Time passed. Flickered. But Malini was still upon the floor, and Priya was shaking her, shaking her awake, as those two ghosts shifted about the room, mirages of colored smoke, red silk coiling and glistening, the stars in their hair glinting, fire-hot.
“Malini.Malini.”
Oh, her head ached.
“If this is a ploy to make me help you escape, it’s a dangerous one,” Priya said. Her voice was trembling. “Pramila is awake, and I’ve managed to distract her but—please. You need to drink. Please.”
“How is my mother?” Narina asked. She cocked her head to the side, with a crackle like kindling wood. “No. I know. I don’t even need to guess. She’s twisted herself into knots of grief for me. She blames you for everything. Better than blaming the emperor. Better than blaming herself.”
Alori said nothing. She looked at Malini with eyes like sad hollows, deep and dark.
“My mother will never forgive you,” murmured Narina. “I hope you know that.”
“Of course I do.”
“What?” Priya looked confused. Alarmed. “I don’t understand.”
“Does she think I’m immortal now? A mother of flame? Doyou?”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Malini said honestly.
Kneeling before her, Priya lowered her head and let out a curse.
Priya.
When had Priya spoken to Pramila? How long had Malini been on the floor, watching the slow coil of Narina’s dead smile?
“Just drink,” Priya said, her voice a fearful whisper. “Please.”
Malini shook her head. And with a sickening lurch, Narina and Alori were beside her, before her.
“Do you remember how we both cut our hair, after your brother cut yours? We used silver shears and made ours even shorter. My mother was furious,” Narina said. “She said,What are you without your crowning glory?But now I wear a crown of fire and I am gristle and dust, so I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
“You’ve lost so much,” Alori said, infinitely gentle, infinitely sad, as her gossamer fingers brushed over Malini’s forehead. And Malini felt… nothing.
Because they were not here.
“Your lovely silks. Your jewels. Your network of allies. Your friends. Your power. All gone. And who are you without them?”
“Cruel,” murmured Malini. “You were never cruel, nameless princess.”
“What isyourname, beneath all the finery you’ve lost?” Alori whispered. “What did the nameless call you, on the day you were born?”
“That,” Malini said, “is your faith, not mine.”
“It doesn’t make it any less true,” Alori said. “Believe in it or not, fate will find you. As it found me. You were named long before you were born, princess. Your tale is written.”
Was it written that Malini should live when Narina and Alori burned? Was it written that she should live and be reduced to this? She had tried so hard to build herself an impenetrable armor of power. She had learned classic texts of war and rule and politics, reading by moonlight when everyone else in the mahal slept. She had made fast friends with the wives of kings and the sisters of princes.
“And now you have nothing,” said Narina, in a voice of wood sap and ash. “Not even us.”
No sisters of her heart. No one to turn to.
“I have Priya,” she forced out, and through the haze she heard the press of a voice on her ears.Yes, yes, I’m here, please—
A laugh.
“A maidservant with monstrous gifts, who doesn’t even particularly like you?”
