Bhumika didn’t have to say it: Ahiranya could survive for a while without Priya; without her hands on its soil, its people, its rot. But it couldn’t survive without Bhumika, who held the mask-keepers and highborn and merchants and common folk together with a fragile weft of favors and loyalties, bribes and responsibilities. Priya wasn’t fit for that kind of work.
“You will not be able to feign a highborn’s diplomacy, never mind the kind of display expected of a country’s ruler. I don’t deny that.”
“A teacher, maybe,” Priya suggested desperately. She couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Someone to train me in decorum. Or a companion on the journey to guide me.”
“There is not a single highborn familiar with the intricacies of Parijatdvipan politics that I would feel comfortable entrusting with the task of supporting you on this journey,” Bhumika said. “And I can only teach you so much before you leave.”
“You tried to teach me once to be a lady’s maid,” Priya said defeatedly. “And I failed miserably at that. It may not be worth the effort.”
“Well, you surely have more incentive this time,” Bhumika said. “You may learn. We will try.”
Bhumika did not sound sure of their success. That was fair.
“How can you trust me not to ruin everything?”
“Who else do I have to trust but you, Pri?”
True. Awful, but true.
“I think the empress has a vested interest in keeping you alive,” Bhumika went on, voice low. “She thinks she knows what you are. Your strengths, and your weaknesses. She will not expect you to be a canny little politician. She will protect you from the worst of her own courtiers. So you must be what she wants and needs you to be instead, and hope that is enough to keep you safe. We’ll arrange you a suitable retinue and what lessons we can.”
“Don’t send a big retinue with me,” Priya said, speaking slowly as she stumbled through her own thoughts, trying to make sense of them. “Don’t. The Parijatdvipans… I think it’s better if they underestimate us.”
“Your Malini wants you for what you can do,” Bhumika said quietly. “They’ll know sooner or later exactly what an elder of Ahiranya is capable of. They will see, and they will fear you.”
“Not if they think we’re her puppets,” said Priya. “Not if they think we’re in her power and need her patronage to survive. What threat is a single woman with no allies, even if she has something powerful in her?” Priya smiled wryly. “It’s almost the truth, isn’t it? So it won’t be hard to convince anyone.”
“No,” Bhumika said, voice unreadable. “I suppose not.”
Priya brushed her arm against Bhumika’s. “I thought you’d be happy.”
“Happy to see you go? No.”
“Happy that you don’t have to part with many soldiers,” Priya said. “You need every single one you have. And I’ll take care of myself just fine. Perhaps I’ll ask Sima to go with me. It’ll keep her from taking the waters, at least—”
“Priya.”
Priya went silent then. Silent and still. The timbre of Bhumika’s voice—the solemn note in it—held her fast.
“Promise me you’ll survive and come home,” Bhumika said.
Priya swallowed.
“How can I promise that?” They both knew how dangerous the world could be—how quickly, brutally, easily a loved one could die and leave you behind, no matter how much they yearned to stay.
“Promise me,” Bhumika repeated.
Bhumika had never asked for a promise that couldn’t be kept. Her eyes were shining, suspiciously damp despite the severity of her expression. And Priya could only look away from her, and swallow through the thickness of her own throat, and nod.
“I promise,” Priya said. “When all this is over, I’ll come home to you.”
There was no point in dallying. So Priya packed her possessions and passed on what responsibilities she could.
If Ganam thought it was traitorous of her to abandon Ahiranya at a Parijatdvipan imperial’s bidding, he didn’t say so, and the other mask-keepers were equally quiet. She was sure they were planning something—but if what they wanted was the chance to pass through the waters again, Bhumika was ready to provide it.
I hope they’re ready to dig new graves, Priya thought grimly. She’d warned Ganam. That was all she could do.
Billu packed her some hashish. “And some arrack too,” he said. “Vile shit it is, but who knows when you’ll need it.”
