The fire from the forest was gone. The feeling of Malini’s hands was gone too. Priya couldn’t even feel an echo of them. There was no pain. Just the sound of water, a bubbling rush around her ears. Just the feeling of liquid slipping between her fingers. Just strange hands on her hair, cold as silt.
“Hush.” A whisper of a voice. “You’re with me, sapling. You’re safe.”
Priya opened her eyes. The sangam was nothing like that feverish dream, that mask of fire, those furious hands. Around her it was water and a winding, strange sky, speckled with stars. And above her, looking down at her, was Mani Ara.Finally, Mani Ara.
“The Parijati used fire,” Priya said shakily, hoping if she focused simply on that memory the dream she’d drifted into with Malini would slip by unnoticed. “Fire like before.”
Even on her shadow self, here within the sangam, the scars on her body were livid. They were a fiery gold at her throat, where Malini had burned her, and at her side, where false fire had touched her in the battle against Chandra. She could see herself reflected in Mani Ara’s eyes, which were like deep waters, or a mirror.
“Yaksa,” Priya breathed. “Where have you been?”
“Here,” Mani Ara murmured. “Always here.” Gentle hands onher. “But even now, you’re too weak to hold me. Even now, the fire almost took you.”
The fire in Ahiranya’s forest. Fire on Malini’s sword, and in Ahiranya’s trees.
She thought of the fire. The way she had felt it burn and had recoiled from it—and had found herself in a dream, with Malini standing over her.
“There may be more fire,” Priya said, panic clawing through her. “They’ll burn the trees. They’ll—if they reach Hiranaprastha—”
“Their fire isn’t as strong as they believe,” Mani Ara said. Indulgent. “It is no mothers’ fire. It cannot kill me.”
“Their firewillkill our people,” Priya said. “Yaksa, Mani Ara, please—Ahiranya and its people are in danger,pleaseprotect them. If the empire isn’t stopped, they’ll burn.”
A finger touched her mouth, silencing her.
“Of course Ahiranyi people will die if the empire is not stopped.” Mani Ara did not sound afraid. “But we are stronger than the empire.”
The yaksa who wore Sanjana’s skin had said the same thing. It did nothing to soothe Priya’s panic.
“You wouldn’t let Ahiranyi people die,” Priya said. But even as she said it she knew the yaksa would. She felt it like a string plucked, a reverberation that ran all the way through her. “You must care,” Priya said, choked. “They’re your worshippers. They love you.”
“Their love is sweet,” Mani Ara said. “But they did not hollow themselves for me. They are only mortals, my dear one.” Her hand on Priya’s cheek was tender. “They may kill a thousand Ahiranyi, as long as you live,” she said, smiling.
Priya shook her head beneath that hand. She must have said something, must have let the mournfulno, no, noclawing at her throat spill out, because Mani Ara laughed, not unkindly.
“You can save Ahiranya, if you love it so,” she said. “Grow strong before the empire can set your loved ones aflame. That is all you need to do.”
“I am strong,” Priya insisted, even though she felt weak—heartsick and small under Mani Ara’s hands. “Haven’t I found you, finally? I’m strong enough.”
Mani Ara leaned over her. The yaksa breathed—an inhalation and exhalation against her hair, as light and as powerful as wind on still waters.
“You are still imperfect,” Mani Ara murmured.
“How do I become stronger?”
“Keep reaching for me, sapling. Keep making a hollow of yourself. Become nothing but mine. That will make you strong.”
Useless words. Priya had kneeled on the Hirana and deep beneath it beside the deathless waters and prayed and prayed for Mani Ara’s strength. She’d worn the crown mask for so long and reached so deep that she’d changed herself, becoming more yaksa—more flower-skinned and green-veined—by the day. How was that not enough? What else could she possibly do?
The yaksa didn’t care about anyone. Not Padma or Rukh. Not any other child in Ahiranya. They would not have cared for Priya either, but they needed what she was—temple raised and thrice-born, almost hollow enough, almost strong enough. And there was nothing she could do to change their hearts.
She should have felt helpless at that realization. Lost.
Instead, rage was kindling in her chest. They could not disregard everything and everyone that mattered to her so easily. Not after what they’d made her do. Not after what she’d given up for them.
She met Mani Ara’s liquid eyes.
“If my people die,” Priya said slowly, deliberately. “If Ahiranya dies, I will not be anything for you. I’ll fill the hollows of myself up with grief and anger. There won’t be any room for you.”
