A thump of grief and guilt in her chest.
“I did,” Priya said. “It was not my weapon, but it was my fault.”
Sima lowered her head.
“I’m not going to make excuses,” Priya said quietly. “But I am sorry. You have the right to be angry with me.”
“Of course I am,” Sima said, her voice low. She raised her head. Her eyes were damp. “I’m so angry at you. I don’t think I could ever forgive you. You—you did that. And youleftme.”
Priya nodded, her own throat tight.
“I did,” she said.
“You’re awful,” Sima said. “An absolute shit.” She rubbed her knuckles over her eyes, her wet face, roughly. “Try to do what the empress wants. Please, Pri. Don’t die now. I’ll never forgive you.”
Priya wanted to reach for her, wanted to draw her into a rough hug so both of them could cry in the ugly, awful way you could only cry with a friend. Instead she raised her hands and clumsily wiped her own eyes.
“I’ll do my best,” said Priya. “But for now… tell the guards, or the empress, or whoever let you come here—I won’t offer you anything useful. If the empress wants answers, she must speak to me herself.”
She’d seen Sima alive and healthy. She knew Sima was well.
That was enough.
PRIYA
Her prison in Parijat was more comfortable than she’d expected. There was a bed. A window. Slack on her ankle chain. Really, she couldn’t complain.
It took two days, judging by the movement of the guards and the rise and fall of the sun, for Malini to come to her.
Malini waited until it was late night, dark apart from a few crackling lanterns, the glow of a guard’s cheroot. The door was thrown open and something pushed through it. She heard Malini’s voice:
“Leave us.”
No protests. Only footsteps.
She heard the whisper of skirts. A clink of something against stone. She stood. Stepped forward.
On the ground, beyond the door, under a slant of watery light from through the bars…
“Wine,” Priya said out loud. She’d never hungered for wine, not really—but now she craned forward and snatched up the bottle. It was cold in her hands; it had clearly been stored in darkness, just like her. She opened it, the smell meeting her nose: sharpness, acid, and beneath that, something deep and mellow that made her mouth water.
She raised her head, meeting Malini’s eyes through the lattice. She offered her a smile, sharp with teeth. “Be honest with me,Malini,” she said. “Is it laced with needle-flower? Poisoned? Have we swapped roles? Will a sip of this kill me?”
Malini did not speak, but her shoulders did stiffen. Her face went tight. It made Priya laugh, something bitter and malicious cracking in her chest. What else could she do but laugh? “You have to admit it feels like something you would do,” Priya said through her own laughter. “I know you well enough to know that.”
She lifted it to her mouth and drank. And drank. She could only hear the blood in her own skull. The click of her own throat.
“Well? Have you decided if I’ve poisoned you yet?”
Malini’s voice.
“If you wanted to kill me there are simpler ways,” Priya said, leaning her head back against the wall. The stone was cool under her skull. “You could have strangled me. You could have slit my throat.”
“Yes.” Malini’s voice would have been unreadable to someone else. But Priya could hear the anger in it. She’d learned the song of Malini a long time ago. The language was still with her, in her. “That would be simple. Swift.”
“Oh, and you don’t like swift, do you? Not for your enemies.”Not for me.She took another deep slug of wine. She hadn’t eaten much earlier of the food her guards had practically kicked into the room. She knew the wine was going to hit her hard, like a fist. She wasn’t entirely sure she cared. Seeing Malini there had already set a fire in her blood—left her furious and elated, a sharp and shivering nerve of a woman. “Well, there are other ways to kill me slowly too. You could leave me down here alone to starve. You could torture me. You could hold the knife yourself. You’d probably enjoy that.”
Malini said nothing. Perhaps she was imagining the pleasure of that act. Perhaps she was disgusted.
