An excuse to remove him—and his drunkenness and his grief and his visions—from court.
Sima looked thoughtful.
“You trust me enough to tell me this?” Sima asked. “The story of a weapon you could use against—the yaksa?”
“If you wanted to destroy Parijatdvipa, you would have left a long time ago. Besides,” he said with a smile. “A tale like this is a fool’s errand, I told you. I am being sent away to rest. Or because I am not fit to serve the empress as she requires. It doesn’t matter.”
“Well, don’t treat it as a pointless task. Treat it like something that matters. I’ve seen strange things in my life—done strange things. A ruby with magical powers doesn’t sound impossible, and it might be an adventure to look for it. And if not…” She hesitated. “I’ve never been to the Lal Qila. I’d like to.”
He couldn’t hide his surprise. “I thought…”
“Thought what?”
Instead of using his words, he went to one of his travel chests and opened it, removed a pack, and placed it in her hands.
She opened it. Her eyes widened.
“Food was simple to arrange,” he said. “Coin, too. Clothes were harder, but I hope they’ll do.”
She touched the edge of the bag reverently.
“You really want to help me,” she said.
“One good thing,” he said curtly. She raised her head. He swallowed. “I want to do one good thing,” he said. “In a sea of shit.”
She nodded. Closed the bag.
“I’ll go to the Lal Qila with you,” Sima said. “I couldn’t stand being trapped. I don’t feel trapped anymore.”
His heart twisted at that.
“You still are,” he said slowly.
“No. Not exactly.” Her hands were still on the pack. “But I can’t go home. And if I get to choose where I’m going to be, well.” She shrugged. “I think you could use a friend, Prince Rao. And so could I.”
He swallowed, unable to speak.
“Get out the catur board,” she said gently. “Unless you’re tired?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not tired.”
As he arranged the catur board, he thought not of Aditya or Prem or even his sister, but of Lata when she’d said goodbye, when he’d told her he saw no worth in chasing foolish, broken stories of rubies and false hope.
She’d taken his hands in her own. Her hands were far smaller but held his steadily, firmly—and her eyes were just as firm.
“I do not want the empress to burn, Rao,” she’d said to him. “I want her to live. I want an answer—a tool or weapon—that will save her. But I want you to live, too. Go to Dwarali, go far from all this, and learn how to live again. Then come back. Whole, or broken, it doesn’t matter. There is nothing worthless about a broken thing—be it a tale, or a man.”
One of Lady Raziya’s guardswomen sacrificed a shawl and a lined tunic to Sima for the journey ahead. As they drew near the Lal Qila and colder climes, Sima changed her clothing, clearly grateful. She wore her pack at her back, like a charm for luck or safety.
Her eyes rounded with awe as they approached the Lal Qila at dusk; the sun setting made the vast fort look even more bloodied and imposing than it usually did. At its gates, flanked by guards, Lady Asma waited for them. She looked a little more like Lord Khalil than her mother, although she had her mother’s smile—confident in its welcome and its strength.
“Prince Rao,” she said. “Welcome back to the Lal Qila.”
MALINI
She was holding an audience when a rider arrived. He was announced and strode in still in his traveling clothes, stained with dirt. He prostrated himself, then gasped out, “Empress. There’s danger. Near the border with Saketa—”
She raised a hand and quelled him to silence. Behind him, Deepa slipped in and gave Malini a wide-eyed look. All Deepa’s looks were nervous, but Malini had learned to read them all, and this one made her say, crisply, “I will speak to this man alone. Immediately.”
