He gave her a wide-eyed look.
“You would teach me that?” he said wonderingly. “Me?”
“It is yours by right,” she said gently. “Just as much as it is mine.”
“Then yes,” he said. “Yes. I want to learn. Please, teach me. Can we begin now? Or—no. We can’t begin now. We’re walking.”
“We can begin now,” she said. She would have to teach him the movements later: the steady stances of the rite, hands to sky, feet ground to the earth. The sigils that would shape his hands and draw the daiva to his bidding.
But for now she would rely on words, simple and unvarnished words. She would give him a piece of himself back.
“We can start with history. This rite is called the Rite of the Cage,” she said. “And once, our Amrithi ancestors used it to keep people without the blood of daiva in them safe…”
Arwa saw the great city of Jah Irinah and realized that they must have been in Irinah for hours. Strange. She’d thought she would feel it, somehow know it, when they entered the desert province of her birth. But the sun was still hot, the ground still parched, and nothing had changed but the sight on the horizon.
She saw small households and settlements, set against the edges of the city. Within it, she knew, were grand havelis of honeyed sandstone, and mosaic-lacquered fountains along the roads that ran between the houses of the wealthy. She also saw, towering above it all, the Governor’s palace. The place where she’d lived the first nine years of her life.
She walked by Zahir’s side this time, Eshara to the left of him. Now that they were rejoining the larger throng of travelers, Eshara was on the alert, her hand moving constantly to check the hilt of her blade. But Arwa could not be so alert. She was afraid, certainly—she had a great deal to dread about their arrival in Irinah—but she was alsohome.
“The last time I saw that palace I was a small girl,” said Arwa to the both of them. “My sister watched me go. From there.” She pointed a finger to the roof. “She stood there. My mother thought I wasn’t looking. But I was.”
“What a lovely childhood home,” Eshara said, in a voice that was only mildly acerbic. “So many rooms to run about in, I imagine. Was it in better condition when you lived in it?”
Arwa squinted through the sunlight up at the Governor’s palace. Even from here she could see the decay of the walls. Great chunks had been removed. One of the gates was splintered.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “It was.”
Jah Irinah was a city abandoned.
Not abandoned by people. No, the streets were still full of stalls and hawkers and houses of widowhood and houses of prayer. The sandstone havelis were open-doored, full of people. But the roads had not been cared for, and rubbish and human waste were gathered in dark corners, where people did a good job of ignoring them. The fine fountains were bone dry. Most of the tiles had been ripped away from them, leaving them gray-white and bare and useless. The havelis were houses of prayers and shops, now. Arwa looked into one and saw a statue of the Maha, wreathed in incense. She looked away.
Even as the mourners and pilgrims had claimed it, the Empire had abandoned Irinah.
“There are boarding houses where we can stay tonight,” said Eshara.
“Entering the realm is better done at night,” Zahir said. “But Arwa needs time to recover. Best if we find a place.”
“I don’t need to recover,” Arwa said. She was not entirely lying—the realm of ash was with her always now, and she was not convinced that was going to change. “Besides, do we have money for proper rooms?”
“Aliye’s money is running short,” Eshara acknowledged. “But one of the pilgrims offered to pay.”
“And you think we shouldaccept?” Zahir said, incredulous.
“I’d like a real bed,” said Eshara. “Besides, what else are they good for? Go and offer them your blessings, Zahir. They’ll think that’s a fair exchange.”
Zahir gave her a complicated frown, and walked off.
“You probably shouldn’t share with Zahir,” said Eshara, after he was gone, “even though you no doubt want to. It would tarnish his image, and then we’ll have no one to pay for our beds.”
Arwa gave her a sharp look.
“Of course, it would tarnish your image much more than his,” Eshara added. “In fact, they’d probably forgive him and insist we leave you behind. But when he refused we’d end up in the same mess, so what it does matter?”
“Eshara.”
“I’m not stupid,” Eshara said. “And you two have never hidden your feelings well. But this won’t end well, Arwa.”
“I think we have greater things to concern ourselves with than this,” Arwa said.
