He kept his eyes on the bank. Almost there.
“There’s no thanks needed,” he said to her.
When they landed, he didn’t wait for any of the soldiers to come and assist him. He lifted Priya up himself. “I need a horse,” he barked out.
One of his men came forward with a saddled mare. With the soldier’s help, and Sima’s, he mounted and held Priya in front of him. Difficult as balancing her weight was, he’d be able to carry her.
“Sima—”
“I’ll make my own way.” She was trembling again, the bravery leaving her cold as it ebbed out of her. But he trusted the look on her face—the sheer stubborn determination in it. “Go, my lord.”
He went.
Malini was no longer on the corpse-strewn battlefield but safely in the camp. Much to Rao’s relief, she was not in her tent but outside it, surrounded by her guard. Lord Prakash was kneeling before her, bowing his head. When he raised it, speaking words Rao couldn’t hear, there was a look of sheer emotion on his face—pure, marveling wonder.
Above her, on the tent itself, her flags were raised, the imperial Parijatdvipan white and gold painfully bright in the glare of the sun. He forced the horse to a stop. Thought of shouting out for Malini, then thought better of it. Calling undue attention seemed—unwise.
But Malini had already seen them. She turned her head. Her eyes widened, and then her face stilled, falling into a mask of calm as she made her swift way toward Rao. There was soil and blood all over the hem of her sari; dusty wind had whipped her hair askew even in its braid, faint curls haloing her face.
“Priya,” she said. It was not a question—but there was something in her voice Rao had never heard, a sheer cliff edge of feeling, and Rao hurried to reply.
“She’s alive, Empress.”
“Summon a physician,” Malini said evenly to the guard who had followed after her.
“No need,” Rao said, meeting Malini’s eyes and hoping she would read the warning in them. “She needs—rest, Empress. No more than that.”
Malini gestured at the guard, and he went still.
“Bring her into my tent, Prince Rao,” said Malini. She turned. “Lord Prakash, I will speak to you later. My apologies.”
Lord Prakash bowed his head. If he thought anything of what he’d seen, Rao could not tell, and had no time to analyze his expression. All he cared about was sliding from his horse, lifting up Priya’s weight, and carrying her to the tent. One of Malini’s guards opened the way. She told them to wait outside.
Inside, Lata was speaking to Swati, directing her to help gather more supplies for the sickroom. When Lata saw them she clapped a hand abruptly over Swati’s eyes. Swati squeaked in alarm.
“Don’t worry, Swati,” she said. Her gaze flicked from Rao, to Priya, then to Malini. “Empress?”
“Water,” Malini said, crossing the room, smoothing down the blanket on her own cot. “Bring food, too. Swati—you won’t be needed. Only you, Lata.” Without checking to see if she’d be obeyed, she went on. “Rao, lay her here.”
He laid her down, all the river-soaked weight of her, as Lata ushered Swati swiftly out.
“You wrapped her like a corpse,” said Malini. She crossed her arms, but not before Rao saw the way her fingers were trembling.
“She’s covered in—flowers,” Rao said roughly, only stumbling a little over the sheer absurdity of it. The river, crashing over men. Roots forcing themselves from silt, building a bridge. A vision. Priya bleedingflowers. “I had to hide it.”
Muddy water stained the divan as he removed the oilcloth, drawing it back. Malini’s hands hovered, not touching, as she drank in the sight of the Ahiranyi woman: the dust of green at her eyes, the petals still bruising her mouth; the snarl of them in her wet hair.
“Thank you, Rao,” she said. “I’m sure you have a great deal to attend to.”
He knew a dismissal when he heard one.
“Take care, Malini,” he said softly. A caution.
She said nothing.
The last thing he saw before he closed the tent flap behind him was Malini touching Priya’s cheek—four fingertips, tenderly pressing into the softness of it, her eyes fierce and fathomless.
MALINI
