Instead of responding, Bhumika paused and pondered, rifling through possibilities.
Allowing the mask-keepers—therebels, as they always would be named, in the privacy of Bhumika’s mind—to have the same sheer power that Bhumika and Priya now possessed seemed foolhardy at best. But Bhumika had ruminated over the problem; turned it over in her head, time and time again, and she could see no alternative. She could not refuse them without civil war. And ah, soil and sky, she and Priya desperately needed their burden lightened.
“If you really want my view,” Priya said slowly, watching Bhumika’s face, “then I think now that they’ve become once-born, it’s all inevitable. I remember what it was like. Craving the waters. They’re going to feel that want rolling through them day and night until they get the chance. And that lot have never been afraid of death.”
“No indeed,” Bhumika murmured. “Fine. I’ll talk to Kritika. We’ll do what’s needful.”
“Do you ever wonder,” Priya said, “what it would be like if more of us had survived? If we weren’t the only temple children left?”
“No.”Yes. Often. Always.“I don’t allow myself to dwell on it,” Bhumika lied.
“Do you think it would have been easier? All of this.”
Priya did not remember their siblings as Bhumika did.
“I think we would not be here,” said Bhumika. “I think our lives would have been very different. I can’t imagine it, and I don’t wish to.”
“Sima’s told me she’d like to pass through the waters,” Priya said then, cutting through the jumbled weight of Bhumika’s own thoughts. “And there are others—Billu, definitely—who’d like to try, too. And don’t tell me maidservants and cooks aren’t fit for it, Bhumika.I’man ex-maidservant.”
“You were a temple child first. Besides, Priya—don’t you want better for them than this? Would you have chosen this for yourself, if there had been another path?”
Priya went silent at that.
“Tell me,” Priya said eventually, voice softer, “how Padma’s been. Does she still yell all the time?”
“Yes. Because she’s still a baby,” Bhumika said in her driest tone. “Come and see her in the morning, if you like. She misses you.”
Bhumika was finally considering whether it was time to prepare for bed, when there was a sharp rap on her chamber doors. Khalida opened them. Jeevan strode in.
“Lady Bhumika,” Jeevan said, with a neat bow. “There’s a messenger waiting for you urgently.” A pause. He straightened up. “From Empress Malini.”
Bhumika’s heart gave a thud.
“I’ll be there immediately,” she said.
This time, she headed to the receiving room with appropriate haste. A thin man waited for her. He looked as if he had stumbled from his horse and come to her directly, and smelled like it too—but his bow was polite, his voice respectful when he said, “Elder. I have been sent with a message from the empress herself. A missive written in her own hand.”
Bhumika took the letter from him.
“Thank you,” she said, with as much grace as she could muster. “If you follow my maid, she’ll see to it that you have some sustenance and a comfortable place to rest.”
The messenger bowed again, murmuring his thanks. And Bhumika began to read.
It was a short message. Her hand trembled, just slightly, as she creased it shut once more.
“Jeevan,” she said, turning to the door where her commander waited, gaze alert. “Please. Summon Priya. I need her.”
KUNAL
Kunal did not like Parijat. It was a cold city. Cold marble. Cold people. Its flowers far too pale, too fragile, its food too sweet and milk-rich. So he was glad, as Varsha was, when a priest from Saketa guided them around the imperial mahal and kindly asked after their father in Saketa, and the temples of the faceless mother on local estates—a source of shame they had both been told not to speak of in Parijat.
“I began my training in a temple of the faceless mother,” the priest Kartik confided in them with a smile. “I believe those who serve the faceless mother have a great deal to teach the priests of the mothers who reside in Parijat itself. But do not tell anyone I said so,” he said in a confiding tone, eyes warm. “It shall be our secret, as fellow Saketans.”
Varsha giggled a little, covering her mouth with her hand. Even Kunal was comforted by the priest’s consideration.
“Perhaps you will be able to guide me in the future, priest,” his sister said timidly. “I am inclined to worship.”
“My apologies, princess,” the priest said, slowing to allow her to match his pace. With a pang of embarrassment, Kunal did the same. “The High Priest summoned me to assist you and your brother in settling comfortably into the mahal. But my temple lies near the Veri river, and I must return to it.”
