PRIYA
The celebration that took place after the battle for Harsinghar was almost a frenzy. The grand gardens of the mahal had been taken over by tables of fruits and wine, of tandoor and colored rice. Sima and Priya were soon separated by the press, and for a long moment Priya stood alone, surrounded by noise and color. It made Priya wince a little, imagining what the kitchens had gone through to make such a celebration possible, in the midst of their home and city being overrun, their emperor being captured and dying by his own hand.
Lata had turned up before them briefly, a somber figure carving her way through the noise and feasting.
She’d relaxed at the sight of Priya. Just a little unraveling of the tension in her shoulders, and a smoothing of her brow, before her face went severe again. She took Priya aside. “I will tell the empress that you’re safe and well. She feared for you.”
“Is she…?”
“Almost unhurt,” said Lata. “Triumphant. Relieved. As we all are.” Her gaze softened. “The empress’s other women are in the old queen’s quarters now, if you want to seek them out. They’d be glad to see you well. Sima, too.”
“Later,” Priya managed to say. “Thank you.”
Lata nodded, eyes oddly kind, and disappeared back into the chaos of the crowd.
Malini was going to be empress in truth: Parijat under her control. Emperor Chandra dead. In a different time, in a life Priya wasn’t living, she’d be elated in this moment. It meant Malini would have her throne. It meant Ahiranya would finally have its freedom from Parijatdvipa.
In a different time, she would have left Malini behind and gone home and helped build Ahiranya into something new and whole, piece by piece. Until one day, maybe, Ahiranya would be safe and secure, its fields free from rot, its temple council large enough and trustworthy enough that Bhumika could finally sleep easily at night. And then Priya would, perhaps, leave again. Would come to Harsinghar and see it in peacetime. See Malini in peacetime. And then, then—
Foolish dreams. Even more foolish hopes. None of that lay ahead of her.
There was only the yaksa. Only the ache in Priya’s chest.
Only her purpose.
“You there,” one highborn slurred. “Should you be here?”
“Yes,” Priya said flatly.
He looked over her—her plain salwar kameez, her boots, the knotted cloth of her chunni, rumpled but bound in place at her hip. She was clearly no dancer or courtesan, and his face creased into a frown. He reached for her, one big hand trying to grip her arm, and Priya took a pointed step back. He opened his mouth.
“See here—”
“The Ahiranyi woman is allowed to be here,” Ashutosh said sharply. “Leave her be.” He stayed when the highborn stranger apologized and skulked away. “My men are looking for you,” he said abruptly. “Something about a rematch.” Then he gestured broadly at the edge of the hall and walked away.
Priya walked toward where he’d pointed. She saw Romesh and the others, flowers and vines still strewn across their armor, with carafes of wine scattered all around them. They were shouting and laughing, and Raziya’s women were with them. One was rolling up her sleeve. “If a little thing like Sima can beat you,” she was saying, “then what trouble are you going to give me?”
“Oh, big talk,” said one of Ashutosh’s men. “What are you betting to back that pride up, huh?”
“You really want to bet against an archer?” She flexed her arm pointedly, and one of the men whooped like she’d just offered to kiss him. “I’m not betting wine, sweetheart. I’m betting real money.”
“I want archery lessons,” said the man. “If I win, that’s what I want from you.”
“You’d be better letting her teach you.” The Dwarali woman gestured at Sima, who was sitting with a carafe in her lap, her face glowing with joy and liquor. “She’s got all the patience, don’t you, Sima?”
“I’m not bad,” Sima said. “But you’ll have to beat me at arm wrestling too if you want me to teach you. That’s only fair. And frankly, I don’t see that happening.”
There was some more good-natured yelling. When Priya walked over, numb inside, Romesh looked up. “Elder Priya,” he said, smiling. His careworn face was… happy. “Come join us. Have a drink.”
“I have your favorite, my lady,” Sahar said. Waved a bottle in the air. “We can share.”
A pang of grief ran through Priya like lightning. She thought of sitting there with all of them, drinking that wine, laughing with them. Thought of being embraced by all that new trust. Byfriendship. She thought of how far they’d come, all of them and how rosy the future looked, like something good could be cobbled together out of all the blood and death and sacrifices, the horrors they’d seen.
She was going to ruin it all. She had to ruin it all.
“I’d love to,” she said, with false lightness. “But I need to talk to my advisor alone first.” She grabbed Sima’s arm, smiling. “Come on,” she said. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
“I think Romesh really likes you now,” Sima mused. “He still won’t offer to share a drink with me without making some kind of bargain, you know.” She was looking around at the hall, a smile on her mouth. “Fuck, this is such a relief, isn’t it, Pri? We’re finally through. We can talk to your empress. Tell her what we need. We can go home and hopefully—”
