She stared at him. She could not speak. Her mind was a roar of blood, her heart cracked open.
He spoke, and she listened.
Bhumika. Bhumikaalive.
They walked. He gestured ahead of him to a cell with bars. Aquiet cell, lit by a burning lamp. She was afraid, strangely afraid, that he’d lied to her. But there she was. A cell with a woman within—a woman who sat neatly with her hands clasped, who turned her head and met Priya’s eyes.
Priya’s heart splintered all over again.
“Bhumika,” Priya breathed. She didn’t give a shit what anyone said. She was going to break this prison into shards; she would turn every bar to roses. Bhumika was in front of her, alive and whole. Bhumika was here.
It took all her control just to slam herself against the bars, to clasp them and reach her fingers through for Bhumika to touch. Tonotrip the whole place apart. “Bhumika, Bhumika. You left me. You left Padma. You—where have you been? What did you do?”
It took her a second to realize that Bhumika was not reaching for her fingers in return, or speaking. There was a stillness about her that was familiar, but the look on her face wasn’t. It made Priya’s stomach drop and her voice die.
He hadn’t been lying.
“You really don’t remember me,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Bhumika said, quiet in the absence that Priya’s voice had left. “I have lost myself. I don’t remember the woman I once was.” Her hands gripped her skirt, creasing the cloth into half-moons. “We knew each other?”
Priya searched for her voice.
“You’re my sister,” Priya managed to say. “My family. You—you left. I didn’t know if you were dead or just—gone. But it’s okay, Bhumika. I… I’m just glad you’re alive. You’re here. It doesn’t matter what you remember.”
Bhumika rose to her feet and walked toward the bars.
“I am sorry for causing you pain,” Bhumika said.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” Priya said immediately.
Bhumika was looking at her face, taking in each of her features with care. There was no familiarity in her face, but there was tenderness. She reached out for the bars.
Finally, their hands met. Flesh. Bhumika was here. Bhumika was real. Priya could have wept, but she felt too much for tears. Her whole body was an unraveling knot. She leaned against the bars, her forehead against metal, their clasped hands.
Inside her, unfettered by heart’s shell, her magic sang in recognition. Bhumika was not in the sangam, not in the shared waters their magic rose from, but dregs of the magic of the yaksa still moved in her—Priya couldfeelthem. And Bhumika felt her in return. Bhumika’s gaze was suddenly distant, fixed over Priya’s shoulder—as if she saw something Priya could not see, and heard words Priya couldn’t hear.
Bhumika closed her eyes. Opened them. She’d begun to weep, silent rolling tears.
“Bhumika, are you all right?” Priya asked, alarmed.
“I was told I would grieve,” she said, which made no sense to Priya. Before she could question it, Bhumika grasped her hand tighter. “Leave us, Prince Rao,” she said.
“I can’t do that,” he said.
“You owe me this at least,” Bhumika said. Her voice was quiet but firm. “Please. We need only a moment.”
He hesitated. But he looked at her teary face, and something in him visibly crumbled. “Bequick.”
Priya heard his footsteps. A door shutting.
Then Bhumika blinked her tears away, her expression firm.
“I only cried to make him leave,” Bhumika said. “He feels guilt for imprisoning me.”
“As he should,” Priya said sharply. Bhumika’s grip tightened.
“Listen to me,” she urged. “He told you the knowledge I shared, yes?”
