She shook her head.
“I don’t know it, yaksa.”
“Name me,” he said again, “and you may have them. Remain silent, and I will know there is not enough of Mani Ara in you to allow you to rear them. What is my name?”
Panic buzzed in her skull. But she was stubborn—she’d always been stubborn. She clenched her hands tight, and sucked in a slow breath, and reached through the panic.
To the waters of the sangam, and the green within her.
The waters washed her panic away and left nothing behind—just a vastness that unfolded inside her.
“Arahli Ara,” she said finally. Her voice was an unnatural river-rasp. Water over stone. “That is your name.”
He breathed, a green-rustling exhalation, and bowed his head in reverence. She’d passed his test.
“High Elder,” he said. “Mani Ara’s beloved. The children are yours. Train them well. But remember this: You have value, but the ones you love do not. Not to my kin. I could take the eyes of the boy Rukh. Or a tongue. Or a hand. I could steal away Bhumika’s daughter and let the soil swallow her. And I am the kindest of my kin.”
He had not raised his head. His voice was soft.
Priya’s stomach knotted. Grief-sick.
He really isn’t my brother, she thought.
“Wield Mani Ara’s gifts with care,” he said. “They are a knife that could cut throats and leave you with nothing but sorrow.”
“I will, yaksa,” she said. She inclined her head. “Thank you.”
MALINI
All through the night she sat waiting for news. Oil lamps guttered and died, and new ones were lit. Swati yawned discreetly, leaning against the wall when she thought no eyes were on her. Deepa drooped in her seat, head propped up on one arm, eyes barely open—though she jumped upright whenever the doors opened and a new tray of tea was brought in and arrayed on the table.
Only Lata remained as awake as Malini.
It did not seem appropriate to play games of dice or chance when a woman could live or die, and a child along with her. Lata offered to play a singing game—“They don’t all have to be filthy songs,” Lata said, when Malini raised an eyebrow. “We could sing songs for good fortune. Healthy children.”
“But you’re sogoodat singing filthy songs,” Malini replied with a smile.
“If dice games aren’t appropriate—”
“—then dirty songs won’t be either, I know.” Malini sighed. “I’m afraid I don’t know any songs for good fortune.”
“Sahar would teach you if you asked.”
“I don’t think so,” said Malini. “She’s learned far too much about proper behavior for a guard since she left Raziya’s service. A pity.”
“Give her the chance to be bored, my lady, and I’m sure she’ll be ready for mischief again.”
They lapsed into silence. Malini could hear nothing but the quiet spit and smolder of the lanterns, the soft wheeze of Deepa’s breath as her head tilted forward, almost a snore.
“Shall I wake her?” Lata asked.
“No. Let her sleep.” She looked from Deepa to Swati to Lata. “I should let you all go to bed. It may be a long while yet.”
Lata hesitated, then said, “I could go. Into the birthing chamber.”
“I have eyes and ears and enough in there. No.”
“You could have been with her, my lady,” Lata said quietly.
