They traveled deep into the night, until she could hear the yawns behind her.
“I can hide us,” said Priya. “Ganam, help me.”
“As the High Elder commands.” Ganam rose to his feet.
With a little urging, he drew on his twice-born strength. They wove a camouflage for their group—a hollowed basin of soil hidden beneath a canopy of leaves. From a distance, no Srugani soldiers would see them. And up close, Priya would have an array of weapons to draw on. She sharpened one branch into a series of thorn knives, tucked beneath the leaves ready for use, then settled on the ground to hold vigil.
The warriors fell asleep around her. The vials of water at their waists gave off faint light.
Ganam settled next to her.
“Sleep,” she said to him. “You’re going to need it.”
He shook his head.
“No. I’ll keep watch.”
“Grief is like an extra weight you have to carry around wherever you go,” Priya said, tucking her chin against her knees. “Sleep. Let the weight go.”
“I’ve got no right to grieve,” Ganam said wretchedly. “The yaksa chose me. They let the rest of the rebels—myfamily—die.”
The yaksa had made no such decision. Priya had seen their panic.
Maybe strength doesn’t matter to the deathless waters after all, Priya thought with disquiet. Kritika had been strong. So many of the mask-keepers had been strong. Maybe it was all chance. Maybe she and Ganam were here and everyone else was gone because of luck alone.
That didn’t make her feel better, and she didn’t think it would help Ganam either.
“Just close your eyes for a little while,” she said. “See. I’ll close mine too.”
“Someone should keep watch.”
“I’ll feel it if anyone comes,” Priya said. “The green speaks to me. There’s nothing to be afraid of, all right? Now, sleep.”
It took Ganam a long time to sleep, but eventually he did.She listened to his low, even breaths and buried her face against her knees. She wept silently, misery forcing its way out of her like blood, like poison. Bhumika was gone and Sima was gone; the mask-keepers were dead. The people around her would all eventually drink the water from their vials and die too. Even Ganam would enter the deathless waters for a third time, and in her heart she didn’t believe he would return.
No harm had come to her today, but she felt like a hollow thing, scraped clean. No organs, no bones to hold her together, no joy, no strength. A single touch would be enough to break her.
She slept.
The imperial court was shattered.
The stone had crumbled. The stone was being carried away by swift, strong waters. Three rivers roared and swirled, merging around Priya’s knees. Somehow, she still stood upright. This wasn’t the sangam, although it looked very like it. Above her were the arches of the court’s ceiling, shining from within with the golden light of fire. Around them were vast trees, bending in a fierce wind Priya couldn’t feel. There were paths all around her, breathing, calling her. But the strongest song came from the waters around her. It was like a plucked string—a resonance.Here you are.
From behind her, she heard a sharp inhale. Heard the movement of a body through water.
Felt fingertips against her arm. The resonance ran right through her, and she knew.
Those were not Mani Ara’s fingers. She would know these hands anywhere. They had held her and traced the shape of her body; they had been inside her. They had closed around a dark flower carved from her own heart.
They were hands that wanted her dead.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t dream of her tonight. Shecouldn’t.
“Malini,” she said, voice choked. “Don’t.”
BHUMIKA
A single day in the village stretched into two, then three, then four. After that, Bhumika put aside counting.
