“He wanted to bring me back! He wouldn’t have hurt me.”
“I had no reason to trust him.Priya, listen to me.” Malini held her saber in one hand and cupped Priya’s cheek with the other. “It will be over soon,” Malini said urgently. “The blood, the killing, the dying. We must move to the Hirana swiftly. Can you get us there, Priya? Please.”
Priya nodded, shaky. Then she released a breath, and with it her magic.
A seeker’s path opened like a maw in front of them.
Malini began to move. Priya grasped her by the wrist, making her pause.
“Malini,” said Priya. “There is a yaksa waiting for us. Ahead in the path.”
Malini felt her heart thud in reflexive fear. She curled her fingers through Priya’s.
“Can you fight the yaksa?” Malini asked. “Can you win?”
Priya’s eyes were steady. Warm with determination. “Yes,” she said.
“Then we continue,” said Malini. “And I will be at your side when you do so.”
BHUMIKA
The tent was growing warmer as daylight rose. She sat cross-legged and watched the play of shadows across the canvas as soldiers moved, all of them departing the camp for Ahiranya. Grief curdled in her heart.
Did she mourn her child? Ahiranya?
Was it Priya she would mourn? Her sister who moved like she owned the world, who grinned crookedly, who was far too strong and far too open? Surely if Bhumika had loved her once she’d feared for her. Surely she’d looked at that girl and thought,That one will die laughing, die bravely, die young.
When she had met Priya in the imperial mahal, looking at her had been exactly like gazing at one of her watchers—a creature bound to death, with waters flowing brightly through her. Bhumika’s veiled ghosts had stood behind Priya—reached for Priya with mottled, yearning hands.
Bhumika did not know her well enough to mourn her. But the thought that Priya would soon be dead made her heart ache. Without her knowledge Bhumika should have been nothing and felt nothing—but she felt so much. She was aching with anger, aching to move. She wanted to enter Ahiranya. She wanted to save it.
She did not want Priya to die.
She had served her purpose as a vessel of knowledge, andinstead of emptiness, she had found in herself a well of determination that would not allow her to placidly rest.
There was a noise behind her. A blade, cutting smoothly through canvas. A figure stooped and entered.
“Jeevan,” she said, relief coursing through her. She strode to him. “Are you safe?”
“We need to move swiftly,” he said, which was no answer. “Sima waits for us. She stole two horses.” His forehead creased in a frown. “I didn’t ask how.”
He was already turning to go.
“Jeevan,” she said. He stopped, meeting her eyes. “I missed you,” she said to him. “And I am glad to see you again.”
“I am glad to see you too,” he replied, after a beat.
“You’ll take me to Ahiranya, then?”
He nodded.
“Why? You know what dangers face us there.”
“You vowed you would go,” he said. “And it’s my desire too. Our people are there.” Hesitation—a flicker of grief. “Your daughter.”
She swallowed, the grief a knot in her throat.
“Jeevan,” she said. “I need you to understand this now. For all that I have lost, I am glad I never lost you.”
