Her sari was a little damp, her skin faintly shiny with water, when she emerged and drew a shawl around her shoulders to hide the worst of the damage. There was a chariot coming to a stop. Soldiers alighting from their own mounts.
The soldiers parted. A parasol was raised—beaded with darts of silver, it gleamed even as it shadowed the figure that alighted from the chariot, protecting her from the fading sunlight.
Malini.
She was not as thin as she’d once been. And her hair—always so knotted and curling, when Priya had known her—had been carefully tamed into a braided bun, bound high at her scalp. But her face was the same: the same dark gray eyes, almost black. The severe eyebrows. The fullness of her mouth, not quite shaping a smile.
“Empress,” Yogesh murmured, and bowed low. His men followed his example.
Around Priya, Jeevan’s men hesitated. But when Priya bowed they followed suit.
Priya raised her head. Malini was watching her.
Once, her expression would have been unreadable to Priya—a blank mask, all perfection and stillness. But she knew Malini’s face now—had once watched every flicker of her eyelids, every exhale from her lips, and learned them like language.
Beneath the shadow of her parasol, Malini’s dark eyes were taking in every inch of Priya’s form—her damp skin, the tuck of her sari at her waist. Her trailing hair, draped over a shoulder. Priya’s face. Malini was looking at nothing and no one else. Only Priya, with her mouth a little parted and her eyes a little wider than normal.
Malini had missed her, too.
“Elder Priya,” said Malini. “I have come to speak with you. If we may have privacy…”
“Of course. Empress.” Priya nodded at her men and Sima, who nodded in return and stepped away. Yogesh was murmuring something, shaking his head.
“There is no need for a formal record of this conversation,” Malini replied.
“Empress,” Yogesh protested.
Malini gave the lightest flick of her head. And Yogesh swallowed, and bowed, and stepped back to join the other men.
Priya looked at Malini. Simply looked at her. The chariot was all gilt and silver behind her. There were flowers in her hair, carved from jewels and ivory. Earth and bone.
“I am sorry to come to you so suddenly, without warning,” Malini said, after a moment. “If I had warned anyone, my courtiers would have followed. And I wanted…”
Malini trailed off, but Priya knew.
“We’re still watched,” Priya said softly.
“I know,” Malini said. “But some modicum of privacy is better than nothing.”
Malini, she wanted to say. Wanted to shape that name in her mouth. She took one step forward. Just one step. But Malini shook her head, subtly, and Priya took no more.
“I wanted you to see,” Malini murmured. “Before I faced you in front of all my men. I wanted you to see what I am now.”
Priya found some breath inside herself. “You certainly look like an empress.”
“And you—you look like an Elder of Ahiranya,” said Malini.
Priya couldn’t help but laugh. Almost noiseless, almost breathless, like the sound didn’t want to leave her. “I look like a mess,” she said.
“No. You look…”
“What?”
“More alive than I remember,” Malini said softly. “I didn’t think such a thing was possible. But here we are. Priya. Are you well? Happy?”
It makes me happy to see you, she almost said. But that wasn’t quite right. Seeing Malini made it feel like there was something fragile in her chest. Something that could wither or flourish at a single word, a single touch. “I… I am. Are you?”
Malini smiled in response. Tight-lipped.
