“I went to visit my uncle,” said Bhumika.
“How is his health?”
She shook her head. Walked over to him, brushing a fingertip lightly against the back of his hand in greeting. “I am going to pray for him. Incense for the mothers. And I will burn jasmine.”
Vikram made a hum of approval. Or perhaps it was sympathy.
“I have a new maid,” said Bhumika lightly, taking the glass of lemon water a servant proffered. “Oh, don’t look at me that way, my love. This one is trustworthy. She’s from my uncle’s own household.”
One girl had escaped the soldiers at the brothel. Only one. It was only right that Bhumika protect her.
“You don’t have the sense to know who to trust,” he said.
There was a hardness to his tone. So Bhumika lowered her eyes, chastised.
“My soft heart makes a fool of me,” she said.
“This one should be interviewed by someone trustworthy,” he said, as water was brought to him as well, a sheen of condensation upon the metal cup. “I’ll have Commander Jeevan speak to her.”
Bhumika nodded.
Vikram hesitated.
“Lord Santosh,” he began. Then went quiet. “Emperor Chandra is ordering women burned.”
She said nothing.
“This is not the way of the mothers of flame,” he said. “This Chandra… if the older brother ruled, if he hadn’t left his family and faith, it would not be so. But some men dream of times long dead, and times that never existed, and they’re willing to tear the present apart entirely to get them.
“I am glad you did not see it,” he added, and she wondered for a moment if he was testing her. If he knew. But no. He had never suspected her of anything, her poor, unknowing husband.
“Oh, Vikram,” she said quietly. “I am sorry.”
He sighed, and said, “You have nothing to apologize for.” He drank deeply, then lowered his cup. “Now. Come here. Tell me about your day.”
When Vikram was gone, Bhumika retired to her room. Khalida came in not long after, a pot of flowers balanced against her hip. Her expression was tight.
“Lady Pramila won’t release her,” said Khalida. “The maid Gauri told me. She won’t give your girl a day’s ease. What do you want to do?”
“Nothing,” said Bhumika. Here, through her window, she could see the edges of the Hirana, framed in sunlight.
“I can insist on your behalf that household rules around the treatment of servants are adhered to.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said Bhumika. “I’ll find a way to talk to Priya regardless.”
She knew the Hirana’s power. She knew how it was already changing Priya. She had a hunch, a suspicion, and she would know soon enough if it was correct.
“What are you holding?” Bhumika asked. “A gift, is it?”
“Jasmine from Parijat itself,” said Khalida, placing the pot on the window by Bhumika. “General Vikram sent it to you. It’s a gift.”
“How kind of him,” Bhumika said, and saw Khalida’s lips quirk at the sweetness of her voice.
It was not a container fit for jasmine flower, and the fragrant blooms would die soon enough.
“Is he here?”
Khalida knew she wasn’t speaking of her husband.
