“Of course.” The guardswomen moved aside, allowing Malini to stand beside Raziya. “How did you know where to find me, Empress? I would have come to you if you had summoned me.”
“People talk.” Well.Maidservantstalked, if they were coaxed appropriately, with a smile from an empress, or a coin from a sage in return for details on the daily routine of the mistress of the Lal Qila. “And I know you would have come, Lady Raziya. But I wanted to see the views here myself.” As she spoke, her breath formed small clouds before her. “They’re beautiful.”
Raziya gave her a sidelong look, assessing and amused.
“Step back,” she said crisply, and her guardswomen vanished like ghosts, moving to stand some distance away, their backs turned. Only then did Raziya turn to look Malini directly in the eyes.
“Although I would like to remark upon the beauty of Dwarali to you, and ease you into a discussion of favors,” Raziya said, “I find I must take advantage of our privacy to be frank: My husband has intimated that he will follow you into the battle, and all that comes after. That he will follow you until Chandra is defeated.”
“He’s told me much the same,” Malini said.
“I have no wish to remain where he is not,” said Raziya. “If you allow me to accompany you, I would be grateful. My sons and daughters are old enough to hold the Lal Qila in our stead.”
Malini gazed off into the distance for a long moment, watching the clouds drift slowly by. Raziya’s request certainly made things a great deal easier. Malini had corresponded with Raziya enough that she felt as if she had the measure of her: Incisive and thoughtful, Raziya had a huge amount of influence over her husband’s political choices.
And Malini already wanted Raziya on her side, in her court. She also knew Raziya was not the kind of woman to act from adoration for her husband alone—and surely she could not think that Malini would believe such of her.
“Is it love alone that compels you?” Malini asked.
Raziya laughed.
“A certain amount of sentimentality drives me,” she said. “But no, not love alone. I am ambitious for my family, Empress. I have no shame in it. And it strikes me that in the court of an empress, a woman may rise very far. I am a seasoned leader, Empress. I know politics, and do not fear war. Take me with you, and you will have no regrets. Of that, I can assure you.”
“It sounds like I could gain a great deal from having you at my side,” said Malini. “Tell me, Lady Raziya. What does a woman of your power and position seek from my service? What can an empress offer you to bind your loyalty?”
“It would be a terrible thing,” Lady Raziya said mildly, “for my husband to contemplate turning against the sultan. The sultan is your ally, and rules Dwarali ably. The lord of the Lal Qila is no more than his obedient servant. As the wife of the lord of the Lal Qila, I cannot ask my empress to give my husband a throne. I know some things cannot even be dreamt of without cost.”
And yet you dream them regardless, Malini thought.You have so much and you want more still.
She could understand that hunger. Admire it, even.
“I am sure Lord Khalil would not reject a gift freely given,” Malini said evenly. “When I win the empire in my grasp, Lady Raziya, I will show him my gratitude.” How she would take the throne from the sultan, she did not yet know. But it could be done, and would be. Malini kept her promises. “But I wonder: Why dream of power for him, and not for yourself?”
“Empress,” Lady Raziya said. “I love my husband. What greater love is there than wanting to lay the world in your beloved’s hands?”
It was deep, dark night when an Aloran messenger arrived with a message from Ahiranya. It was worn from travel, dust-stained, and had clearly passed through many hands. It did not have Malini’s name on it, but she knew at once that it held Priya’s words. Priya’s voice.
I miss you, the letter said. Artless words. She could feel Priya in them, and it made her heart bloom with helpless fondness.
Such grand stories you know now! Where did you discover them? Did you seek them out?
I don’t know if I will ever have your answer. Maybe it’s enough to wonder. Maybe that’s what you want, for me to think of you.
There is so much I wish I could tell you. But I have no head for poetry, though I’ve met it from time to time.
I will say only this.
I made you a promise once. Say my name, and though it makes me a fool—and I know it does—I’ll find my way. I’ll come.
CHANDRA
The first bloom had sprouted in his mother’s garden. After the first trees were felled—after fires burned day in and out, painting the sky black with smoke—he had sifted through the ash and found it:
A flower of fire. Proof of the rightness of his rule. An assurance that the bone-deep certainty that had carried him this far was entirely correct.
He was the rightful ruler of Parijatdvipa. And his cause was just.
But his mother’s garden had not been enough. As his sister defeated his army in Dwarali, Chandra tended carefully to his flowers. Fields were cleared, and pyres planted with women tied to them, and set alight.
