Alori, her crown of wooden stars burning as her hair ignited, as she screamed—
In the rest of the mahal, the soldiers who had returned with them were no doubt spreading the tale of what Aditya had done, and what he had made them vow to him in turn. In days, the story would be all over the city.
Perhaps they would raise up a statue of gold for Aditya, just as they had for Rao’s sister. Perhaps all his loved ones would be nothing but effigies for Rao to gaze upon, and remember what he had lost.
Once he’d seen Malini he found a corner to be alone in. A veranda overlooking the training grounds where he and Aditya had once sparred. He leaned over the edge. Pressed his head to cool marble.
“Rao.”
Lata’s soft voice. Of course.
He raised his head. Her face was full of compassion.
“Rao,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said reflexively.
“You were with the prince when he passed,” she said, eyes still sorrowful.
He nodded once, silently.
“What did you see when he burned?” Lata asked. “Forgive me. I must ask.”
“Must you?”
Lata stared back at him.
“Is this a sage’s curiosity, Lata? Or something else?” She’d been tending to Malini, he knew. She looked tired.
“What else would it be?” Lata asked.
“A sage’s curiosity, then,” he said bitterly. “Tell me. What will the sages write about Aditya’s death? Will they say now that my sister should not have burned on a pyre? ThatIshould have?” He turned on her, hating how he felt. But he was unable to undo it. “All of this means nothing. Nothing.”
“You don’t mean that,” she said.
“I do. I really do.” The air wavered around her. He swallowed around the dryness of his mouth. “What do you really want from me, Lata?”
A pause. Lata drew closer, standing next to him on the veranda, her hands in the sun, her body in the shade.
“The Ahiranyi woman. Priya. She left someone behind. I… I do not believe she will be safe. With anyone else.”
“Sima,” he said. “You mean Sima. Shelefther?”
Lata nodded silently.
“Will you protect her, Rao? You liked her, I think.”
“Well enough,” he said. Exhaled. “Well enough.” He tightened his grip on the edge of the veranda. “I don’t want to care about anyone else, Lata. I’m not built for it. I can’t.”
Lata was silent.
“Fine,” he said eventually. “I’ll do it.”
Lata nodded. “Thank you,” she said.
He stared out at the horizon for a moment longer. Thought of the night when he and Aditya had drunk too much wine, and Aditya had discovered his calling in a monastery of the nameless. Remembered Aditya laughing as they stumbled drunkenly to the gardens together, naming each star for each mother of flame. Slipping into riddles and poetry.
What is a star, he thought, in Aditya’s slurred, smiling voice,but distant fire, reaching for you across worlds?
