet of the yaksa upon their altars, or wear as a talisman of power and fortune. But when the temple council had burned, she’d kept all the water safe, knowing it would one day be needed.

She told Priya all of this, as she dragged Rukh forward on a leash of vine. His hands were bound. He looked at Priya, now and again, and she looked back. It’s going to be okay, she tried to say with her eyes. But Rukh still looked afraid, and there was an angry twist to his mouth, as if he didn’t know if he wanted to yell or cry.

Priya saw other figures in the shadows as they slowed down. The figures wore scythes, their narrowed eyes fixed on her as she passed them. Some were still masked, their identities hidden behind rictuses of wood, but others were bare-faced, their expressions tense.

Kritika stopped before a small bower shrouded in flowers of pale umber, with drooping leaves like veils. Kritika entered the bower with Rukh still bound to her. Time passed. Ashok’s presence was a quiet drum beneath the earth—a song reminding Priya of the ways, large and small, that the waters bound them.

Kritika returned with Rukh.

“He’s waiting for you,” she said.

“Was he angry at you?”

The rebel gave Priya a level look. “Speak to him,” she said. “I’ll wait with the boy.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Priya said, meeting Rukh’s eye. Then she entered the shroud of the leaves.

The world lay in muted shadow. Ashok was lying on his back on the ground, wrapped in a long shawl. He watched Priya approach with eyes that glittered with something akin to fever. His face was gaunt.

He looked like the brother who’d abandoned her on Gautam’s veranda, so many years ago. The brother who had been dying.

“I came here to die in peace,” whispered Ashok. “But I am glad that Kritika did not obey my wishes.” His fingers twitched against the edge of the shawl. “Come closer.”

Priya drew closer. Kneeled down beside him.

“Are you sad, Priya?” he asked. “You knew this would be the consequence of refusing me the deathless waters, after all. My death and theirs.” He gestured weakly at the entrance to the bower, and the watchful figures who lay beyond it.

“Don’t place your death on my shoulders,” she said roughly. “You chose this. You knew the risks.”

“So what happens now, little sister? When I am dead, will you let the empire rip us all apart in its teeth? Will you lock away the deathless waters until you find someone you consider worthy of that power?”

She shook her head, heart aching. “You’re getting what you want after all, Ashok,” she said quietly. “A free Ahiranya. And it’ll be Bhumika’s doing, and my own. Not yours. We made a deal.”

He tried to sit up, his eyes focusing intently on her.

“What kind of deal?”

“Politics aren’t my strength,” said Priya. It was only partially a lie. “You’ll need to ask Bhumika about that. But however it was done, Ahiranya’s independence has been promised, and we’re going to use the strength of the deathless waters to hold on to it. Just as you think we should.”

Ashok gave a choked laugh.

“My two sisters listening to me. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Your Kritika brought me here against my will. But—it would be useful to have strong fighters working with us in defense of Ahiranya. To have a network of loyal hands and eyes. To have a new temple council that already knows the taste of the waters, and the risks.”

There was a heartbeat of silence as Ashok looked at her. Perhaps it was the sickness that had left him so open and raw, but she could see the hope in his face—in the shape of his mouth. He wanted his followers to live.

“And what will my dear little sister, who claims to know nothing of politics, ask in return?”

“You accept Bhumika as our leader,” said Priya. “You must vow never to try to overthrow her. You must promise, on the yaksa and the waters in your blood, that you will never fight her for control of Ahiranya. Let her be the best of us, Ashok. She’s the only sensible one of the three of us, after all.”

“I cannot promise not to fight or test her,” he said immediately. “She doesn’t understand what Ahiranya should be. She doesn’t care.”

“You’re in no position to bargain, Ashok,” she said.

A rattling cough escaped him. He wiped water and blood from his lips, then said, “My followers—they’ll have a future? As leaders?”

“Yes,” Priya said, and hoped desperately that she was not making an error.

“Alongside you and Bhumika?”

Priya was not sure she wanted her own name mentioned alongside leadership, but said, “Yes.”

“Then I accept,” said Ashok. “Get me to the waters, save me and mine, and I’ll serve Bhumika. For Ahiranya’s sake, we all will.”

Priya nodded, relief pouring through her. “Can I trust you? Truly?”

“We’re still family, Priya,” he said. “There’s no one in the world exactly like us. Who knows what we know, or has suffered as we have.”

“That isn’t a yes, Ashok.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Opened them again. “But it will do. I need one more thing from you.”

“Tell me.”

“Your Kritika has a boy as her hostage,” she said. “Rukh. I want him back. Or there is no deal between us. This is our business, Ashok. Our family. We don’t need to involve anyone else. I’ll speak to Bhumika, and once she agrees to our deal, I’ll return with her.”

“Fine,” he said.

She thought of standing and leaving him there. Their deal was done, after all. There was nothing more to be said.

Instead, she leaned forward and touched her forehead to his, smelling the sweat and sickness and home of him. She was still so vulnerable to him and to love and to the strange, broken family that had shaped them into… whatever it was they were.

“I’ll be waiting,” he murmured.

You don’t have any other choice, she thought.

She bit her lip and nodded, then pulled back.

“Kritika,” he called.

The pilgrim entered at once.

“Let the boy go,” he said. “My sister and I have come to an agreement. She’ll return to us soon enough.”

The camp was no longer quiet when Rukh and Priya returned. There was a great deal of noise from the other women, and Khalida emerged from the tent, white-faced and furious over Priya’s absence. She was still berating Priya when the tent flap was pushed back, and Sima peered out. She caught Priya’s eye. Beckoned.

“Lady Bhumika wants you,” she said, as Priya extricated herself from Khalida’s wrath and walked over. “Come. See for yourself.”

Someone had burned sweet incense to improve the smell of the tent. Bhumika was half sitting up, face sweaty and flushed. And there was a squirming bundle, squeaking like a newborn kitten, in her arms.

“It’s…”

“A baby,” Bhumika said. “A girl, apparently. I suppose that’s good. Will you hold her?”

The baby was small and did not smell pleasant, and when she was placed in Priya’s arms, Priya felt something overpowering—a kind of terror and wonder at the revolting beauty of life, that made her want to hand away this small human as quickly as possible, and also hold on to her forever.

“She smells,” said Priya, staring down into the baby’s tiny face.

“The first words the poor thing gets to hear, and that’s what you offer her,” Bhumika said. “Give her back to me.”

Priya did. “If we were still in the temple, you’d consult star charts to choose the right letters and syllables for a name, as we did for the babies of pilgrims.”

“We’re not temple children anymore, thankfully,” Bhumika said. “Her name is Padma. That’s the name I’ve chosen for her. It will do. Now tell me what Ashok offered to you.”

Priya raised her head. “You knew?”

“I felt him too,” Bhumika said. “How could I not?”

There was no end to it. Even now, in this moment, there was no end to their duties. Their war, and their work.

Priya took a deep breath and began.

After Commander Jeevan had returned to guard Bhumika and the others—after he’d learned everything that had passed—Priya slipped away.

She moved silently, carefully, making her way through the woods to the Parijatdvipan camp.

Malini had a tent of her own—Jeevan had seen it erected, and sketched out its location to Priya with his words before she departed.

Priya waited until no one was looking, then slipped inside.

Malini watched her enter. She didn’t appear surprised.

“Priya,” she murmured. She crossed the tent and took Priya’s face in her hands. But she didn’t kiss her. Merely looked at her.

And Priya…

“What, by soil and sky, is this tent?” Priya said, looking around. “Is that gold on the ceiling? And why do you have a writing desk?”

“It’s actually modest by the standards of my youth,” said Malini, a smile curling her mouth. But her eyes were guarded when she said, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Those soldiers couldn’t have harmed me.”

“Nonetheless,” said Malini. “Why have you come?”

Priya looked at her and looked at her, struggling for the words.

“Malini,” she said, shaping the name carefully on her tongue, as if this way, she could keep it. “You’re where you need to be. My part of our bargain is done. And I’m… I’m here to say good-bye.”

She watched the smile on Malini’s face fade and die.

“I… In truth, I don’t think I should be here telling you this at all. This is—an act of trust,” Priya admitted.

“Leaving,” Malini said. “You’re leaving.”

“You knew I would have to eventually,” said Priya. “Bhumika and I—all of us—have to protect Ahiranya until your brother Aditya takes the throne. Until you’re able to see your vow to me fulfilled.”

“I know,” Malini said numbly. “I know. It’s just so—so swift.” Her forehead creased, just slightly. She touched her fingertips to her throat.

There was a tightness to Malini’s face as she very gracefully walked away and sat down at her writing desk, her back to Priya.

“Thank you,” Malini said, “for coming to speak to me. Knowing how I feel—it was kind of you.” She bowed her head a little, the nape of her neck bare as she drew her braid over her shoulder. “And thank you, too, for… everything. For the time we’ve had together. I won’t forget my promise to you.”

Priya swallowed. Her throat felt tight. Her eyes stung.

“We’re not done with one another, Malini,” she said. “This isn’t the end.”

“Of course it is, Priya. You said it yourself. We’re on different paths now. Isn’t that what an end is?”

To be nothing but a part of Malini’s history, and for her to be part of Priya’s in turn… no. That felt wrong, viscerally wrong. It couldn’t be that easy to erase what they felt for each other—the wonder and hope of it.

“Malini,” Priya said. “Malini. I…” She swallowed. “You’ll see me again. I know it. No matter where you go or what you do, I’ll find you eventually, because you’re taking a piece of my heart with you. You carved it out, after all.”

Malini jerked to her feet. She strode over to Priya. Touched their foreheads together, setting Priya’s pulse thrumming. She smelled of clean skin and jasmine and she was too close, too close for Priya to see her clearly. All Priya could see was a shadow of dark hair. The flicker of the oil lamp, casting shadows on Malini’s cheek. Malini’s clenched jaw. Her lashes, damp.

“At least kiss me good-bye,” whispered Priya. “At least do that.”

Malini cupped her face in her hands and kissed her. Malini took her lip between her teeth, soothed the sting of it with the gentleness of her tongue, and kissed her deeper. Priya, her blood singing, cupped the back of Malini’s neck in her palm, the warm, silky skin, brushed her thumb over the feathery, faint tendrils of her hair at her nape and the faint silver of an old scar and drew Malini closer again, and again. It was a lush kiss, a biting one. It was a good-bye, and it made Priya’s heart hurt.

“I could make you stay,” Malini whispered, drawing back, her breath unsteady and a wild look in her eyes. “I could convince you. I’ve convinced so many people to do what I want in the past. If I can cajole someone into treason, surely I can convince you to stay by my side.” She leaned into Priya’s handhold. “You want to, after all. You don’t want to leave me. You wouldn’t be here, if you really wanted to leave me.”

There was want in her words, but fear too. Priya knew. It was the same fear Malini had admitted when she’d spoken of how she had almost placed a knife in Priya’s heart. It was fear of herself.

“You couldn’t convince me,” Priya told her. “Couldn’t trick me. I’m absolutely sure of that. I have a purpose and a goal and even you can’t make me give it up. I promise, Malini.” She kissed her again—the lightest brush of her lips against Malini’s cheek. “I promise.”

Malini exhaled.

“Good,” she said. “That’s good.” And then she turned her head, meeting Priya’s mouth with her own, brushing their lips together once again before she drew back. Drew back and turned away.

“You should go now, if you want to leave before it’s light. Go now, Priya.”

Priya looked at Malini. At her back, a forbidding line.

“I promise you I’ll come,” Priya said to her. “I know you don’t think much of prophecies. Or portents, or fate, or anything of that sort. But one day I am going to come and find you. By then, I expect you will have long forgotten me. Maybe I’ll only be able to walk the edges of whatever mahal you live in, but as… as long as you want me to, I’ll come. If you want me to find you, I’ll come.”

There were so many things Priya didn’t know how to say.

The moment I saw you, I felt a tug. You are the feeling of falling, the tidal waters, the way a living thing will always turn, seeking light. It isn’t that I think you are good or kind, or even that I love you. It is only that, the moment I saw you, I knew I would seek you out. Just as I sought the deathless waters. Just as I sought my brother. Just as I seek all things—without thought, with nothing but want.

Priya said again, “If you want.”

“You’ll always be welcome,” Malini said abruptly, as if the words had been wrenched out of her. “When you come and find me—you’ll be welcome. Now, Priya. Please.”

Priya swallowed. “Good-bye, Malini,” she said.