A flower of fire.
“Sahar,” she said, whirling. “Send someone back. To my chambers. Swati will have it, a black chest, it will be able to carry it—”
“Yes, Empress,” Sahar said, breathless. She turned and yelled an order. Her hand gripping her saber hilt was white-knuckled, trembling.
Not mothers’ fire. False fire. But still—more fire they could use.
Malini was not sure if she felt sickness or relief.
There were more flowers of fire. Two. Then three. They were all collected and carefully stored away.
And Malini watched it be done. Watched, her stomach knotted, and tried to decide what must be done next.
Could any death create the flames? Was this all it would take—a willingness to mark certain lives unworthy, and place them upon a pyre?
“Prakash,” she said quietly, beckoning the Srugani lord toward her. “I do not want this news to spread. You understand? We know, and we have seen, that false fire is not enough to destroy the yaksa or Ahiranya. We cannot have our people turn on one another or those they believe deserve to die. We hold sacrifice holy. What has been done here is an abomination. For his crime, Lord Rohit must be imprisoned on his lands.”Where he cannot spread what he has seen, she did not say. She knew Prakash would understand. “These people will be freed.”
Prakash nodded, but his jaw was tight.
“Empress,” he said quietly. “If these people are thieves, if they are criminals—”
“Then they have been forced to it,” said Malini. “I do not want the rot-riven exiled and starved. I want messages sent across thearmy to instruct my warriors in the strongest terms that the rot-riven are our own.”
“Lord Rohit has claimed that some were attempting to run to Ahiranya.”
“If they were trying to run from hunger and fire, then we are at fault,” Malini snapped.
A pause. “The fire,” he said, after a beat. “If it can be used… If we may fight the yaksa. Empress, there are things you must consider.”
“I will not repeat Chandra’s errors.”
“You do not listen to your generals with the same trust you give to your women, Empress,” he said heavily. “But I would counsel you now to consider the needs of war. This fire, made here or elsewhere, with people already condemned by rot…” He trailed off, then said stiffly, “If they must die, it is better they die for Parijatdvipa. The fire of their deaths could save us.”
“You believe I should murder my own people,” Malini said dully. “I assure you, Lord Prakash: I have done it before. I will do so again if I believe it is needful.”
“It is needful, Empress.”
“Yes,” she said. “Chandra certainly thought so. I’m sure he would be jubilant to see me continue his work.”
“When the war is won, when peace comes, we will grieve our actions, Empress. We will honor the dead and raise effigies to them. A new generation of mothers, saviors of Parijatdvipa. We will do it all, Empress, I promise you. But now, we must put grief aside. Do you see it? Surely you must.” His voice was pleading.
“So many women died at Chandra’s hands that we will never know all their names, Lord Prakash.” Malini did not know how she spoke. Her emotions were a distant star of fire, and she was the black void around them, cold and empty. “We could build a forest of golden carvings for all those women who died unwillingly and still we would not have enough. And still, the rot is here.”
“There are women who would die freely if you asked it of them, Empress.”
“Perhaps there are,” Malini said. “But they are not the peoplewho died on the pyre today. Thank you for your counsel, Lord Prakash. But I am afraid I must spend time alone in prayer now. The mothers must guide me in this.”
There was silence on the journey back to the haveli. When Malini reached her room, Sahar drew the doors gently shut behind her. Sahar’s mouth was a thin line, her brow creased. Malini could tell she was ruminating.
It was one of her other guards, Sanvi, who broke the silence first.
“I don’t think it should be done, Empress.” Her voice was trembling. “Burning people like that, people who don’t believe, who aren’t willing. It’s wrong.”
“Hush,” Sahar said. “You’re tired, Sanvi. Go and get water for all of us.”
“But—”
“Go.” To Malini she said, “I’m sorry, my lady.”
