“You suppose correctly. Now go and clean yourself up. You smell awful.”
Priya turned to go. Bhumika’s voice stopped her.
“The boy you brought, Priya.”
Priya turned back, alarmed. “He’s fine? He’s doing fine, isn’t he?”
“I’ve heard nothing, so I must assume he is,” said Bhumika. “But please don’t bring any more strays home. I know I have a benevolent reputation, but I can only get away with so much before I’ll have to explain myself to my husband.”
Priya said nothing. What was there to say?
“I know how you help rot sufferers in the city,” Bhumika went on. “You could have asked me for aid with them, you know.”
Bhumika had just pointed out exactly why Priya had not asked. But Priya didn’t mention the regent. Instead she said, “I shouldn’t have had to ask.”
“I can’t do everything,” Bhumika said. “Unfortunately.”
Priya registered just how exhausted Bhumika looked then, and felt a pang at the thought of all the tasks Bhumika was struggling with. But before she could say a word, Bhumika was speaking once more.
“I’ll arrange a supply of sacred wood for those that I can. In the city—and within the mahal.”
“And for Rukh? He’ll need more than the rest. More often.”
A pause. “He’s dying, Priya. It would be a waste to give him additional help.”
Priya swallowed. “I brought him here,” she said. “And now I won’t be here to help him.”
“Your soft heart,” Bhumika said. And Priya did not know if it was an insult or not. She only knew that Bhumika turned her head away, to the roses upon the windows that were rustling in the breeze, and said, “Just go. I’ll do what I can. That’s all I promise you.”
Priya left Bhumika and walked toward the servants’ chambers. Bhumika had not sent a guard to escort her, and Priya was glad of that. She needed time alone.
It was darkening to evening, but Priya did not suppose she would be needed or wanted at the Hirana tonight. In the fading light, she could see that the hem of her sari was stained with water and mud, and blood, too. The realization made her wince. It would be no end of trouble to remove it.
It was easier to think of the stains on her hem than it was to think of anything else.
“Priya,” whispered a voice.
She turned.
Rukh stood under the shade thrown by one vast carved column, his hands in fists at his sides. He looked slight and out of place, and even from here, she could see that his wrists were painted in the shadows of underskin leaves.
Rukh, who had warned her not to climb the Hirana. She gazed at him steadily—his guilty, familiar face, his skin flushed with green—and touched a single fingertip to the bead of sacred wood at her wrist.
“What have you done, Rukh?”
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I really am. But I… I didn’t talk to you, ask for your help, for work, just because I needed it. Even though I did—I did need it. I was told to talk to you and try to get into the mahal. I was ordered.” He swallowed. “And now I need you to come with me. Out of the mahal. Please?”
Told. Ordered. Who had ordered him?
A chill ran through her. She could guess.
Slowly, she shook her head. Before she could speak, Rukh darted forward. He grabbed her hand.
“I told them you wouldn’t come,” he said earnestly. “That you wouldn’t forgive me. That you’re not as weak as they think. And maybe… maybe you shouldn’t come. But they promised me they won’t hurt you, Priya, and I believe them. They asked me to make sure you weren’t hurt, so you’ll be safe. Or I wouldn’t—I couldn’t—” There were tears of frustration in his eyes.
“Rukh.” Her free hand hovered over his head before she lightly smoothed his hair. “Calm down. Speak slowly. You’re not making any sense.”
He furled and unfurled his fingers around her wrist. He said nothing for a long moment, and Priya sighed.
