“He and a few lords from Parijat wish to—speak with you. They earnestly hope you will attend them.”
Another meeting that Malini had not been invited to. Rao would have to make sure she heard of it, if one of the attending officials had not already passed the information to Lata.
Aditya shook his head. “I have meditation to engage in,” he said, as if this were a far more vital task.
“Prince Aditya, please,” the official said, pleading. “What must I tell them?”
“Lord Mahesh will know my reasoning,” Aditya said calmly. “We have spoken of it often enough.”
“My prince, please.”
“I will come if my sister summons me,” Aditya said. There was new iron, under the mildness of his voice. “Has she?”
Rao considered him carefully. There was a sharpness to Aditya’s gaze.
“The empress will not be present,” the official said reluctantly.
“Ah, it grows late,” Rao said, clicking his tongue. “Who knows where the empress has got to! She’s a busy woman, isn’t she? No matter.” He rose to his feet. “Do tell Lord Mahesh I can find her for him.”
“Th-there’s no need, my lord,” the official stammered.
“No, no, it’s no trouble,” Rao said, smiling. “As Prince Aditya has said, he cannot accompany you. You should go and give Lord Mahesh his apologies.”
The official did not protest, but he left radiating anxiety and disapproval.
Rao turned to Aditya.
“I wish I could have stayed longer,” he said frankly. Through all his frustration with Aditya—and yes, his anger—that was entirely true. But he had responsibilities, and unlike Aditya, he couldn’t turn from them.
Rao turned to the entrance.
“Rao,” said Aditya. Rao’s thoughts careened to a halt.
“Yes?”
“I would like you to assess my guards,” he said. “You have my permission to make changes to the roster. A few of your own men would be—ideal.”
Despite Aditya’s enforced peace, the world kept on creeping in. In smoke, in fire. In men.
“Not all visitors are as welcome as you are,” Aditya said.
“I’ll arrange my own men,” Rao said carefully. “And next time, Aditya…”
“Yes?”
“I’ll bring you some wine,” he said, keeping his voice light. This was his friend. Never mind anything else. That remained true.
Aditya nodded once, in graceful thanks. And Rao left him behind.
BHUMIKA
Bhumika woke as the sky began to lighten, black softening to a dark hue of blue. She dressed in a plain white sari and bound beads of wood through her hair. The mahal was almost quiet, almost peaceful—but in the distance she could hear the hum of voices, and knew that worshippers were already gathering at the base of the Hirana, waiting to climb the mountain and make their offerings.
Her crown mask lay swaddled in white cloth at her bedside. She unwrapped it with care, pushing back layers of fabric to bare the oval of wood. The hollowed sockets for eyes stared back at her. She cupped the shape of the mask in her palm, feeling the weight of it, the smoothness of the grain.
The mask-keepers wore their own wooden masks in honor of this one: the crown mask of the High Elder, leader of the temple elders who ruled Ahiranya’s faith and now ruled Ahiranya itself. It was carved from sacred wood and imbued with yaksa-born magic. The power in it was so strong that touching it would make skin blister and burn. Pressed to flesh long enough, it could eat its way down to the bone.
But Bhumika was thrice-born, with the deathless waters running through her veins. She had nothing to fear. She could not be hurt by sacred wood. The crown mask filled her flesh with warmth that made her blood sing, and when she raised it up, pressing it to her own face, it settled against her skin, pouring its gifts through her.
