The temple ground held her as she looked out.
Below them, she saw yellow and orange flame.
Something was indeed burning.
The rebels had attacked.
PRIYA
Priya whirled without thinking, running toward the doors. Down the corridor. Beyond the lit lanterns. Then the guards caught her, shoving her back into the temple, slamming the gates behind them. One swore, fumbling with his blade—if he’d reflexively been trying to knife her, he’d done a piss-poor job of it—and the other held her by the upper arms and murmured urgent nonsense at her. It took a moment for the sound of his voice to become more than white noise.
“… no one can leave the Hirana. Our orders haven’t changed. I know you’re afraid, but you must be calm.”
“I’m calm,” Priya forced out, stilling her body. “I’m calm. I won’t run again.”
The guard released her and she edged back. Away. Walking until the guards and the gates weren’t in sight any longer.
She couldn’t escape via the doors.
Another hand grabbed her arm. Priya was already on a knife edge. She whirled, pinning the owner of that hand against the wall.
Malini gave a quick exhale. She met Priya’s gaze without flinching.
“Let me go,” she said. “We’ve no time.”
“Where is Pramila?”
“I don’t know. I ran after you. Comeon. I want to talk to you alone.”
In the end, Priya was the one to lead the way, dragging Malini down a rarely used side corridor, and from there into a cloister room. The room was small, intended only for meditation and prayer, but once the door was shut behind them, Priya tried to pace back and forth in the limited space afforded to her anyway. She thought of everyone in the mahal, panic gripping her lungs.
“I need togo,” said Priya. “I can’t remain here. I—”
“The guards stopped you,” said Malini. “You think you can get beyond them?”
Priya shook her head, but it was no true answer. She could only think of Sima and Rukh and Bhumika, of the smell of fire, and her own blood seemed to sing a song in her veins:run to them, run to them, run to them.
“Priya,” Malini said. Her voice was slow, deliberate velvet. “Listen to me. Calm yourself. Do you think you can get beyond them?”
It took a moment for Priya to realize that Malini was not trying to reason with her. She was genuinely asking if Priya could force her way past the guards. Priya’s racing thoughts paused. Malini took her by the hands, threading their fingers together, grounding her to stillness.
“I don’t want to ask this of you now,” Malini said. “I truly don’t. I thought perhaps in time… but there won’t be a better opportunity, and we must seize it while we can. You could kill the guards, if you wanted to. You could remove Pramila. You could release us both. Couldn’t you?”
“You overestimate my power,” Priya said carefully. “I’m not—like that.”
“You’ve done so much for me,” said Malini. “I know you’re attempting to save my life. Do you care for me enough to do more?”
Priya thought of pulling away. She tried to untangle her fingers from Malini’s and felt Malini’s grip tighten, drawing Priya in closer until there was no distance between them, and Priya was looking up into Malini’s face—into the shadow gray of her pleading eyes.
“The guards likely won’t obey their normal routine under these circumstances, but they all traveled with me from Parijat. I know them. The one with the thick mustache—he complains that his right knee pains him whenever it rains. And it rained a great deal on the journey here. The youngest of them is better with a long-range weapon than close physical combat. He prefers a chakram or bow if he has a choice. But if you attack his senior first, cut him at the knees, the younger one won’t think to retreat, and once he’s in close combat with you, you’ll find it easier to manage him.” Malini’s fingers brushed back and forth over her own; a steady, almost hypnotic rhythm. “You can get us out, Priya. Right now, while they’re distracted and there is chaos below us… Youcan. And I can help you.”
Priya stared back at her. Numbly, she shook her head. She thought of the consequences for the mahal, for Bhumika, if the princess escaped the Hirana. “I… I can’t. My lady.”
“You don’t need to kill them,” Malini said quickly, still holding Priya close. “I don’t ask that. I only ask you to consider what will happen to me if I stay here. My only hope is beyond the Hirana’s walls. You could come with me, Priya.” Her voice lowered. “Wherever I go, you could go.”
Malini’s expression was pleading, her voice was cajoling, wounded—but there was a hardness to her jaw, a desperation in her eyes that was at odds with her tone.
Her hands on Priya’s were a light weight, fingers curled. Everything about her was a vulnerable entreaty. So perfectly vulnerable, that Priya could only think of festival plays, of actresses wearing theater masks painted saffron and vermilion, expressions fixed—stricken or joyful, sharp-toothed or soft-mouthed—to match their roles in the tale.
