Once, these quarters had been the chambers laid aside for the handful of Srugani advisors who had resided permanently in the mahal, serving the empire. The corridors were built in the Srugani style, welcoming to the whims of nature, and had not been altered even though the Srugani were all long gone—banished by the emperor. The quarters belonged to the emperor’s priests and his priestly warriors now, raised so high in favor that they no longer resided solely in the temple, where they rightly belonged.
Those old Srugani advisors had been well liked by the servants who tended their needs. But the priests were carefully avoided.
Especially by the mahal’s serving women.
Usually she walked swiftly when she came this way, slipping by the doorway as swift as a bird in flight. But she’d dawdled today, liquor making her slow prey. And the priests were drawing closer, close enough that she could see their shadows on the ground—and her own, melding into the shade thrown by the archway of the door. If she moved, they would see her shadow move. They would know she was here.
Parul knew the price of being caught. Once, at a small feast between a few of the emperor’s military leaders, a serving girl called Chaiya, two years younger than Parul, had heard them speaking of battle tactics. She’d caught the eye of one of the lords—by accident, no more—and he’d laughed and asked her lightly, mockingly, if military strategy interested her?
When that lord lost his battle, he sought Chaiya out and slit her throat. She must have been a spy, he’d proclaimed. How else could he have lost?
“If Hemanth will not tell the emperor the full truth, how can he make the right choice?” An older priest with a deep voice was speaking. “Emperor Chandra has always listened to him. Always shown great respect for our priesthood, our service. If Hemanth would only explain…”
“I love the High Priest.” A younger voice. “I trust him to convince the emperor.”
They were speaking of the emperor. Theemperor. What would they do to her if they found her here?
She couldn’t run. It was as if her feet were rooted to the ground.
The older priest spoke again. “Kartik,” he murmured. So quiet Parul could near not hear him over the pounding of her own heart, her panicked little breaths that she was desperately trying to hold in. “Hemanth believes the emperor will see reason. But I fear…”
His voice faded. She was hopeful for a moment that they had decided to walk away from her. But Kartik’s voice was crisp, clear, and far too close when he said soothingly, “We are all united in our desire to protect Parijatdvipa. But I have made sure she will live long enough.”
“Have you? How?” The older priest seemed relieved.
“Don’t trouble yourself.” Gently said. “And if the emperor will not listen to the guidance of his priests…” A pause. The scuff of footsteps pausing; the rasp of the older priest’s breath, as they both drew to a stop. “There is another path,” said Kartik, finally. “Still mother-blessed.”
Tentatively, “And Hemanth? He approves?”
“He loves the emperor,” Kartik replied. “But he will do what is best for Parijatdvipa, in the end. I have faith in that.”
By now, Parul had stopped breathing entirely. She did not understand what they’d spoken of. But she knew, if they found her, that would not matter.
She could see them now: one shorter figure and the other taller. The priest Kartik stood in the moonlight with his profile to her, his gaze on his fellow priest, focused and attentive. She decided to take a risk. What else could she do?
Carefully, she took one mere step to the side. Pressed herself to the wall, where she would be better hidden, her shadow melding into the formless dark around her.
Their conversation stilled. For a second, fear grasped her. They would find her. They would burn her.
They did not.
The two priests made their farewells. “I’ll leave with the dawn,” Kartik said. “Return to my own temple.”
“You will be missed.”
“I’ll return soon enough,” he replied. “I find it difficult to leave Hemanth’s side for long.”
A moment of utter silence. Then:
Footsteps. Drawing closer.
She did not breathe. Did not breathe. Thought of the pyres—the smell of them always in the air, the screams the wind sometimes carried. There was nowhere in the mahal where the sound could truly be avoided. She thought of her own voice joining that hollow song—thought and almost wept—
He passed by. The edge of his robe skimmed the archway of the door, then vanished as he made his way along the main corridor of the Srugani quarters. His footsteps faded. And Parul shuddered, and began to stumble along, and thanked the mothers in her head and her heart for making her pass unnoticed one more time. For making her the hare in its burrow: safe in the dark, far from the harsh and killing light of a priest’s eyes.
MALINI
It was presented to her as the unified vision of all her council: They would seek to starve Saketa out.
