“Yes, my lady. Weeks ago.” Hesitation. “Lady Raziya and a retinue have been seen at the borders of Harsinghar. If you…”
“I will meet her,” said Malini, “whenever she comes.”
There was no other reason for sleeplessness. Certainly not Priya. She hadn’t dreamt with Priya since the moment she’d placed heart’s shell around Priya’s throat, but now she’d seen Priya in the flesh and heard her barbed voice—
Ah, she could not lie to herself. She feared what dreams or nightmares sleep would bring her. That was the truth.
She heard a sharp rap at the door. Sahar opened it, her face flushed from running.
“I told you to rest,” Malini said.
“Lady Raziya is here,” Sahar said. “She says she must speak to you urgently.”
Raziya must have exhausted her horses and her retinue to reach here so swiftly.
“Let her in,” said Malini. “Wait outside.”
Sahar stepped to the side and allowed her old mistress entrance.
Raziya swept into the room alone, no attendants with her. She was not dressed in light cloth suitable to Srugna’s weather but in Dwarali clothing—a thick salwar kameez, draped over with a blue wool-lined jacket. Her clothing was stained at the hems with dust. Her cheeks were red from wind and heat, her eyes fierce when they settled upon Malini. She bowed.
“Empress,” she said. “We must speak.”
Malini nodded once.
“Sit,” she said. “I will have someone bring you tea. Something to eat.”
“I don’t require food or drink,” Raziya said.
“Will you face me at such a low ebb in your strength?” Malini asked. “I know why you’re here, Lady Raziya.”
Raziya sat, stiff-backed. When a servant brought her refreshments she drank and ate without looking at what lay before her.
“I told my husband I would speak with you first,” Raziya said.
“And what,” said Malini, “will you tell him we discussed?”
“My daughter sent me a swift courier some time ago,” said Raziya. “The courier carried a message that told me Prince Rao had left with a woman from beyond the walls of the empire. That he had made promises, on behalf of his empress, in return for a gift. Promises of Dwarali land, to an outsider my husband’s bloodline have loyally kept at bay. Tell me. Have you offered the land you granted to my husband, my children, to a Jagatay king?”
“A portion of land,” Malini said steadily.
“It was not yours to give.”
“The sultanate was not mine to give either, Lady Raziya,” Malini said. “And yet I did.”
She explained the need of it, and what the Jagatay had given in return. But Raziya’s ire did not fade.
“On the journey here I had many dark thoughts,” Raziya said, her low voice trembling. “I was exultant when you promised my husband the sultanate. I was glad, too, that it could be done without war, only a transference by death—but I would have accepted war, for that glory. But I thought, ah—perhaps the empress does not wish my family to have the power of the breadth of Dwarali, the Lal Qila to the city-state where the sultan’s mahal sits. Perhaps she wishes to carve up our power to weaken us.”
If Malini had intended such a thing, she would have acted far more subtly and slowly. It did not seem entirely wise to say so.
“No, Raziya,” she said, placing courtesies aside. “You and Lord Khalil have fought loyally by my side. Your people have died for me. You and I—I have thought of you as my friend.” She said it honestly, letting some of her true feelings shine in her words. “I would not take the power that is rightfully yours. This cruel circumstance has fallen upon us. It cannot be helped.”
“There is one thing you must consider, of course,” Raziya said after a moment.
“Tell me.”
“The Jagatay have made no vows to you and yours,” she said. “All of us, born and reared in Parijatdvipa, know the vows made to Divyanshi upon her death. We serve your bloodline because we know she burned for us, and we venerate her great sacrifice. We honor her last wish. The Jagatay have no reason to.”
