Khalil smiled.
“Perhaps it will have no worth in the new world the empress will carve,” Khalil said. “But we will see. I would be a fool to reject any gift from the empress that empowers my family.”
There was a thud of hooves as a rider approached them. Mahesh descended from horseback and removed his helm, giving Khalil a nod of respect. “No signs of fire yet,” Mahesh said. “And no danger either. The trees move as they always do.”
Mahesh, his loyal soldiers, and the warrior priests Malini had placed in his service had guarded the border diligently and knew it better than anyone. Rao nodded. He trusted him on this.
“Good, good,” Prakash said. He was seated in his chariot. Exhausted. He had traveled directly from Srugna, which was suffering with a terrible devastation of rot. “Boy,” he called out to a younger soldier, who startled and straightened up in response. “Bring Lord Mahesh water.”
The soldier obeyed, and Mahesh drank deeply. There was, Rao noticed, a mark high at Mahesh’s throat. A single line of lichen.
“Lord Mahesh,” he said quietly.
Mahesh met his eyes and gave him a joyless smile.
“You cannot serve here long without rot finding you, Prince Rao,” Mahesh said, grim acceptance in his voice. “I am glad you were spared that fate. But I have heard you have been following your own perilous destiny.”
“I fulfilled my destiny when I named Malini as empress,” Rao said. “Everything since then has been nothing but a series of disasters.”
“They call you the voice of the nameless,” Mahesh said. “Not the warrior priests the empress handed me, of course—those fanatical bastards only have time for the mothers—but the other soldiers speak about you. They say your sight is blessed.”
“A series of disasters,” Rao repeated. “But I am glad to hear that a grand tale follows me.”
Mahesh gave him a look Rao couldn’t read. Then he strode toward Rao and clapped a hand to his shoulder, drawing him away from the other generals.
“This work, this war… I do it for Prince Aditya,” Mahesh said. “As you do, I believe.” Mahesh shook his head. “For a while I thought we would lose you with him,” he said. “You wept tears like fire for days after his death. My men were sure you’d slip into death with him. I am glad it was not your fate. We are all glad.”
Visions played in licks of flame behind his eyelids. Snow beyond Dwarali. The lure of Alor. Fire, and Aditya’s gentle smile, his beckoning hands. Rao looked away, toward the bristling wall of trees.
“As am I,” Rao lied.
Mahesh’s grip tightened. “Good.” Released him. “That’s good.”
Mahesh had just mounted his horse and turned to supervise his men when cries of alarm rose up from the perimeter of guards around Rao and the other generals. Bows were nocked, arrows drawn, as they turned to a single rider racing toward them from the direction of the war camp. Rao’s heart was in his throat.
“Is that—the empress’s sage?” Narayan asked.
“Lower your bows!” Khalil barked.
Rao ran toward her. Lata slipped down from her horse into his arms, grasping his shoulders so tightly he thought she might rip through cloth.
“The High Priest,” she gasped. “H-he and other priests and—soldiers from Harsinghar, only a small handful, probably faithful roped into his schemes—they’re here, Rao. Riding to us now.They came to the war camp, but I didn’t wait to speak to them.” She found her footing and he released her. “He should be in Harsinghar,” she went on. “But someone betrayed us—set him free. So many priests with him. Rao, Generals, I—had to warn you all.”
He turned to look behind him and saw that the other generals were watching. Listening. Their expressions were grave. They knew that Hemanth had tried to work against Malini and place her nephew on her throne. They knew that Hemanth’s presence was an unnecessary complication.
“We cannot meet the High Priest with our weapons drawn,” Narayan said. “Let us talk to him and see what can be done.”
Hemanth approached with a crowd of priests behind him, all of them on horseback. He must have ridden swiftly from Harsinghar. His ash-mark was almost entirely erased by his own sweat. But his expression was entirely a priest’s—tranquil despite the heat and the suspicion of the men around him.
“My lords,” he said, his voice sonorous. “Where is the empress?”
“She is not able to speak with you, High Priest,” Khalil said first, cordially.
“Ah.” He looked to the forest. “Too late to face her directly, then,” he said. His eyes were sorrowful. “So be it.”
He gestured; a handful of priests rode toward the army at the border. Some of the soldiers around Rao reached for their weapons—Rao shook his head. He saw similar gestures from the other generals.
They could not simply attack unarmed priests. Rao knew that. And still, there was a bitter taste in his mouth as he watched them go.
