“Where did you find him?”
“In his mistress’s house,” Jeevan said.
Bhumika gave a hum of acknowledgment. “So hewashiding.”
“Not just him, my lady,” he said. He still wasn’t looking in her direction. So Bhumika did him the service of turning back to the mirror as she tried to hook another slender golden chain through her bound, braided hair. “I found two of his allies in a nearby pleasure house.”
“They do like to complain about the economy. I’m glad they’re doing their part to keep it running.”
She heard Jeevan snort. When she turned around once more, his face was expressionless.
“Jeevan,” she said with a sigh as the chain slipped free from its pin. “Could you find a maid for me? Any will do.” She gestured at her hair ruefully. “I can’t hook this correctly.”
His face, still so expressionless, did something… complicated. A tightening of the jaw. A lowering of the eyes. “I,” he said haltingly. And then nothing more.
But she understood.
“If you don’t mind,” she said softly. “I’d be thankful.”
He walked over to her. He grasped one of the chains. Held the hook delicately between his slender fingers and raised it to her hair. She felt him touch one of her braids, a light pressure that shimmered through her.
She saw his reflection in the mirror behind hers. Their eyes met.
“Lord Chetan,” he said, after a moment.
“Yes,” Bhumika said, when she found her words. “Please. Take me to him.”
“I did not want to come here,” Chetan said, lips almost bloodless with terror. “Lady Bhumika, why did you send your men for me? Why have you condemned me to this?”
“Do you really believe there is anywhere you can run that the yaksa cannot find you?” Bhumika asked. “They are our highest power. They live in every part of Ahiranya—in every root, every tree, every hope we have had for our past or our future. They want all our highborn present,” she continued levelly. “So you will be present, Lord Chetan, for all our sakes, especially your own.”
He stared at her. For the first time, she saw something in him—a perceptiveness she had not believed him capable of. Perhaps fear had briefly sharpened his mind into something of use.
“You’re afraid, Lady Bhumika,” he said. “I have never seen you so afraid.”
She said nothing. She had no reason to be ashamed of her fear. Anyone would be a foolnotto fear the yaksa.
“They—they are real, then?”
“They are.”
“They look—mortal.”
So do I, Bhumika thought.But I am not sure that I am anymore.
Out loud she said, “I would show them the same respect you show your yaksa idols on your shrine, Lord Chetan, if not more. They are exactly what they claim to be. No doubt they intend to prove it at the feast.” She rose to her feet and signaled the nearest guard closer. “Bring Lord Chetan water. And fresh clothes, if he wishes for them.” The only men’s clothing fine enough for his status had belonged to her late husband, but he did not have to know that.
“Lady Bhumika.”
Something in his voice made her pause. “Yes?”
“Are they—as they were in tales? As in the Birch Bark Mantras?”
“They are…” Bhumika searched for words. “All you must do,” she said finally, “is show them respect and veneration. Do not think beyond that.”
“If they can see into our hearts,” he blurted out. “Our minds. Then they will know.”
She felt an icy trickle down her spine.
