There was blood beneath her feet.
She drew her dagger out of her sash.
There was a trail of blood leading down the hall to the inner courtyard. She followed it. She’d come this far. She had a duty to fulfill. She reached the doors to the courtyard and opened them wide.
On the steps leading down to the courtyard lay a body. Mehr ran toward it, then kneeled, furious and afraid.
Not Lalita. The body wasn’t Lalita’s.
“Usha,” Mehr said. “Usha, can you hear me?”
Usha looked up at Mehr. Even that small movement was a struggle. Her gaze was unfocused and her face was spangled with dust.
“Lady Mehr?” she whispered. Blood oozed from her lips.
“We need to get you out of the storm,” Mehr said.
Usha shook her head weakly. “Shouldn’t … be here.”
She clearly couldn’t get up on her own, but Mehr didn’t know where to touch her. Her clothes were ripped, her skin dark with blood and bruises. When Mehr tucked her dagger away again and carefully took hold of her under the arms, Usha gave a bitten-off cry of agony.
Usha was badly wounded. That at least was obvious. Mehr moved her as gently as she was able, whispering grim apologies as she went. Once they were inside the haveli, Mehr slammed the courtyard doors shut behind them, blocking out the storm. Usha lay silently on the floor, eyes closed.
Lalita’s guardswoman had always looked invulnerable: confident enough to be kind, her strength draped around her like armor. But the armor was gone now. Wounded, she was all too mortal. Her body was curved protectively around the steadily darkening stain on the front of her tunic. Her breathing was labored and her skin gray.
“What happened here?” Mehr asked. She could hear her own voice trembling. “Who hurt you?”
Usha was silent for a long time. Then she said, “Go.”
“I’ll find help,” Mehr said. She was worse than useless to Usha on her own. She knew nothing about treating wounds.
Usha seemed to have understood, at least in part.
“Go,” she said vehemently. “Before … findyou.”
Mehr raced through the house. No gentle, careful footsteps now. She threw open the doors to the street and shouted for help. The storm swallowed up her voice instantly. Useless. There was no one outside to hear her anyway. The rich residents of the surrounding homes were hidden away behind their shutters and their gates. When she forced her way through the wind, slammed her fists against another door, she was met with silence. The storm had probably swallowed the sound of her fists too.
She threw herself against the doors of another haveli, then another. But no one would answer. She screamed at the dreamfire. Screamed again, harder still, because she was furious and this was useless,shewas useless. She couldn’t help Usha. They were on their own.
Mehr found her way back into Lalita’s haveli. She went back to Usha’s side. She kneeled down on the floor beside her. Usha didn’t look any better, but at least her eyes were open again.
“The other servants,” Mehr said softly, meeting her gaze. “Are any of them going to come back?”
“All left,” Usha said in a shaky voice. She was shivering. “Ran. Cowards.”
Mehr nodded. She grabbed the hem of her robe and slipped it off, covering Usha’s body in its dark weight. Usha murmured a thank-you, but her shivering didn’t abate. She pressed her face against the long, fanned sweep of Mehr’s skirt. Mehr pressed a hand to her forehead and Usha gave a sigh. The feel of Mehr beside her seemed to comfort her.
I’m sorry, thought Mehr.I’m so sorry, Usha. I don’t know how to help you.
Mehr said none of it. It wasn’t Usha’s job to give her absolution.
“Where is Lalita?” Mehr asked quietly.
“They came,” Usha murmured. “Knew they would.”
“Who came, Usha? Please.”
“Salt,” she whispered, and closed her eyes. “Tired.”
