“Priya.Wake.”
With a groan, Priya opened her eyes once more.
Malini’s own eyes were dry. She thought of feigning tears again, of being soft and softening Priya in turn.
But no. She’d failed to play the game adequately. The fire below had made her good sense lapse, and she’d revealed herself too quickly. All that carefully cultivated trust, the vulnerabilities she’d revealed—all of it, wasted.
Either she’d need to find a new ploy to win Priya, to snare her into service, or she would have to resort to honesty.
But first…
“Priya,” she said. “Put an end to this. Your—magic.”
“I’mtrying.”
She watched the rise and fall of Priya’s chest, the way her hands curled as she rose up onto her elbows.
“What happened to you?” Malini murmured.
“Stop talking,” Priya said, “and let me think.”
Priya’s gaze was distant, fixed on a point far beyond Malini. She breathed slowly, deeply. Malini remained silent and kneeling. She did not touch the green around her—only watched as it receded, withering back into the floor and walls.
Priya looked down at her own hands with wonder and fear. “Soil and sky,” she whispered. “It worked.”
Then Priya raised her head, pushed herself up straight, and looked at Malini. Her expression was ugly—thin-lipped, jaw tight, narrow-eyed. Priya looked like she’d happily choke the life out of her.
“I have long known that I can’t trust anyone,” Priya said. “Known how the world is. Butyou. I was foolish about you. I thought I understood a little of what you were. I watched you sicken. And weep. And I was afraid I’d have to watch you die. But everything you said and did… it was all a lie, wasn’t it?” Priya shook her head furiously and held a hand before her. “No, don’t answer. I know it was a lie.”
I did not lie, Malini thought. She knew how to lie, of course. She did so often. But the value of a truth, carefully carved to meet the needs of her audience, was much greater, and far more difficult to disprove.
She liked Priya. Liked the steady grip of her arms; the way muscle dipped and curved just so; the way she smiled, always oddly guarded, no more than a flash of white teeth, a dimple etched into one cheek.
Malini did not know how Priya’s look of fury and betrayal made her feel. There was a pain in her chest that reminded her of the sensation of eating a fresh green chili whole when she was a small girl, purely because her nursemaid had told her not to—a pain throbbing and yet intensely sweet. She was not sure if she hated it or hungered for more of it.
I do not want you to hate me, she thought.I want you to like me. It’s absurd, but why else would I ask you to imagine me in my finest saris? Why else would I ask you to imagine me beautiful?
This truth could do her no favors. And she needed Priya.
“You should listen to what I have to offer,” Malini said again, instead. “Even if you will not help me escape—you should listen.”
“With respect,” Priya said, voice cutting, “I don’t have to listen to you. You have nothing.”
Priya was right. Everything Malini had fostered in her time at court—a garden of loyal highborn women and kings and lords and princes, a network of whispers to feed her the nectar of knowledge—was gone, withered or scoured by fire or simply placed beyond her reach. Even her mind was not what it should have been, thanks to the needle-flower poison. She had nothing and no one. She could only offer Priya favors and debts she would hopefully be able to pay one day.
She leaned forward, pressing a hand to the cool ground that had been covered with moss. She did not play any game that Priya would reject. Instead she met Priya’s eyes and thought,I am a highborn daughter of Parijat, I have outlived the sisters of my heart, I have won men to my cause. I still live, despite faith and flame.
You will listen to me. I command it.
She poured the thought into every inch of her own limbs: into the tilt of her neck, the firmness of her hand on the ground, the proud jut of her shoulders.
It was enough to hold Priya fast for a moment. Just enough.
“You have little love for the Parijati, I know,” Malini said. “But you do love Ahiranya. And you know that Emperor Chandra will soon remove your regent.”
“What do I care if he does?”
“You want one of his cronies lording over your country? A zealous believer in the unity of Parijatdvipa under the one flame of faith? Whatever you may think of General Vikram, he’s no idealist. Idealists are by far the most dangerous rulers.”
