Sahar taught her a new game involving dice, and two other guardswomen—Sanvi and Shri—helped Malini practice with her saber, and later with a bow.
Her strength grew.
There were nights when she did not dream of Priya, but there were more nights when she did. Priya haloed by flames; Priya lying on marble carved by rivulets of ever-running water. When she woke she felt a sure knowledge in her bones: They were drawing closer to one another.
Lord Prakash had a haveli on the edge of Srugna and offered his land up as a resting stop for Malini’s army. Malini was grateful for the respite. She was lucky her tent was comfortable and her maid Swati attentive, but traveling day in and day out was exhausting, and even within a perimeter of armed soldiers and her chosen personal guard, she could not avoid the realities of the strain that Parijatdvipa was under. Blasted, empty fields and abandoned villages met them at every turn, and every day theyseemed to have to change their path toward Srugna in order to avoid a new outcropping of rot.
As her army settled outside the haveli, within it she and Prakash, Narayan, and Ashutosh shared a carafe of wine. They spoke of lighter topics than usual, and Malini had just managed to cajole Narayan into a game of catur when a Srugani military official interrupted, apologizing and genuflecting even as he leaned over Prakash and whispered a message into his ear.
“There have been fires sighted in a neighboring village,” said Lord Prakash, after the official had scurried out. “If you will excuse me, Empress—I wish to discover the cause.”
“Of course, Lord Prakash,” she said, rising to her feet a second behind him. “Allow me to join you.”
“I am sure this is beneath your notice,” he said gently. “Please remain here. Rest.”
“No emperor worth his salt turned his back from battle,” she said, offering him a firm, thin-lipped smile. “I am no less than my forefathers. I will come.”
The heat in the village was blazing. The size of the fire was vast, golden on the horizon.
When they drew closer, Malini realized it was a large pyre. Her skin instantly grew clammy. She gripped the edge of her chariot.
On the ground, there were warriors corralling a group of people. There were too many people for them to be simply residents of this village—and every one of them was in some way riven with rot. There was someone—a lord, from the look of him—yelling orders at the warriors. Prakash set eyes on him and jumped from his chariot with astonishing nimbleness for a man of his years. By the time Malini had more elegantly alighted, they were deep into an argument.
She took a moment to study the face of this new lord.
She knew it. Once, this lord had been insolent to her.Rohit, she thought. Now, as he stood before her sweating, the firelight reflecting on his face, she could feel nothing but disgust for him.
She should have dealt with him sooner. Her instinct for vengeance hadn’t failed her yet.
“… killing innocents,” Prakash was saying, furious. “What were you thinking?”
“They were not innocents,” Lord Rohit said hotly. “They’re rot-riven. They were attempting to steal food. We do a service burning them.”
Malini took a step closer. Her guards flanked her and barked, “Is this how you welcome your empress?”
A startled silence. Finally, Lord Rohit bowed.
“Empress,” he said. “I did not know you were in Srugna.”
“Clearly,” she said. “You claim these people are criminals, Lord Rohit?”
“The rot turns people into traitors, Empress.”
“And yet there are people in my army who are rot-riven,” she said coolly. “You called them thieves.”
“They have no place in our villages, Empress,” he said. “They have no right to eat our food.” He straightened, squaring his shoulders. “You ordered it so,” he continued. “No rot-riven near our grain.That was your edict, was it not? My soldiers are doing what is expected of them.”
That was not what she had ordered, when she had commanded each city-state to protect its harvests from the rot. She had intended for the harvests to be protected from rot in order to defend the empire’s people from famine,notfor the rot-riven to be starved and burned. But horror ran through her in a wave regardless, as she considered how her orders had been interpreted and utilized, how her voice had set this pyre alight. She should have been clearer, she should have been careful.
“Lord Prakash, arrange a military official to speak to the survivors,” she said, gesturing at the corralled, terrified people. “Put a stop to this, Lord Rohit. Immediately.”
He ground his jaw. Bowed again. “Empress.”
There was a cry from near the pyre. Not from the pyre itself, and not a cry of horror. A cry of joy.
Mothers’ fire, someone screamed, and Malini was turning, moving toward it before she could stop herself.
The crowd parted for her, and she saw it there. In the ashes, in the dying flames. A glowing, squirming thing—a thing that pulsed, breathed, shone like the sun.
