“And great detail, no doubt. That woman has an unhealthy interest in military strategy.” He gave her a sidelong look. “I know you wrote to Raziya, Princess Malini. She shared many of your letters with me. I was—intrigued.”
“I thought perhaps you had been,” she said. “You’re here, after all.”
Lord Khalil gave a rumbling laugh that was not entirely full of good humor.
“A choice I am beginning to strongly regret. I miss my home. My horses. And this place…” He looked around with distaste. “I would not allow my best horsemen to enter this place,” he said. “We’re hemmed in on all sides. What good are horses on terrain like this?” He waved a hand, in obvious disgust at the profusion of glossy flowers hanging from the rockery. “I wait here at the emperor’s pleasure. But I fear his pleasure is to remain here and meditate.”
“He was kind to wait for me,” said Malini. “Kind and noble, like a highborn of old.”
The lord snorted derisively. “I have little patience for his form of nobility.”
“I appreciate your frankness,” said Malini.
“My apologies. We do not have time for flowery words in Dwarali.”
Malini, who had read his wife’s elegant missives and had once enjoyed Dwarali poetry, refrained from commenting upon this claim.
“How many advisors from Dwarali have been sent home in disgrace?” Malini asked mildly. “And how many executed? To be frank in return, Lord Khalil: Chandra’s form of highborn honor will not favor you. Not as Aditya’s will.”
“Or as yours will,” the lord said. “But you have a point. The burning of women—that was not well liked, I’ll tell you that, princess. But raising your fire priests above the kings and lords who’ve given Parijatdvipa its greatness…” He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “That was ill thought-out.”
“I warned you he would do as much,” Malini reminded him.
“That you did,” Khalil acknowledged. “You worked very hard to seed ill will toward the false emperor in your missives,” Khalil said. “This, my wife told me too.”
“Your wife is a canny woman.”
“That she is.”
They walked for a moment in silence. Birds fluttered above them. The sky was bright with stars, the lacquer garden gleaming strangely.
“A cruel emperor is unpleasant,” Khalil said. His tone was light, almost conversational. “But if he protects the interests of those close to him, he can be forgiven a great deal.”
“Chandra does not even protect the interests of his own family,” Malini said. And ah, that was more honesty than she should have given.
“And that is the crux, is it not?”
Malini walked on. Steady, sure. “Aditya will always protect the interests of those loyal to him,” she said. “I can promise you that, my lord.”
“Aditya will indeed,” Khalil murmured, gazing at her with shrewd eyes. It was not Aditya, his eyes seemed to say, that would protect his interests.
But that was all right. Malini’s interests were aligned with Aditya’s own, after all.
“I leave you here, princess,” said Khalil, bowing his head.
“My thanks,” murmured Malini.
She and Lata waited as he walked away.
“They are kinder to their women in Dwarali,” said Malini to Lata, when he was long gone. “I took a risk.”
Then, to herself, she muttered: “Someone has to.”
RAO
More than a dozen men saw it when the messenger—not one of Prem’s, but a Saketan in deep green, his braided hair half-unfurled and slick with blood—fell from his horse and collapsed at the far end of the bridge. He was already beginning to crawl his way across when the men reached him, helped him.
“Soldiers from Parijat,” the messenger gasped, once he was on monastery soil. “They’re—they’re coming. One battalion only, mothers be praised.”
