“I’m not dreaming?”
“No,” said Priya. “No, my lady.”
“That’s good.” Malini’s voice was a little hoarse. She curled her fingers against the weave of bamboo and saw Priya’s fingers mirror her own, a half breath of distance between Priya’s knuckles and her own. Malini could barely make out her face. In the night’s gloom, Priya’s skin looked ghostly dark, her mouth and jaw in shadow.
Perhaps it was the needle-flower that made Malini feel as if Priya would vanish at any moment, unspooling like the coil of smoke from a candle flame. Malini wanted to reach out and feel her skin; the reassurance of solid fingers and smooth nails, the dip and swell of knuckles, all of it real and proof of life.
But she didn’t. She stayed still and listened to Priya’s breath; watched the whites of Priya’s eyes, as Priya watched her in turn.
“Why does Lady Pramila hate you, my lady?” Priya asked suddenly.
“Did Pramila say something to you today?”
Priya shook her head. “No, my lady.”
“Jailers always hate their prisoners,” Malini said.
“The way she responds to you is not simply how a jailer responds to a prisoner, I think.”
“Is it not?” Malini frowned. “I thought it was. After all, power makes everyone monstrous. At least a little.”
Priya’s mouth turned down at the corners. She looked—worried, perhaps. That was good.
“Please, my lady,” she said. “I want to help.”
Malini wanted Priya’s pity. She wanted to bind Priya to her. Sheneededan ally. She had already been vulnerable in front of Priya, drawing her in, making a confidante of her. Now she would have to do so again. But ah, it was a hard thing to do: Making herself speak through the weight of needle-flower. Pouring out words. All of it was hard, and hurt.
There was a long moment of silence, as Malini drew on her reserves of strength and shifted, rising to her elbows. She stared at Priya through her curtain of hair, wishing she could read her better, wishing that her own mind were less swaddled by poison.
“Her daughter was my friend,” said Malini. “My lady-in-waiting. She rose to the pyre—both my ladies did so—and I refused. Pramila can’t forgive that. Part of her sincerely believes it was an honor for her daughter. An ascent to immortality. And part of her knows the truth: that the pyre was my punishment. That her daughter died, burning and in agony, because of me. And I continue living despite all my errors, and her daughter does not. Neither of those are things she can forgive.”
Priya swallowed visibly, shifting to mirror Malini’s position. “Why did he wish to remove you?” Priya asked. “Your brother.”
There were many things Malini could have said.I betrayed him. I tried to remove him from his throne. I saw him too clearly, and he hated me for it.But those were not truths that would help her now. What truth would?
Malini brushed her hair back and met Priya’s eyes.
“Because I am not pure.”
Priya’s eyes widened, just slightly.
Ask me, Malini thought, not looking away from Priya’s gaze,what makes me impure. If you’re brave enough, ask me.
But Priya did not.
“I am sorry, my lady,” she said instead.
“Pramila wants me to die on the pyre,” Malini said in return. “Sometimes she will sit by my sickbed and tell me how blissful immortality will be. And—sometimes—she will ask me to imagine how it would feel to burn. And I did. And I do, Priya. I do, and I do, and I do.”
When Priya startled, beginning to reach out as Malini’s voice wavered, Malini warded her away with a hand. “No,” she went on. “I’m—I don’t want to be comforted.” Suddenly she was shaking, grief and anger rushing through her, and she did not want to be touched. That would be too much. Too much, when her skin already felt overfull with feeling. A shallow breath. Her hands lowered. “Pramila thinks I’ll choose it. The pyre. The burning. But perhaps it will not come to that. If I grow any weaker, it will not.”
“No,” said Priya. “I suppose not.”
“So now you know,” said Malini. “I would ask you to forgive me for telling you my hurts, but I regret nothing I’ve done. I want you to know that, Priya.”
There. A real truth, unvarnished and laid bare.
Malini had peeled her heart open and poured her heart’s blood out before Priya, given her everything ugly and tender, metal and sweet about her past. And Priya…
