PRIYA
There was no one to bully Priya into taking a palanquin now that Bhumika was gone. The yaksa certainly didn’t care. She walked through the city of Hiranaprastha in her plainest sari. She didn’t need a palanquin or gold or the garb of a temple elder to demonstrate her authority, after all—flowers grew where she walked. She was pretty sure that was enough.
The city was still bustling. It seemed like nothing—not even the return of their gods—could make the people of Ahiranya stop the difficult business of surviving. Priya passed familiar food stalls and homes, pink-lanterned buildings, and families sitting on verandas, shaded from the rising heat of the sun. The crowds parted around her, faces uneasy. Some bowed.
There were many, many more people with rot than there had been before. There were effigies to the yaksa everywhere, surrounded by offerings. Glints of gold, and fruit black with ants. She bowed her head too as she passed. She’d been told to show reverence, and she would.
She reached her destination. The guards at the gates of the haveli clearly recognized her, because one paled and fumbled with his saber, lowering it as he kneeled.
“I’m here to speak with Lord Chetan,” she said. “Get him for me.”
They did. The first guard ran ahead to warn the household. By the time Priya had crossed the relatively small courtyard and wasinside the open hall of the house, where a pool of flowers-in-water sat beneath colonnades open to the sky, there were maidservants bowing, and offers of sherbet or wine. The highborn lord of the house was hurrying out, adjusting his brocade jacket into place. She must have woken him from rest.
He didn’t look well. There were great shadows under his eyes. And his arms—partially concealed under his jacket—were so rot-riven they were more fern and vine than flesh. He swallowed, visibly frightened, his eyes all black pupil.
“High Elder,” he said, sweeping a bow. “How can my household assist you?”
Priya felt supremely uncomfortable. She tried not to let it show.
“Lord Chetan,” she said. “I need your help.”
He ushered her to a seat. She told him what she required: more warriors and guards. Anything his household could spare. Weapons. Money. Assistance in maintaining some semblance of government. He poured her sherbet, and a small glass for himself. They both left them untouched.
“Elder, anything you require, I will give. Anything the yaksa need I will hand over wholeheartedly. The yaksa allowed me to live, when my loyalty was lax. I will not fail them again.” His hands, in his lap, were trembling. “All my fellow highborn will feel the same. I can assure you. If you wish me to speak to them on your behalf…”
“I’d be grateful,” Priya said, a wave of relief washing over her. Bhumika had told her, once, about the connections Lord Chetan had. This was exactly what Priya had been hoping for. “I’m pleased, Lord Chetan,” Priya said to him earnestly. “I know the yaksa will be too. They won’t allow your rot to progress further. In fact… will you give me your hand?”
He held it out, and she took it. Closed her eyes. She felt for the rot in him—that blooming kernel.
She opened her eyes.
“The yaksa have frozen its course,” she said. “Nothing new grows.”
“Thank you, Elder,” he said, and withdrew his arm. Visibly, he hesitated. Then said, “There is a boy in your—care. A temple child. My son, Ashish.”
A dark feeling shuddered through Priya. Oh.
Temple children were meant to have no family but the temple. But she didn’t tell him so, only nodded her head, clasping her own hands now.
“Is… is he well, Elder? His mother worries for him.” His voice wavered. “I know the yaksa may use him as they see fit…”
“He is well,” Priya said softly. “He’s a smart boy. Stubborn. He’s good with the younger children. He’s well taken care of, Lord Chetan.”
The man blinked rapidly, his eyes wet.
“Thank you,” he said, then cleared his throat. “If I may ask. I beg of you, Elder—one small favor.”
Rukh found her. She was sitting in the empty storage room that had been her sickroom again. She’d left her bedding in there. Sometimes her rooms just felt a little too crowded and she liked to come here and be alone. Rukh always knew where to find her, though, and he turned up soon enough.
“You look sorry for yourself,” he said. “Very grim. Like a proper war leader.”
“Shut up,” she said. “How did you find me?”
“People are always watching you,” he said with a shrug. “I just asked. What’s wrong?”
She met his gaze; his eyebrows were furrowed, his face serious. He was so young still—it felt wrong to pour her problems into his ear. She wished Sima were here. She missed her so much it was like an ache.
“Adult problems,” she said. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
