No, thought Malini.I would be dead.
She turned back to Pramila, who still held the book open on her knees, the pages pinned flat by her fingers. Malini glanced down, identifying the page, and began her own recitation.
“ ‘And Divyanshi turned to the men of Alor who served the nameless god above all others, and the men of Saketa who worshipped fire, and said to them, offer my son your sworn loyalty, your unbreakable vow, and his sons after him. Unite with my beloved homeland, in one dvipa, one empire, and my sisters and I will raze the yaksa from the earth with our honorable deaths.’”
She paused, considering, then said, “If you turn to the next page, Lady Pramila, there’s a very fine illustration of Divyanshi lighting her own pyre. I am told I look a little like her.”
Pramila slammed the book shut.
“You’re mocking me,” she snapped. “Princess, do you have no shame? I am trying tohelpyou.”
“Lady Pramila,” a voice called. Malini heard the clatter of horses’ hooves as a figure drew nearer. “Is there anything amiss?”
Malini lowered her eyes. She saw Pramila’s grip tighten on the book.
“Lord Santosh,” said Pramila, voice like honey. “Nothing is amiss. I am merely instructing the princess.”
Santosh hovered, clearly wanting to involve himself.
“We will reach the regent’s mahal soon,” he said, when Pramila remained silent. “Make sure the princess is prepared.”
“Of course, my lord,” Pramila murmured.
His horse drew away.
“See what happens when you misbehave?” Pramila said quietly. “You want him to report your childishness to your brother? Would you like to see more punishments rained down upon us?”
What more could her brother possibly do to her than he had?
“I still have other children,” Pramila said. Her fingers were trembling faintly. “I would like to see them live. If I mustmakeyou behave…” She let the threat, half-formed, hang in the air.
Malini said nothing. Sometimes apologies only served to inflame Pramila’s anger further. An apology, after all, could not right any wrongs. Could not bring back the dead.
“Double your dosage tonight, I think,” Pramila announced, opening the book once more.
Malini turned her ear to Pramila. Heard the sound of the book cracking open; the rasp of fingers against the pages. The drone of Pramila’s voice.
This is what a pure and holy woman of Parijat can accomplish, when she embraces immortality.
Malini counted the shadows of the soldiers through the curtain. Lord Santosh’s figure was hunched over his horse, a parasol held over his head by an obedient lackey.
She thought of all the ways she would enjoy seeing her brother die.
PRIYA
Rukh stared at everything in the regent’s mahal: the lattice walls cut into hollow roses and lotus flowers, the airy hallways broken up by white silk curtains, the bouquets of peacock feathers carved into the bases of the sandstone columns that held up the high, silver-tiled ceilings. He tried to dawdle and drink it all in, but Priya dragged him along mercilessly. She couldn’t afford to give him the time to gawp. She was very, very late back, and although she’d warned the cook Billu that she was going to be late—bribed him with hashish she’d saved specifically for this occasion—there was only so far that she could stretch his goodwill.
She handed Rukh over to the care of Khalida, a sour-faced senior maidservant who agreed reluctantly to ask their mistress if the boy could do some menial work in her manse.
“I’ll come back and see you later,” Priya promised Rukh.
“If Lady Bhumika allows him to stay, you may collect him before the evening meal,” Khalida replied, and Rukh bit his lip. Worry tinged his expression.
Priya bowed her head.
“Thank you, ma’am.” To Rukh, she said, “Don’t worry. Our lady won’t say no.”
Khalida frowned, but did not disagree. She knew just as well as Priya did how generous the regent’s wife could be.
