She clutched her own skirt in her hands. Tight, a tether to hold her to her own flesh.
“I do trust you, Empress,” she said in a small voice. “I… I would like my son. Please.”
“I was my brother Chandra’s prisoner once,” the empress said. “I know his nature. He hurt me. No doubt he also hurt you. I am sure your life as his bride was frightening. Even when he was kind, you feared he would turn to sudden anger. He was a storm, my brother—and he had a taste for cruelty he could not quench. I am sorry you suffered him. I am sorry we both did.” A pause. “And yet you see me as your enemy,” the empress murmured. “And when I visit you, you offer me only lies.”
“I…” Throat dry. Heart pounding. “I have never lied to you, Empress.”
“Pleasantries are lies, Lady Varsha, when they hide ill intent and a honed knife.”
“I hold no ill will toward you, Empress—”
“Nowthatis a lie,” the empress replied. “You are a traitor, Lady Varsha.”
She knew.
Varsha was sure of it now. Her stomach dropped. Her head was light, a scooped-out void of fear. But like a drowning man opening his mouth for air beneath water, she parted her own lips again and said, “I am not, Empress, I am not. Please!”
She began to cry, and hated herself for it. But she couldn’t help it. Her body was acting without her say-so, heaving out sobs as she twisted her hands back and forth in her lap.
The empress was silent, and as her silence stretched, Varsha found her fear growing into anger. She had never been allowed anger. But she had nothing to lose any longer.
“You think you are different from him,” she said, low. “From Chandra. But, Empress, you are not. I am still beholden to you—still your property. I know my worth to you. I was—I am—a womb, a carrier for your heirs, so you may never have to place yourself under the power of any king or lord who wishes to rule the empire in your stead.” She clenched her trembling hands. “I may be foolish,” she said. “But how could I trust you when I know that? When I know how little I matter? How can I place myself wholeheartedly in your power when I know you will use me as callously as any man for the sake of your empire? It is your power that makes you a monster,” said Varsha. “You cannot change that, and I don’t think you want to.”
The empress sighed and rose gracefully to her feet. A moment later, Varsha felt a hand on her own, and something cool pressed into her palm. Her hand was urged up, and she found a metal cup pressed to her lips. Thoughtlessly, obediently, she drank. Cold lemon water, sweet and sharp enough to shock her into swallowing, and breathing. Her tears petered out.
“Drink again,” the empress said, and Varsha took another gulp.
“Good.” A clink, as the cup was lowered down. The empress turned, returning to her seat. She looked utterly unmoved.
“Letters between you and Lady Raziya were discovered. And you spoke often with a priest, who guided you astray.”
Varsha shook her head, silent.
“I have a witness,” said Empress Malini.
Who could it be? One of her maids, surely. The knowledge hit her with a sickening lurch. Which one? Parul? She’d trusted those women. With her son, her son, how could they—
The empress sighed.
“Don’t weep, Varsha,” she said again. “I won’t take your son from you.”
“Y-you won’t?”
“No,” said the empress. She kneeled by her side. “What will my heir do, in years to come, when he learns that I murdered his mother? He will learn to be cruel. He will learn that power is destruction, and to wield it is monstrous. He will be correct, of course. You see me clearly, Lady Varsha. But I find myself hungry for an alternative.” She stood again. “Either become clever enough to depose me, or teach your son to be worthy of my throne. That is your task. You will have no power in my court beyond what he gives you. Raise him wisely.”
“The priests say you will burn,” Varsha said, her voice thin. She was not sure if it was safe to feel relief yet. Ifshewas safe.
“They’re wrong,” the empress said simply. “Rest well, Lady Varsha. If you betray me again, I will not be so kind.”
PRIYA
Waiting was hard.
Malini didn’t visit. Of course there was no chance that Sima would come to see her, but Priya still felt unwanted hope shrivel in her chest as days passed with no sign of either of them.
Malini would come back. She had to see the worth in negotiating with Priya. But until she returned, Priya had nothing to distract herself from the excruciating boredom of imprisonment. She counted the links of her ankle chain, and the stones that made up the walls. She slept and dreamt of nothing at all. She tried not to claw her own hair out.
Usually, in the evenings, her guards were a man and a woman—the woman broad with a serious face, the man thinner and much more fidgety, always adjusting from leg to leg or tapping his fingers in a drumming cadence against his saber hilt. Today, as Priya sat in her corner and contemplated whether she could do a cartwheel with her leg chained, two unfamiliar guards arrived. Both of them were men.
