She brought Swati with her, carrying a tray of food.
“Brother,” she greeted him, as Swati placed the food down and swiftly departed. “I missed our normal meeting. Apologies.”
“None are needed,” he said. “Rao told me what has been—happening.”
If you had simply looked outside your tent, you would have known without his assistance.
She did not say it. She sat, tucking her legs beneath her. Smoothed her sari down. He gave her a calm look in return.
“We need to talk,” she said bluntly. “Mahesh wants to place you upon the throne. Has he approached you?”
“He tried to invite me to a war council,” said Aditya. “But beyond that, no.” He traced the edges of the plate, touched his fingertips to the edge of the roti, feeling its heat. “There are lords who have approached me before,” he said. “But not him.”
“His first loyalty has always been to you.”
Aditya shook his head. “He’s a man of faith. Not Chandra’s brand of faith in the mothers, but his belief is no less firm.” Said not with cunning, but with the steady, assured understanding a priest had of religious conviction—the way it could mold a human mind and a human heart. “And the fire has shaken his faith. Blessed magical fire—”
“The fire was not from the mothers,” Malini said, exasperated. At least with Aditya, she didn’t have to hide that much.
“It sounds very much like the blessed fire from the Book of Mothers,” he said mildly. “To one such as Mahesh, a sign from the mothers will always have greater power, greater significance, than a sign from the nameless god.”
She bit down on her tongue. A light, grounding pain. What was the use arguing with him? He was not saying he believed it—only that Mahesh did.
When she was calm—calmer—she spoke again.
“And if he asks you to take your place, to lead the army, to become emperor…?”
“Ah, Malini,” he said softly. “You once begged me to do the same. If I could refuse you, do you think anyone else could sway me?”
She nodded tightly, the both of them staring at each other, tense and wary.
The curtain parted.
Malini had half-risen to her feet when Rao entered. He was holding a bottle of wine; he paused when he saw Malini there.
Rao offered her a tentative smile. He wasn’t still angry with her, then. That was nice to know.
“I didn’t know you would be here,” Rao said apologetically.
“The guards didn’t tell you?”
“Only a moment ago, at the door,” he said. “So I don’t have an extra cup for you, Malini. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll drink from the bottle then,” she said easily. Rao nodded.
“Eat your food,” Rao said to Aditya. “You’re too thin.”
“You sound like an auntie,” Aditya said. But there was a hint of a smile at his mouth, and he finally began to eat.
“It’s good, after all, that you’re here too, Malini,” Rao said. “It’s easier to speak to you directly, with only trustworthy company. To speak tobothof you.”
He poured the wine: one glass for himself, one for Aditya.
Malini took the bottle. She had thought, once, that she would never drink again: that her slow poisoning via tainted wine during her imprisonment would sour her on it forever. But she’d discovered a curious pleasure in enjoying something that had once been a cause of pain for her. The wine was a proper Saketan vintage, rich and smooth, warming her belly.
Rao looked between them.
“Malini…”
