Beside her, Malini was straight-backed, staring ahead, her face empty. But her hand remained on Priya’s hip, heavy and sure.
There was no sign of more Parijatdvipan soldiers on the road that day. Cautiously, they made camp. Malini was required to meet with her generals. She left Priya resting in her tent. Priya lay still for at least half an hour before she accepted that she was not tired in the slightest, and her body and mind felt as whole as they were ever going to feel. She was human flesh, blood, thoughts. No more flowers were going to pour through her skin. She felt… normal.
There was nothing she could do about the disquiet that had settled in her heart. Sharp teeth. Bruised flower mouth. A yaksa holding her up in the liquid dark.
I don’t want you to speak to your sister. I want you to speak to me.
The memory shuddered through her. She pushed it aside and tried to think of more real things. Things that didn’t leave her blood running cold. The thud of arrows. The weight of a shield. Romesh baring his teeth, with blood in the water around him.
Not much better. But it would have to do. At least these memories kept her in her skin.
She sat up and slid from the bedding. Rising to her feet, she neatened her new sari. Tightened the braid of her hair. When she slipped from the tent, she found Sima sitting out front with the guards.
“Pri,” she said, getting to her feet. “How do you feel?”
“You’re not going to believe me, but I feel perfect.” It was deep night, the sky black as pitch, but the camp was brightly lit with torches. Sima’s assessing look was illuminated.
Priya looked across the camp, searching. Ashutosh’s men were nearer than she had expected. But that made sense. Their lord was still in the medical tent, being carefully attended to now that their journey had paused. She could see Romesh. One of his arms was bound, but the wrapping was clean of blood. That was good.
Ashutosh’s men were already watching her in return.
Priya started to walk toward them. Sima matched her footsteps.
“Are you sure about this?” Sima asked.
“Absolutely.”
Sima huffed. It might have been amusement. “I suppose we’d better offend them together, if we’re going to do it again,” she said.
“We’re not going to offend them,” said Priya. “We’re going to make friends.”
“Right.” Sima sounded skeptical.
They reached the men, who looked up at them from where they were seated on the ground. They were silent.
“Mind if we join you?” Priya asked, keeping her voice friendly. “I’ll only take a little offense if you say no.”
Her tone eased some of the tension out of them, which was interesting. Priya hadn’t known she was capable of that.
“You’ve saved my life twice over,” Romesh said. “If you want to sit and share our wine, we won’t stop you.”
The men shuffled over. Priya and Sima sat down. For a long moment the silence was awkward and tense. One of the men coughed and shifted uneasily.
“How are you feeling?” Sima asked Romesh. Her voice was pitched soft—she was afraid, Priya knew, of insulting him—and he blinked at her, as if surprised by that.
“My lord got me opium,” he said. “So I don’t feel as shit as I should, is the truth.”
One of the other men snorted. “You shouldn’t say ‘shit’ to a lady, brother.”
Sima’s mouth twitched. “I’m not a lady,” she said.
“Lady’s advisor, then.” A hand clapped Romesh’s head, making him swear again. “This one was raised better. Don’t think ill of Saketa because of him.”
“Of course not,” Sima said quickly.
“We do know how to curse in Zaban just like the rest of you,” Priya said dryly. “As long as you don’t callusshit, I can promise you we won’t be angry.”
“You don’t act like a proper highborn,” Romesh said, as if he agreed. “Don’t act like I expected a priest of your kind to act, either.”
