She wasn’t even sure where the words had come from… maybe it was exhaustion. For pushing herself further than she ever had, for conquering her fears and for winning when she was told she wasn’t. Maybe it was childish to want just ayes. Yes, you did it.
“Then go,” said Zahril.
If the air itself solidified and turned them into those strange insects forever pressed between glass, Aasha would have found it more comfortable than standing in front of Zahril. For a girl that didn’t look much older than nineteen, Zahril looked as if life had made her heavy. As if it had carved a dimension and a space for a world of grief that she had no choice but to carry with her. A dare lingered in the knifelike balance of her gaze. It said:well, were you threatening me or not?
Aasha, even as she gritted her teeth and felt a little part of herself cave inward with hate, did not go.
She poured some of the green bottle onto the edge of the threadbare handkerchief. She reached for Zahril’s hand, forcing her eyes not to drift upward when she heard her wince. Zahril’s hand trembled.
The burn was livid. Skin flaked and curled at the edges. The skin beneath was raw and shiny.
“You should go,” said Zahril, once Aasha had bandaged her hand. “Tell them you learned from me. I’ll even sign the thing agreeing that you are fit for the job. That’s what you want.”
Want.
It was the underbelly of wishing. A wish was fantastical. A want was… fleshy. It was a snake biting its tail—devoured and devouring.
Foolish or no, she felt betrayed at having any wants. A wish was supposed to remove all of that. And look how far a wish had gotten her?
It had brought her outside of the world she knew—took her dreams and made them nightmares, unstitched her nightmares and turned them into dreams. She had wanted choice. In its wake, she had found uncertainty. Human.Vishakanya.What was she?
Aasha said nothing for a couple of long moments. Maybe a week ago everything that Zahril said had been what she wanted. A week ago she would have said that all she wanted was the seal of approval that would make Gauri and Vikram happy, and let her stay in Bharata. But the weeks had worn away those edges of her. It wasn’t that things had changed, so much as that parts of herself felt peeled off. She wanted to earn this.
“No.”
Zahril raised her eyebrow. “No?”
“You’re wrong,” said Aasha. “I don’t just want you to say that I’m fit for the job. I want to earn it.”
“So be it,” said Zahril.
She turned her face, but Aasha caught the glint of a smile.
As if she had passed some test.
7
Zahril had taken with fever.
Aasha had caught her in the hallway that morning.
“Good reflexes,” said Zahril hoarsely.
Her attempt at sounding like an impartial mentor were thwarted by the sweat beading across her forehead.
“Why are you trying to turn this into an evaluation?” scolded Aasha. “You’re not well. Let me take care of you.”
Zahril grumbled. But Aasha ignored her. She half-carried, half-dragged her down the hall and back to her room. As she had observed from yesterday, she placed her hand against the wall, watching as a door shivered to life.
“You haven’t managed to fit an arena in here, have you?” asked Aasha.
“The thought had never occurred to me.”
“Well then I guess we can do a different kind of lesson for today.”
“Don’t lecture me,” said Zahril.
Aasha helped her to bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.
