The priests scrambled away, but Malini did not move. She could not. She was holding Priya. Instead, she could only watch as Sanvi lowered her bow and met her eyes. Shri lay on the ground dead, throat slit, beside her.
“Empress,” Sanvi said, her voice steady. She looked calm—calmer than she should have in a maelstrom of fire. “Priests of the mothers have chosen to die alongside you. Their fire is here. Did you not see, Empress? The fire followed you. It sought you out so sweetly. The priests will burn this land and our empire, Empress, until you burn willingly and take the yaksa with you. It’s time.”
Malini stared at her. If she’d had any emotion left in her, she would have felt betrayed—and worse, foolish. She should have seen the viper in her own personal guard.
Too late, now.
“If I burn here, the yaksa will survive,” Malini said.
“An Ahiranyi falsehood,” Sanvi said swiftly. She looked sosure. Malini had only ever seen such certainty in the faces of priests. Sanvi lowered her bow and took a bottle from her belt. Opened it and raised it above her head, letting it pour like water over her hair, her skull.
Oil.
“It will make it easier,” said Sanvi. “Oil, flint, a spark. It’s better than drawing on faith alone. Priest Mitul told me what to do. You don’t need to be afraid, Empress. I’ll be with you.”
Sanvi held her arms open.
“You were always meant to enter this forest,” Sanvi said, smiling. “You are here because you’re ready to die willingly, Empress, whether you admit it to yourself or not. But the time for falsehood is over.”
Ash and motes of fire were being carried on the air. It would not be difficult to go aflame.
“My lady,” Sahar said raggedly. “Don’t.”
“Sanvi,” Malini said. Her voice shook. “I’m afraid.”
“You don’t need to be, Empress!” Sanvi walked to her. “I’ll go with you,” she said, hushed. “Together.”
Malini swallowed. Nodded.
“Come here,” she said. “Please.”
Sanvi kneeled down. She held the flask of oil out, radiant with belief. Malini reached out a hand.
She didn’t take the oil. She curled her fingers into a fist.
The magic inside her responded to her movement—to the demand she infused into it. The green shook, and the soil splintered. Sanvi shrieked, dropping her oil to reach for a weapon, but it was too late. The soil had opened and swallowed her up to her waist. She flailed her arms and Malini smoothly drew a short blade—one concealed at her own waist—and pinned Sanvi’s right hand to the ground.
“I considered suffocating you in the ground,” Malini said, with utter calm. “But this is slower. Better. You may burn as you wished to.”
In response to her magic, the fire arced toward her again. She flinched and felt Priya stir. An exhale from Priya, and the earth rose up in a wall, holding the fire at bay. For now.
She heard a noise. One of the priests was still there. Crouched and terrified, only feet from her. She saw resolve filter into his eyes. His hands clenched, and he raised himself up.
“Let me come with you, Empress,” he said hoarsely. “Let me fulfill our purpose.”
“No,” she said numbly.
Fire-hot wind caught her hair, making it fly around her.
She looked back at Sahar, who was alive but grievously wounded.
“Let the sacrifices that have already been made be enough. Take my guard to safety. You need to stop her bleeding. Her weapon—the one made of stone—may protect you from the fire.”
“I won’t leave you,” Sahar said.
“You’ve served me well, Sahar,” Malini said. “But I won’t allow you to die here.” She looked again at the priest. “Take her.Go.”
Despite Sahar’s protests, he managed to get her to her feet. She watched them limp into the forest. She could not do more for them.
