“Prince Rao,” the head priest said, his voice low with concern. “Do you—”
Rao shook his head, speaking again.
“The nameless speaks in many ways, in many forms. Through visions, yes. But through other means, too. Through instinct. Through our sages and our teachers. Our parents. Through a man’s flesh, and a woman’s voice.” He stopped, turning to face the head priest—who flinched, as if struck by the flames of Rao’s eyes. “The nameless speaks,” he said finally. “And you—we—are failing to heed our god.” He touched a hand to his chest. “I feel it.”
The earth shuddered again. One of the boys whimpered, and Manjeet clenched him tight, looking at Bhumika and only Bhumika with a demand in her eyes.
“I feel the nameless too,” Ishan said. He took a step forward. “Lady,” he continued. “When you prayed I felt our god. I know I am not alone.” He looked at his fellow priests then. “Brothers. You felt it. How could you not? We were meant to be here. We were meant to learn from her, and save our people from the yaksa.”
A ripple of agreement ran through the priesthood. Not all. But enough. The head priest’s expression was unreadable, his eyes hard. But he said, heavily, hopefully, “I obey my god.”
The villagers were told to leave the room, urged away by guards. They would be hidden away in the far end of the monastery, where they would hopefully be safe from what was to come. The younger priests insisted the head priest Sunder join them. “For your safety, and the future of the monastery,” Ishan insisted earnestly—and the head priest relented.
Manjeet gave Bhumika a grave nod in farewell as she guided Gulnar out. Bidisha waited until last—and walked a few determined steps toward Bhumika before stopping.
“You are a curse,” Bidisha said. Her voice trembled. Her gaze darted from the priests and soldiers back to Bhumika. But there was defiance in her eyes, too. Bravely, she said, “You drew this evil here. I am no priest, no noble lord or lady, but I know we cannot trust you.”
“You should not be in this room for what will follow,” Bhumikasaid gently. “Go with the guards. Keep your people safe. You will not see me again, and I am grateful for the kindness you and your people showed me.”
Bidisha’s mouth thinned. She shook her head, then turned and walked away. As the villagers shuffled from the hall, Prince Rao made his way toward her.
“Speak with me alone, Lady Bhumika,” he said. It was an order, not a request. She nodded and followed him from the hall. She gave Jeevan a brief glance.Wait for me, she tried to say with her eyes.Trust me.
His mouth was thin with tension, but he inclined his head subtly in understanding.
Prince Rao led her to an alcove room. In the distance she could hear the footsteps of the villagers and low voices from the Aloran soldiers and the priests.
“Prince Rao,” she said, before he could speak. “Your weapon. Your blade of stone. It deadens magic, does it not?”
“I was told the stone is powerful enough to fight the yaksa,” he replied. “Iknowit is a tool that can hurt the servants of yaksa.” He said the words levelly, his gaze probing. When she stared back at him, unable to give him the reaction he was clearly seeking, he shook his head and continued. “I had already vowed to myself that I would protect the monastery with all the weapons I have, before the head priest told me about you. Icanfight the yaksa, and I shall.”
“And yet,” she said, “you spoke to the head priest on my behalf. Why use my knowledge at all, if you believe you have the key to destroying the yaksa already?”
His smile was joyless. “I cannot ignore the nameless when my god speaks,” he said. “What right do I have to be so foolish?” From his tunic, he withdrew the dagger of stone. He must have taken it back from the soldier he’d handed it to and concealed it for this moment, though she did not immediately know why. It was only when he held it out with the blade toward her that she realized he planned to threaten her. His eyes, lusterless andhuman, were cold. “But, Lady Bhumika, I promise, if you prove yourself to be a traitor and a liar, I will put this blade through your heart myself.”
She held out her hand, palm open.
“Let me see this weapon that will kill me,” she said. When he did not relinquish it or place it through her heart, she said mildly, “Do you fear me so much, Prince Rao?”
“I’ve seen what your kind are capable of,” he said. But he placed the dagger on her palm.
She felt—nothing.
Utter nothing. She was silent inside, her head no longer aching, no longer roaring with waters. The absence of magic was absolute.
She returned the dagger to him. Her hand was trembling faintly.
“The yaksa will come here,” she said, after a beat, when her voice returned to her. “But I will need it pinned. Can you do so, with your weapons of stone?”
“I will try,” he said.
“The yaksa will fear the stone once they feel it,” Bhumika said. She hoped her own horror did not show on her face, but she was sure it did. “That will give you some advantage. And—it will be young. Newly reborn. That will help too.”
He tucked his blade away, moving to go. But she could not let him leave yet.
“Prince Rao.” He paused, looking at her. “Whatever happens here, I hope the villagers who traveled with me will be cared for. Their home has been destroyed. If they survive the yaksa today, they will starve tomorrow without assistance.”
His cold gaze finally thawed a little.
