“We have not been able to leave,” said Sunder. “There is too much danger beyond our walls.”
“My men and I will accompany you to safety, of course,” said Rao.
The priest shook his head.
“We cannot abandon this place. Caring for this monastery, worshipping within it, is our sacred duty.”
“Then we will remain here to help you.”
“You would be wiser not to,” Sunder said immediately, but hedid not mean it. Rao could see the wretched relief in his eyes. “Matters are more dire here than they first appear.” He hesitated. “I have… a regret.”
The priest drank his own water. His glass clinked as he lowered it.
“A woman came to us,” Sunder said. “She was Ahiranyi. She told us she had a way to destroy the yaksa. We drove her away. She returned, begging for safety for her and a number of villagers, claiming a single yaksa would soon come to destroy us. We turned them all away. I did not understand—as none of us did—how terribly these paths have riddled the forest. I fear she told us the truth—that a monster will soon be the ruin of us. And I fear she is dead and cannot be helped.”
Rao listened, frozen.
“I cannot stop thinking of her words,” Sunder continued. “She haunts me. I think, perhaps, the nameless punishes me.”
Was it Priya? Had she arrived here, of all places?
Maybe this was proof that the nameless was the one working through him after all, like it or not.
“This is the holiest of places,” said the priest. “And I fear that evil forces seek to destroy it. Anything you can do to help us, Prince Rao.” He exhaled, shame and fear in his face, his voice. “I have not felt the nameless in voice or heart in a long time. It is my great shame. But I see and know that you do. I should not ask, but I must.Help us.”
Rao could not leave the monastery unprotected. He would defend it with heart’s shell. If a yaksa was coming, it was the only possible protection they had.
He had to hope it would be enough.
When he left the room, shaken, he saw eyes watching from the shadows. He almost jumped—almost reached for his heart’s-shell blade—until a figure came forward.
“Prince Rao,” said the young priest. “My name is Ishan. And I… I think you’re looking for a woman. I can take you to her.”
The priest led him from the monastery to the land behind it, cleared of trees.
“I have been taking them what I can,” Ishan said, shamefaced. “We have stores for offerings—for food, grain, oil—anything we don’t wish to keep on monastery grounds. They’re staying here.”
He took Rao into a low-walled building, opened the large doors, and called out, “It’s me!” Rao heard rustling and saw crouched figures move. So many figures.
“I’ve brought someone willing to listen,” the priest said earnestly.
“Ishan told me he would gently cajole his fellow priests,” said a woman, hidden in shadow. Her voice was low and musical. “I did not expect a highborn lord.”
She stepped into the light, and she was not Priya. She was beautiful and plainly dressed, with wide, soft eyes. Unfamiliar.
But the man who walked forward into the light was not. He’d seen that face when he’d first tried to save Malini in Ahiranya—an Ahiranyi soldier’s face.
That was all he needed to know.
Rao drew his heart’s-shell blade. People screamed. The Ahiranyi man reached for his sword. The woman stood smoothly in front of him, shielding his body.
The priest Ishan grabbed Rao roughly, and Rao dropped the heart’s-shell blade; suddenly he felt fire behind his eyes again, pressing insistently against his skull. The Ahiranyi woman looked at him. A strange look passed over her face.
“We are not enemies,” she said, placating. “No weapons are needed here. We have a shared purpose, do we not, my lord? You feel it. I know you do.”
“Please, my lord,” Ishan said shakily.
Rao urged his heart to calm. Opened his hands.
