Jeevan and the others met them with a clash of steel, swords a dancing arc against the air. Priya spared Malini a glance—mouthed at her to run—then turned and strode into the fray. No weapons were in her hands—nothing but the thing that lay in her blood.
Malini should have fled. Common sense demanded it. But there was something more than sense, common or otherwise, at play. Aloran men. Men of Parijat, but—for all they wore Parijati clothing, in pale weaves, with prayer necklaces wound about their throats—they did not wear the white and gold of the imperial army. This was an opportunity, a possibility.
More fool her. Of course one Aloran man broke through Jeevan’s ranks. Of course he ran, and swung his sword at her.
“Rao,” she gasped out. “I know Prince Rao, donotharm me!”
The Aloran’s eyes widened.
Unfortunately, words did little good against a moving blade. Malini could only watch as it descended toward her—and then Jeevan was there. His sword met the Aloran man’s at an angle, knocking it aside and out of the Aloran man’s hands. He struck, and the Aloran ducked, rolling to the ground.
Malini stumbled backward, away from the fight, and felt the earth shift beneath her, carrying her farther as if on a green wave. Priya had not turned back, but of course Malini knew it was her hand in that moment of strangeness.
Run.Even the earth was saying it, speaking in Priya’s voice.
But Rao.
It was not her finest moment. It was not an act of subtle politics or cunning. It was only this: her hands clenching into fists as she sucked in a deep, deep breath and yelled with all her might.
“Rao!” She nearly winced at the sound of her own voice, so shrill and sharp. “Rao, I am here!Rao!”
“Stop.” A voice.Rao’svoice—a whipcrack of command, achingly familiar. “Peace, brothers. Peace!”
It should have done nothing. But Priya swore, and then the earth moved, the soil sinking, holding all their feet fast.
Everyone froze.
As the chaos settled, Malini took in the sight before her. Men with swords. And there—Rao.
Rao, with Jeevan’s sword tip beneath his chin. The two of them were caught by the earth, fused into the moment before the cut of the blade.
Here was the moment when she would know if she was a hostage after all.
“Let him go, Commander,” Malini said. “Lower your blade. These men are my brother Aditya’s.”
A pause. “Are you sure,” Jeevan said flatly.
“Yes,” said Malini. “In honor of the vow I have made. Yes.”
“Jeevan,” said Priya. “Come on. Lower it.”
Clearly conflicted, Jeevan finally let the tip of his sword fall. And Malini looked at Rao—that pleasant face, that dark unbound hair—and nearly shook from the familiarity of it. Of him.
“Hello, Prince Rao,” she said.
“Malini,” Rao said, by way of greeting. He blinked at her. “I—Priya?”
“Lord Rajan,” Priya said. “How nice to see you again.”
“Priya is my ally, Rao,” said Malini. “I think there has been a… misunderstanding. These Ahiranyi have allied with me. With Aditya.”
“Of course they have,” he said, the strangest smile gracing his face, for only a moment. “Stand down. All of you.”
His men lowered their own weapons, with a reluctance mirrored by Jeevan’s own soldiers. After a moment, the ground rippled, releasing them all, and Jeevan stumbled back with a curse. Carefully, Rao took a step forward. Another.
And then he was before her. He did not touch her. He merely bowed his head and touched his fingertips to his forehead, in a gesture of love and respect. Malini held her hands out before her, glad they did not shake.
“Prince Rao,” she said. “I know you waited for me. Sought to save me.”
