But she wasn’t going to.
The certainty of that seeped through her. Settled into her bones.
There was only so much a single servant boy could learn about the workings of the mahal. He was no trained spy. He was no assassin. He was just a child. He was young and idealistic and dying and alone, and she wouldn’t—couldn’t—be the one to send him back out into the city with nothing. And Bhumikawouldsend him away if she knew the truth, of that Priya was sure.
For a boy with rot, with hunger, with no family… it would be a death sentence.
“I need a favor,” she said to Sima, when Sima eventually went quiet.
“Tell me.”
“Rukh,” she said, and Sima sighed, as if she’d guessed what was coming. “I—can you make sure he’s all right? He’s still so new to the mahal, he doesn’t really know how anything works. And can you check that he has enough sacred wood? If Lady Bhumika has provided any…? I know it’s a lot to ask.”
“I told you I’d help you any way you need, didn’t I? I’ll try.”
“If he behaves oddly, or you’re worried, could you—send me a message somehow? Leave me a note when you visit?” Priya cursed inwardly. There was no way for her to say anything close toIf he betrays the household, let me knowwith subtlety.
Sima gave her a measuring look, as if Priya’s words had struck her oddly. But she nodded anyway. “You know I will,” she said.
This time it was Priya who hugged her, so fierce that Sima protested, laughing, that she couldn’t breathe. So Priya drew back and said reluctantly, “I should go. The princess will be waking soon. I need to be ready.”
“You’re safe?” Sima blurted out. “And—well?”
“I’m just fine,” Priya said.
“And the princess…?”
“She isn’t a difficult mistress.”
“But still more mistress than you want, I expect,” Sima said, with the faintest, bitterest smile. She reached for Priya again. Clasped her hand, then let it go. “Take care, Priya. And… talk to me again. Assure me that you’re well.”
Priya shook her head. She felt all the banked fury in her, the itch that wanted nothing more than to fling off the responsibilities of the deathless waters and the ailing princess and return to the comforting weight of her normal life. Part of her wanted desperately to leave with Sima, to escape the trap she’d made for herself.
But the rest of her wanted to see this through.
“And what will you do if I’m not well, in the end?” Priya asked.
“Nothing,” Sima said. “I could do nothing. But I’d still want to know. That’s what friends want.”
Dawn came, and the maidservants left. As the first gray light filtered over her charpoy, the princess arose. She gave a groan and placed her face in her hands. Then she raised her head. Her hands trembled. The whites of her eyes were veined red.
“Priya,” she said. “I wish to bathe.”
Priya was used to gentle, strange requests from the princess when she was half asleep. But Malini was wide awake now, standing, her voice a firm command.
Surely it would break no laws to do this simple task, but still Priya touched the hard-earned key on her waist chain. Pramila, she hoped, would not yet be awake.
“I’ll warm the water, my lady,” Priya said, moving around the room to collect a drying cloth, soap, a comb.
“No. I need cold water. Now, please.” She held out one arm, sandalwood pale, beckoning Priya closer.
Priya approached her, and Malini laced her arm with Priya’s, leaning her frail weight against Priya’s smaller frame. Priya should not have been able to support her as easily as she did, but then, Priya was all muscle and sinew where Malini was all fragile bones and barely a scrap of flesh on her.
Priya looked at the hand on her arm. The seawater color of Malini’s veins through her soft skin.
Priya thought, absurdly, of the bower. The clink of white bones in wind.
They walked slowly together from the northern chamber across the triveni. Priya expected Pramila to appear at any moment, but thankfully there was no sign of her as they left the open air and entered a dark corridor. The maids had snuffed out the lamps along the wall on their departure, preserving the oil and the wicks for future use.
