Perhaps there would be less disarray if any of you had the patience for the dull work of keeping a nation functional, Bhumika thought. Silently, she let the irritation form, then drift away. She sipped her tulsi water.
“The deathless waters are dangerous,” Bhumika said instead, treading over an old argument with steady footsteps. “They may kill any of you. Tenuous as my power is, I cannot afford to lose anyone. It has made me rightly cautious.”
“My men and women are strong.”
“Strong people have been killed by the waters before,” Bhumika said quietly. “As you know.” When Kritika remained silent, Bhumika said, “That I offer this at all is a sign of my regard for the mask-keepers. And my desire to see us build Ahiranya together. I will be glad of powerful allies.”
“Then we shouldallpass through the waters, so you may have as many powerful allies as it is possible to have.”
Bhumika shook her head. The ache in her skull briefly sharpened. Forcing back a wince, she said, “For all of you to make the journey would be an unwise risk.” Kritika was still frowning. “You have waited this long out of respect for me. For Ashok’s memory.” Mostly, she knew, for Ashok’s memory. “I ask you to trust my guidance in this, too. As he would have wanted.”
“I will wait,” Kritika said eventually. “If anyone must wait—I’ll accept it. I will ask a few of my brothers and sisters to share my patience. But not all. They have the right to become twice-born, Elder Bhumika.”
Bhumika inclined her head.
“Kritika.”
“Yes?”
“You need not call me ‘elder,’” Bhumika said. “I have told you so before.”
“I show you the respect I would have shown Ashok,” Kritika said, with a stiffness that was all brittle grief.
“Ashok would never have asked you to do so,” Bhumika said.
“But he did,” said Kritika. “He made us all promise to serve you, Elder Bhumika. So we shall.” She paused, clearly struggling with the desire to speak. Then, quite sharply, she said, “But if I or any of my fellow mask-keepers were to consider turning on you—and we would not—I would point out that you are tainted by your association with the Parijatdvipan empire: your marriage. Your child.”
“Tainted,” Bhumika repeated flatly.
“I would point out that our country still does not have the freedom it was promised. Someone could easily claim you are another regent in all but name: a Parijatdvipan creature ready to keep us under the empire’s boot, who won’t allow her fellows power. I would make it clear how easily you could be toppled. But I keep Ashok’s promises for him, Elder Bhumika.”
“There is no need to threaten me,” Bhumika said tiredly. “I’ve already agreed, Kritika.”
“I was not threatening you,” Kritika said, sounding genuinely affronted. “If I were threatening you, I would use my sickle.”
“Then you have a good reason to keep me alive and in power,” Bhumika replied. She gave Kritika a grim smile as she rose to her feet. “You have no sense of the kind of weapons the highborn use.”And if you do, you wield them entirely without subtlety, Bhumika thought.
“I know exactly what weapons the highborn use,” Kritika said. “I’ve lived under their boot in a way you cannot comprehend, wealthy and protected as you have been, Elder. I simply believe in more honest weapons. As I believe in a more honest Ahiranya. The sooner we can rise and put the weapons the empire gave our people aside, the better.Thatis what I believe.”
That evening, Bhumika reached for Priya in the sangam. The shadow of her moved through three knotted cosmic rivers; the shadow of her voice called.
Priya. Priya. Where are you?
Priya did not answer her.
“I need you to send one of your men after Priya.” Those were the first words she said to Jeevan when he entered her chambers and bowed, eyes sharp with concern. She had summoned him directly to her, after the second time she reached for Priya and found no answer. Now, she was standing by the window—staring out at the growing darkness, forcing herself not to pace with anxiety. She had never reached for Priya and found nothing before. Never. “Urgently. The swiftest rider you have.”
He nodded. “What message should the rider carry?” Jeevan asked.
“I merely need to know if she is well,” Bhumika said. “Ask your rider to carry ink and paper so she can send me a message, if she needs to. I…” Bhumika touched her knuckles to her lips.Stop. Think rationally, she told herself.Do not allow yourself to be driven by your own worry.“I cannot reach her,” Bhumika said eventually. “In the way we usually reach one another. I fear for her health.”
There was silence behind her. She turned to look at him, and saw that Jeevan’s expression had hardened. “I can send a dozen men on fast horses,” he said. “More, if need be. If you wish me to go myself—”
“No.” She shook her head. “No. One rider will be enough.” They could not afford to weaken their own defenses. And Bhumika was not one to shy away from grim truths: Priya was strong. If she was well, one rider would be enough to confirm her safety and survival and put Bhumika’s fears at ease. But if something had happened to her—something so grave that she could not even enter the sangam—then no number of soldiers would be enough to save her or fight what had harmed her. Her heart ached at the thought. She pushed the fear away, desperately. “I need you here.”
He nodded his understanding. “I’ll send one of my best,” he vowed.
“I have every faith in you,” she said.
