She could feel the needle-flower at Malini’s throat. It called to her like a song.
There were guards, of course, at the doors of the imperial courtroom. Five of them looked like priests. Priya did not have to approach them. The seeds sewn into her clothes bloomed, and vines drifted across the floor. She choked them quietly unconscious. It was a gentle business, as these things went. She was almost sure they would awaken again.
Then she walked in.
Malini was standing alone in the court. Above her on a dais was the throne: an expansive pillow of silver, backed by ivory carved into delicate flowers, flecked gold by the light. Empty, for now. Next to her stood a pit of fire, which flickered and burned strangely, the flames inside it dying down. Soon they would be nothing but sputtering embers. She turned. The firelight shone on her face, which was cold, remote. But then she clearly realized it was Priya before her, and her expression went tender, warmed by more than flame.
“Priya,” she said. “It’s done.”
Priya walked forward. Cold marble beneath her. Malini’s bright face before her. Beloved.
“I need,” said Priya, “to cut the needle-flower from your throat. I need to take it from you. I’m so sorry, Malini.”
MALINI
Malini had never seen such a look in Priya’s eyes before.
Priya looked a little ragged. A little wild. Dirt on her clothes. Her face raised up, the gold of the mothers’ fire glinting in her eyes.
“I’ve trusted you, Malini,” Priya said. “I’ve trusted you so many times. I’m sorry. I’m going to need you to trust me in return.”
Malini took a step toward her. Stopped.
She knew that look. She knew it because she had worn it.
It was like… like gazing into her own past. Into a dark mirror, which showed the reflection not of her face but of her own terrors.
Priya looked like a feral thing caged, desperate to get out.
Some deep, inborn instinct held Malini very still.
“Priya,” she called out. Gentle. “If this is what you need from me, you have it.” Slowly, she lifted the chain above her blouse. Laid the needle-flower upon it against cloth, so that it was visible to Priya’s eyes. “Take it,” she said.
Priya walked over to her. In her hand lay a blade—a strange thing, narrow and whittled to sharpness, more thorn than knife. But it was as sharp as any steel, severing the needle-flower neatly from the necklace that held it. Malini felt the coolness, the lightness of its absence from her throat.
“This isn’t what she meant,” Priya whispered. Her voice, her eyes, were hollowed out, an emotion Malini could not possibly read.
“I don’t understand,” said Malini.
“She said she needed it back.” Priya swallowed, and met her eyes. “The yaksa.”
Malini stepped back. Reflexive.
A war coming. A war, and Priya before her, spilling a secret with barbs. A yaksa. She had been speaking to a yaksa.
“Will you ask me to trust you,” Malini said tightly, “now that you have spoken of yaksa? Now that you have claimed totalkto one?”
Priya stared at her. “No,” she said. “No. Though you’ve asked me for more trust than that. Asked me to trust that you’ll keep your vows to Ahiranya. Asked me to risk my life, my magic, everything I am—”
“You gave everything willingly.”
“You stillasked. I won’t do the same to you. Because I. I…” Priya’s eyes closed, and she swayed on her feet. “My power,” she said. “Comes at a price. And if I had known… Malini, I wouldn’t have paid it. But now I have to do this. For my family. For Ahiranya. I can’t betray them.”
Malini tried to move forward, around her to the door. Foolish. The marble cracked with a sound like thunder. Something wrapped tight around her feet, holding her fast by the flickering fire pit, before Priya’s tired, tortured face.
“Priya.”She was breathing hard suddenly. Shaking. “Priya, don’t you dare betray me. Don’t. Don’t.”Please, she did not say.Please, not you.Not you.
Priya was breathing the pained breaths of someone trying not to weep. It was ugly. It made Malini furious.
