I intend to keep my vow, Empress, Mahesh had written to her. Lata had read the letter to Malini—her own eyes narrowed, critical and thoughtful, as she repeated,I swear it, upon my faith.
That was why—despite the low, thrumming dislike she felt for him—she could not end his life. He and the soldiers who had watched Aditya die had willingly and fervently spread the tale of her brother’s death, and of the promise Aditya had exacted.
Prince Aditya died for Parijatdvipa. And as he died, we vowed to him we would serve Empress Malini, the true heir to Parijatdvipa.
So we vowed. And so all loyal Parijatdvipans should vow.
Malini did not discard useful things. She did not have tolikehim to make use of him again. The myth that had grown around her—this unbreakable myth, with its own breath and its own lungs—had begun with him. Better he lived to share it than die for her own petty satisfaction.
But still. Still.
“You vowed to serve me once, Lord Mahesh,” Malini said. “You vowed it when Prince Rao kneeled down and named me—and revealed to me my destiny. And still, eventually you turned from me. You were not the general my army needed, and not the loyal generalIneeded. How can I be sure anything has truly changed?”
“Prince Aditya,” he said simply. His eyes were clear, his gaze straightforward. “I may be honest now, Empress, as I could not have been in that time of war. I wished for Prince Aditya to take the throne. I wished to serve him.”
“And now?” Malini prompted.
“Now I understand the truth. I see now what I did not then: that the mothers led my heart to Prince Aditya because they wished for me to witness his rise to immortality and carry hismessage with me. My betrayal was never true betrayal,” he told her, fervent, earnest. “It led me to fight at his side. It led me to witness his death. It led me to a true and deep and unshakable vow. I love him, Empress, as I love the mothers. And for that son of flame, I will serve you to my death, and beyond it.”
Son of flame.She had heard the term before, but it struck as it always did—a lash to the heart that made her want tohowl. And perhaps she did not hide her feelings as well as she should have, because Mahesh reached for the saber at his waist—and as the guards in the shadows reared forward, he removed it and laid it on the ground before him. And kneeled once more.
The guards melted back at Malini’s sharp look.
“Lord Mahesh,” she said. “What are you doing?”
“Empress, if you wish me to die for my actions against you—my life is yours to take.” He lowered his head, a conscious baring of his neck. He held his hands open at his sides, not touching the saber on the ground before him. It was a gesture of pure vulnerability. “Not all crimes are forgivable. I understand the weight of the duties upon your shoulders. Do as you must.”
She stepped forward and leaned down to lift the saber. It was not like her narrow blade, honed to fit her hands and her strength. It was heavy and brutal, oiled to sharpness. With a sharp breath, she raised it—and offered it to him.
“I will not give you your family holdings or your old honor,” she told him levelly, as he carefully took the blade from her hands. “Those your daughter Lady Deepa earned with her bravery and unfailing loyalty. But I can provide you another future: of war and of service. And if you serve me wholeheartedly, I can promise that you shall be remembered as one of the great men who severed the bloom of a new Age of Flowers in its infancy.”
“Empress,” he said, reverent and low. “Tell me what I must do.”
“Lord Mahesh isn’t wasting his time,” Lata observed, when she joined Malini outdoors some hours later. The dusk was casting bloody gold light across the makeshift training ground betweenthe tents. Malini stood without a parasol to cover her and watched the men train.
“He wants to demonstrate his eagerness,” Malini said. She held a hand against her forehead, shading her eyes, as she watched Mahesh heft up his saber again, barking orders. In front of him the priestly warriors moved into formation as ordered—their faces carved into grim lines by the fading light, their eyes black and fervent.
“Lady Deepa…”
“Will not have to part with what she has rightly earned,” Malini replied, when it became clear Lata would not say more, was hesitating over her words. “But it’s sweet that you care about her well-being.”
“We’ve been working closely together these past few months,” Lata said. “Of course I care.”
There was a thud as a man was shoved to the ground. He spat dirt, then rose back up, his gaze fixed on Mahesh.
“You’ve placed two sets of traitors together,” Lata went on. But she didn’t sound accusatory. She sounded thoughtful.
“Lord Mahesh’s desires make him loyal.”
“Do they?”
“What Lord Mahesh wants is to be remembered as a great and loyal servant of the mothers,” Malini said softly, after a moment. “Not riches. Not a title. He will train these men, and fight the yaksa for me, and his name will be revered.”
“And—the priests?” Lata’s tone was skeptical. She’d made no secret of her feelings about the priestly warriors.
“Ah. They want to kill for their faith,” Malini said. “And die for it. I can give them that. And if they turn on me, Mahesh and his men will deal with them. There’s no trust there. I warned Lord Mahesh of their nature. He’ll see them dead before they harm me.”
All these traitors—these men who had chosen her brothers over her, time and time again—would serve her now. There should have been joy in that—that utter victory. But the satisfaction wasmuted. Her heart was steel and cold. She watched a moment longer, then turned on her heel, returning to her tent. The only thing that made her heart kindle with something like feeling waited for her there.
