“Lord Narayan,” she said. “You will speak to Low Prince Ashutosh for me, and tell him that he remains beloved of me.”
He read the warning in her words, and the frost of her tone. He inclined his head.
“I will, Empress.”
“Good.”
She swept out.
Finally, her anger began to calm. If her good sense was a boat being thrashed on stormy waters, then the calming allowed her to finally navigate her own thoughts with a steady hand.
“Leave me, Lata,” she said. Lata was still behind her—a shadow dogging her footsteps.
“My lady…” She trailed off, then said, quietly, “Malini. I fear—”
“Leave me,” Malini said again. “Sahar will stay with me.” She should have been kinder, softer. But she had nothing but hard edges left in her—nothing but the cold blade of her anger with the heat leached from it.
Lata murmured her acknowledgment and drifted away.
Priya was no longer being held in a cell, but in a room set aside for caring for the sick. When Malini walked in, there were guards in the room. Priya had no ankle chain on her now, but the heart’s shell was still at her wrists. Her arms were scored with lacerations. Her mouth was still faintly red.
When Malini ordered the guards out, it was Sahar who protested. She protested even more strenuously when Malini told her to wait outside too.
“She wears heart’s shell, and I have my saber,” Malini said flatly.
“Empress, she’s a trained fighter.”
“Sahar, I won’t ask again.”
Finally, Sahar left. When Malini turned back, Priya was watching her.
“Your health,” Malini said abruptly, and found she had no more words. She wanted to strangle Priya with her bare hands, and wanted to weep, and wanted to gently cup her face and touch her own mouth softly to the wings of Priya’s black hair. It froze her, those conflicting desires.
“I usually heal fast,” Priya said. Her smile was thin-lipped, her eyes guarded. “But your cuffs are putting a stop to that.”
Malini crossed the room. Someone had made a haphazard effort to care for her wounds. There was a bowl of pure liquor at Priya’s side. Cloth. Malini dipped the cloth and took one of Priya’s lacerated arms.
“What did you do to those soldiers?” Priya asked.
“I killed them,” Malini said. “Stay still.”
She cleaned the wounds. Priya didn’t hiss or wince. Her arm was very still in Malini’s grip, her skin a little cold, and abraded, and so familiar.
“Turning your guards away, killing soldiers, visiting me… I’m leading you astray, Malini,” Priya said softly. “And I’m not even trying. You’re turning into a monster over me.”
“It is not monstrous to make the men who claim to serve me behave,” Malini said tightly. “It is my right and my responsibility as an empress.”
“If I didn’t have these cuffs on,” Priya said, her voice light, “I could draw one vine across the mahal. Just one. I could do it slowly and carefully… and I could slide it into your skull.” She reached out and tapped a finger to the base of Malini’s scalp. Malini’s breath caught, fury snaring it in a quick net. She flinched back. Priya smiled, all teeth. “Just here.”
“Do not touch me,” Malini said. Priya’s hand lowered.
“There isn’t a single emperor who came before you who wouldn’t have killed me or thanked one of their men for doing it,” Priya said. “Your warriors call me a monster for a reason. Maybe you should heed them and think about what your duties really entail.”
“Do you want to die?” Malini snapped, her grip tightening on Priya’s arm. “Is that why you allowed yourself to fall into my hands, to absolve yourself of the responsibility of arranging your own death?”
Priya snorted, amused. But there was still no real mirth in her eyes. Just bone-deep exhaustion, reflected in the shadows smudged beneath them. “That isn’t how I am. But it would be poetic, wouldn’t it? To let you decide if I live or die one more time.” Her voice lowered. “I put my life in your hands so many times, Malini. For faith, for duty, for pleasure. What’s one more?”
“If you want to be poetic, you’ll do me the kindness of shutting up,” said Malini. “You have no head for poetry. You never have.”
