“Lean back your head and open your eyes,” she said.
“Don’t yell at me!”
“I’m not!” Priya. “And if you don’t want me to shout, stop being so, so…”
Nandi sniffled.
Relenting, Priya went over to him and tugged him gently forward. When he was near the bucket, she pried his hands away from his eyes and washed the pollen away as he blinked rapidly.
“Does it feel better?” she asked.
“I—I think so.”
“Good.”
“Are you two getting ready?”
Priya and Nandi turned as one to see thrice-born Sanjana leaning against the door. She wore a deep yellow sari, her hair loose over her shoulders, the maang tikka on her forehead ruby red, like a heavy drop of blood. A trail of moss had grown beneath her bare feet, but withered as she took a step forward.
“You’re taking absolutely ages, and I’m bored,” said Sanjana. “Riti’s grumpy today, and Ashok’s got some awful stomach ailment, he’s refusing to eat a single thing, and there’s so much lovely food laid out. Why are you dawdling?”
“Nandi got pollen in his eyes,” said Priya.
“Ah,” said Sanjana. “And—is that why your clothes are wet, Priya?”
Priya scowled in response, and Sanjana chuckled.
“Why did you hurt those men?” Priya asked suddenly, thinking of the man whose leg was broken. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked. Maybe Sanjana would box her around the ears for asking. But Sanjana’s expression was easy, her brow soft, and Priya didn’t think so.
“Who?”
“The Parijati soldiers.”
“Did it scare you, little dove?”
“I’m not easily scared,” Priya said. They both knew that wasn’t exactly a no.
Sanjana’s answering smile was crooked. “Because the Parijati should be afraid of us,” she said. “But you don’t need to be afraid of me. We’re family.”
Sanjana had hit Priya more than once, and stolen her dinner, and laughed uproariously when Priya fell during training or fell asleep at meditation. But Priya also knew she meant what she’d said. Cruelty was part of their training, callousing the heart the way a knife calloused the hands. Weakness had to be burned away. Sanjana had always tried to make Priya strong, so that Priya would survive two more journeys through the waters. So that Priya would live.
“They’re going to name Riti and me elders tonight,” said Sanjana. “So I want you to look nice.”
“I do look nice.”
Sanjana kneeled down. She touched her fingers to Priya’s hem. “Here,” she said. “Let’s make you a little prettier. Only a little, mind. I’m not a yaksa proper, I can’t do such great magic.”
“Ha-ha,” Priya said flatly. But then she fell silent as Sanjana lightly brushed her fingers back and forth across her skirt, and the distant sound of rustling grass filled the air.
A faint tracery of real leaves, their veins fine as spun gold, lined the damp hem of Priya’s dress.
“There,” said Sanjana. “Doesn’t that look lovely?”
She let the hem drop. It made a crinkling whisper as it brushed against Priya’s ankles, as if the leaves still lived. “You look very smart too, Nandi,” Sanjana added.
“Thank you.” Nandi’s voice was small. He was still hunched next to the bucket.
Sanjana laughed—not quite cruel and not quite kind—and swept out of the room.
