“He is beautiful,” she said softly. “Your son. He looks like you, Varsha. And a little like my emperor father.”
Lies, but they eased the tension from Varsha’s face.
“Give him a strong name,” Malini said, shaping her mouth into a smile. “Raise him well. But for now, sister—rest. I’ll ensure that all the proper rites are performed.”
PRIYA
Rukh was waiting with the children at the base of the Hirana, Padma on the ground next to him. There were so many people milling around: servants from the mahal, and soldiers, and pilgrims. But the mask-keepers were closest to the children, surrounding them in a crescent, holding the tide of people back.
“Where are the yaksa?” Priya asked one of them.
“Not here, Elder,” the mask-keeper said. “When the one who… the one…”
“The one who looks like Ashok, I know. He left them here alone?”
The mask-keeper nodded.
“When he left, he told us to stay here. We were ordered to wait for you.”
Priya could have sworn.
He’d always expected Priya to care for them, hadn’t he? She’d begged to protect them for nothing.
Well. Never mind. Whether she’d played into his hands or not, she was where she needed to be.
She slipped between the mask-keepers.
The temple children the yaksa had brought her were all young. Fifteen in number. The oldest was a boy, tall and painfully thin in a way that suggested he’d recently had a growth spurt. Many were dressed in worn-out but cared-for clothing: stitches at the sleeves,patches in their tunics. But others wore fine cloth, dyed in deep blues, reds, greens.
“Bow to your Elder,” a mask-keeper said sharply, and as the children scrambled, Priya said, “Don’t. There’s no need.”
Some froze. The tallest boy was still standing tall. Arms clasped behind him, his blue kurta pristine. She met his eyes, and his jaw tightened a little, trembling with nerves and hate.
“You’re highborn,” she observed.
He gave a jerky nod.
“Yes, Elder.”
“What’s your name?”
“Ashish,” he said.
“Tell me how you ended up here.”
His jaw flexed. He looked away. “The yaksa brought me, of course,” he said. Theobviously, you idiotwas heavily implied. She was pleased he’d managed to avoid saying it. “My… my parents were given the rot by the yaksa. For not being loyal enough. But the yaksa let them live, and they’re grateful. Faithful. So when the yaksa came for me, I was happy to go.”
He’d need to learn to lie better if he wanted to survive serving the yaksa.
“And you?” Priya asked, bending down to meet the eyes of the small girl next to him.
“I’m not a highborn,” she piped up. “But my mother got spared from dying of the rot, and she promised me to the yaksa for it.”
“And your name?”
“Pallavi.” The boy kicked her, and she said obediently, “Pallavi,Elder.”
Priya worked through the group, learning names and origins. The youngest of them was probably only four and couldn’t answer Priya properly.
