“And I’m not letting you break that promise. You can say what you like, but I’m going with you.”
“Sima,” Priya murmured, helpless.
“It’s my choice.” Her tone brooked no argument. But Sima was watching her carefully. Waiting to see what she’d say.
“This time you’re not going into battle unprotected,” said Priya finally. “No snatching up shields at the last minute, all right? And your bow won’t be enough. We need to get you something more. Better. You won’t be able to rely on me. So. We’ll have to make sure you can protect yourself. I’ll get it sorted.”
Sima smiled then, and nudged her arm against Priya’s.
“Thank you,” she said.
“No thanks needed,” said Priya. “We protect each other.”
On the last leg of the army’s journey to Harsinghar, Priya made her way to Ashutosh. She offered Ashutosh the bow of an equal—shoulders straight, inclining her head. Surrounded by his men, he bowed in return, expression wary.
“Prince Ashutosh,” Priya said. “You owe me a favor.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I owe you no such thing.”
“I saved your life.” She smiled at him, aiming for charm and achieving… something that made his right eyebrow twitch. Obnoxiousness, maybe. “Come now, we’re fellow leaders of an army, aren’t we? Warriors in the service of our empress.”
His nostrils flared.
“Tell me what you want,” he said.
“Armor,” she told him. “For my fellow Ahiranyi woman. Armor to keep her alive.” A beat. “And something else,” she added. “Something for the battle. If you’re brave enough, and you believe your men may be willing to work with the Ahiranyi witch that saved their lives.”
“Shut up about lifesaving, I beg you,” he muttered. Then he said, “Speak. And don’t insult the bravery of my men again.”
One of Ashutosh’s men that she’d healed, back in Saketa, was small. He had spare armor—a little dented but serviceable—that were given over to Priya for Sima’s use.
It was Priya who helped Sima dress and bind the plates over her salwar kameez, tying severe knots into fabric and metal to hold it all in place.
“You should have gotten something for yourself, too,” Sima said.
Priya shook her head.
“I carry my armor with me,” she said. And there was nothing, in Ashutosh’s possession, or in the possession of anyone in this army, that would protect her from the fire. The only thing that had saved her in Saketa had been the yaksa wearing Bhumika’s face—the yaksa’s magic within her.
She wasn’t sure if she wanted it to save her again.
But she would do whatever she had to do. Today, she and Sima climbed into their own chariot. Lata watched, something dark in her eyes, her shawl drawn tight around her shoulders by her white-knuckled hands.
“Doesn’t the empress need you?” Priya asked.
“The empress has already said her goodbyes to me, and to all of us,” said Lata. “Including you. I tried to change her mind again. As did Lady Raziya.” She met Priya’s gaze. “I should have known if she would not fight with you by her side, she would not take any of us.”
“You sages,” Priya said with a smile. “I was always told you could see too much.”
“The gift and curse of all who seek knowledge,” Lata said dryly. “Perhaps I will see you again, Elder Priya.” Her expression was so very grave. “I shall hope that I do. But I must admit, our situation looks somewhat dire.”
Priya wanted to say something brave, or funny—wanted to laugh, and show her teeth, and tell Lata that of course she’d survive. No “perhaps” was necessary. But Priya knew better, and Lata did too.
“Perhaps,” Priya agreed, instead.
Lata inclined her head and stepped back. And then the charioteer clicked his teeth, and raised the reins—and then they were on the move, the chariot racing over the ground, the rumble of an entire army surrounding them.
