“Prince Rao,” she called out. He’d been helping to construct one of the tents, but he stopped when he heard her. She was still cuffed, seated on the ground by one wizened excuse for a tree, under its weak shade. “I must speak with you. Please.”
Jeevan, cuffed and seated at a distance from her, watched hawkishly as Rao kneeled by her.
“I am here,” Rao said. “What do you need from me?”
“I have given you and your empress the power to create a yaksa-killing fire, but I fear that you or your empress may use this power to destroy more than the yaksa. I fear for Ahiranya. I fear that even if you do not burn my people, your empire will turnblades upon Ahiranya. I cannot allow it.”
“Are you asking me to speak for Ahiranya? For its people?” He shook his head. “I know you think I am—chosen. Special, in some way. But I do not have as much power over the empress or the empire as you believe. If the empress or any of the kings of the empire decide to turn on Ahiranya—”
“I have withheld something from you,” she cut in. “I have given you the knowledge to kill individual yaksa. But the yaksa are more than individuals. They are the rot in the crops and soils. They are magic woven into our world. I have given you the key to killing yaksa, but I have not given you the knowledge of how to destroy them permanently, and ensure they never return. If your empress promises me the safety of Ahiranya’s people, I will give it to you, and to her.”
Rao swallowed.
“Would you believe any such promise, Lady Bhumika?”
A thin smile. “I have little choice,” she said. “I have placed myself in a position where I can save the world, but my own people may perish. I must have done so knowingly. But I have regrets. I would fight for them if I can, even if it is futile.”
“I thought your memories of your people were gone,” said Rao. Carefully, he went on, treading strange ground. “Do you… do you remember enough to have regrets?”
She looked away from him.
“Reason with your empress,” she said, voice a little more distant. “The yaksa must die. The Ahiranyi deserve to live. If she truly wants to free her empire, tell her to meet my demand, and I will give you the last of my knowledge.”
It was a deep relief when they reached Harsinghar itself, crossing the marble streets, riding between peepul trees, until they reached the imperial mahal’s great gates.
Their arrival had been noted by the city’s guards and had clearly been carried to the mahal, because one of Malini’s own personal retinue was waiting for them in her white-and-gold armor, squinting against the sun to track their approach.
“I need to speak with the empress,” Rao announced. The guard looked beyond him and then back at him, curiosity in her eyes. But Rao was still a general of the Parijatdvipan army. Still the voice of Alor, even if he’d abandoned his duties time and time again. So she nodded, barked orders at the other soldiers, and then turned back to him and said, “Follow me. Someone will see to your horses in a moment.”
They entered the corridors of the mahal together. The corridors were lined with more guards, the air heavy with tension. Rao, who’d been considering making a demand for refreshments for the priests and a chance to rest, decided to bite his tongue instead.
When he’d last left Malini, she’d grasped the heart’s shell like water in a desert. He’d thought—hoped—it would make things better. Maybe because he’d clung to that hope all this time, he was surprised and disquieted by the tension in the corridors, the way the silence hung heavy in the air.
“Rao!”
A voice calling his name. And there was Lata practically running down the corridor toward him, her hair braided up into a corona, her eyes worried and her mouth shaping a wobbly smile. He felt an answering smile break across his own face.
They didn’t embrace, but she did clasp his hands in her own. One brief grasp, and then she released him.
“I am glad you’re here,” she said.
“Although I’m glad to see you too, I thought we’d receive more of a welcome.”
Lata was gesturing at one of the guards along the edge of the corridor. “Take the priests,” she said. “See that they’re cared for. My apologies for the abrupt welcome,” she said to the priests. “The empress is glad to have you here. She will show her gladness to you once you’ve rested.”
The priests, exhausted, obediently followed the guards who were ushering them away. Only Sunder remained, his gaze fixed on Rao.
“I will be there,” Sunder said, “when you speak with the empress. She will trust my counsel.”
Said with the absolute conviction of the head priest of one of the most powerful monasteries of Alor. Rao inclined his head in agreement, even though he was not sure that Malini would feel as the priest expected her to.
Only Bhumika and Jeevan remained. Bhumika looked calm. Her gaze was sweeping the hall around them, marking it with her careful, assessing gaze.
“I must warn you, Rao,” Lata said, drawing back his attention. “Malini has… has not been herself.”
“I had some inkling,” he said.
She hesitated, then took a step forward, lowering her voice.
