“No. Pri. Look.”
Priya opened her eyes.
A sea of shining white and gold filled her vision.
The Parijati army surrounded the city in a gleaming wall of sunlit armor, vast Parijatdvipan flags on gold-and-white swathes of cloth wavering in the breeze. They were waiting.
Their sabers—held aloft before them—were alight with flame.
“It doesn’t look like the emperor’s willing to negotiate,” Sima said.
“No.” Priya’s mouth felt dry. She wetted her lips with her tongue; breathed in the air, already rich with the smell of fire. “He never struck me as the type, really.”
“Hold on tight,” their charioteer said tersely. “I’ve been instructed to carry you as near to the city’s walls as I can.”
Priya gave a jerky nod. She brushed her knuckles against Sima’s own. Said, “Keep your shield up.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Sima said. She clutched Priya’s hand for a single moment, then let it go. “Let me worry about you for once.”
Priya was afraid for Sima. Afraid for herself. For all of them, really. As the chariot jolted forward, she looked out at the riders around them—almost all of them were Ashutosh’s liegemen.
Conches sounded. And her foot soldiers were racing forward, the dust churning beneath their feet. She heard the clashing, roaring noise of boots and metal and—screaming. Of course there was screaming.
Her stomach was writhing. Whenever she blinked, she saw the yaksa behind her eyes.
The chariot gave a sickening lurch. The charioteer swore and veered hard to the left as men piled past them.
“Almost time,” their charioteer called. There was a sheen of sweat on his face, but his mouth was set in grim determination. Priya breathed out, and lowered herself to the ground of the chariot. Sima kneeled with her, her armor creaking.
There was an unnatural pressure to the air. A heaviness, as the wind howled against flags, as horse hooves thudded against the ground, as elephants made low, chuffing noises.
“I’ll make sure nothing touches you,” said Sima quietly, beside her.
“I’m only worried about one thing,” Priya said, voice already a little ragged—as if she were running, fast, hard—not sitting still on the floor of a chariot with Sima crouched beside her, a great shield strapped to her arm. “If the fire touches me…”
“It won’t,” Sima said. “I won’t let it.”
Priya closed her eyes. “Just you and your shield,” she said. “Come on, Sima. Don’t coddle me.”
“Don’t underestimate my strength,” Sima said. “You and me, we’re going to be okay. We’re going to get through.”
“If I don’t—”
“Priya, no—”
“If I don’t,” Priya said more firmly. “Then I want you to be okay. Don’t die for me. Whatever happens.”
“You’re my best friend,” Sima said quietly.
“Sima.”
Sima squeezed her hand. “You don’t have time to argue with me right now.” She stood, in the shadow of their charioteer. Stared out at the raging battlefield.
“The army’s getting closer,” Sima said, and then Priya felt the jolt of the chariot beneath them.
Listened to the crash of metal. The screaming.
She watched as fire crossed the sky above her head like a shooting star.
