She reached back.
For a moment he was entirely unmoored from his body, panicked, unable to move—and then he was… weightless. He felt as if he could breathe—or as if he did not need to breathe, as if his lungs were not struggling for air, as if he were more and less than flesh.
Worlds were revolving around them, great stars imploding and darkening into nothing as they hung suspended in darkness that rippled and lived. He felt as if a priest of the nameless had guided him into a vision and left him there; abandoned him to the maelstrom of the nameless’s voice.
A coming. An inevitable coming.
Priya’s eyes were not her own. She was holding him by the hand, mouthing words he couldn’t read or hear, great peals of song breaking like waves against his ears. He struggled against her, trying to pull away—and then remembered himself, and reached for her instead. He was taking her back. He had made a promise. And if he did not—if he did not—
(What would Malini do, if he did not?)
Priya, he mouthed in return. Searched for his voice. Clawed it from his throat. “Priya. Whatever this is—please.Stopthis.”
She blinked. Shuddered out a breath.
And then abruptly, it was over.
Lungs heaving. Body screaming for air. Priya a dead weight in his arms. He moved her into the hold of one arm and kicked his feet against the silt, propelling them both upward. Dragged her up, up, out of the water and heaved a ragged breath. He turned her face to the side, trying to feel for the flutter of her breath one-handed. He wrenched open her jaw, trying to clear her mouth of water with his clumsy fingers. And ah, there it was—the faintest rush of air from her mouth.
It was only then that he saw the flowers. They’d tumbled from her lips—small, half-opened buds, viciously golden. There were petals threaded through her hair. When she blinked, he saw fine spiderwebs of green beneath her eyelids.
He flinched. Almost let her go. Thank the nameless, he managed to resist the impulse.
He couldn’t let anyone see her like this. He needed to get her to Malini.
“Romesh!”
“My lord?” Romesh yelled back from the island. “You have her? You have her!”
“She isn’t dead,” Rao replied. “But she isn’t—decent. I need Sima, the other Ahiranyi woman. Get her a boat if you can and get her to come and meet me out here. No one else. Tell her to bring an oilcloth with her.”
“I can help—”
“No,” Rao said roughly. And then, with care: “You’re wounded. Your prince won’t thank me if you sicken. Besides, I have a care for Elder Priya’s honor, you understand?”
Romesh headed to the bank with no further complaint.
Rao held Priya and waited. Waited, and did not think of Prem’s death. Did not think of the wood whorls on his skin, or of his laughter, or of the way grief had carved Rao’s chest open and left it unfilled.
“Stay with me, Priya,” he said, somewhat ineffectually, as she breathed and bled flowers, her hair swirling in the water. “What would your people do without you?”
He didn’t know how long he held her there, feeling the contraction of her ribs as she breathed, before a small makeshift boat made its way across the water, Sima clumsily directing it. Rao braced his feet against the riverbed; hefted Priya up, bending over her.
“What would Malini do without you?” he whispered, and straightened.
“Cover her up,” he said roughly to Sima, as she reached out for Priya. Her eyes widened at the sight of her friend, but she said nothing; only firmed her jaw and helped Rao get Priya onto the boat. She wiped the flowers carefully away. Placed the oilcloth carefully over Priya’s body, as Priya’s eyes fluttered again.
“Hush,” Sima said firmly. “No sound out of you, Pri. That’s an order. We’re getting you back to land.”
Priya’s mouth moved, soundless. Then her eyes closed again.
Rao stayed in the water, directing the raft with his body. Sima held Priya steady.
“Will you tell anyone?” Sima asked abruptly. “My lord. Will you?”
“Elder Priya is an important ally to Empress Malini,” he said slowly. “And the empress wouldn’t want anyone to know.”
For a long moment there was nothing but the slap of water against the sides of the boat as he heaved it forward. Then, in a low voice, Sima said, “Thank you.”
