“Such a temple—it is not—”
“Not ideal,” Malini agreed. “Not entirely pure. But it will please the Saketan foot soldiers.”
Lord Mahesh said nothing.
“I think it will suffice, Mahesh,” Malini said.
“It will not be enough, Empress,” Mahesh said grimly. “But if you insist on moving on to other business, we shall.”
The chariot arranged for Malini’s journey to the temple was large, drawn by two swift horses, with space enough inside the covered interior for both Lata and Priya. But Lata agreed easily enough to travel with Sima, leaving Priya and Malini alone. Rati, Raziya, and Deepa remained behind.
They sat. Priya kept her face slightly turned away, hands clasped in her lap. It should have looked respectful. It made Malini want to take Priya’s face in her hands. Turn her head.Look at me.
Foolishness.
Malini waited until they were on the move, the chariot juddering around them, the highborn and soldiers accompanying them creating a clatter of wheels and hooves beyond the fabric and wrought ivory of the chariot’s walls.
“I missed you,” Malini murmured. It was like letting an overexerted muscle finally rest. She’d spent so long controlling herself that saying something truly honest was pure relief. “I’ve missed you so very much, Priya. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I told you I’d come if you asked me to,” Priya said immediately. Her head was still lowered, but it turned a little at the sound of Malini’s voice. Malini traced the angle of Priya’s jaw with her eyes, followed the line of Priya’s vision, and saw that Priya was looking at her, at the place where their clothes almost touched, their legs turned toward one another. One slight movement, and their knees would be pressed together. Would Priya’s skin feel warm, even through all the cloth separating them? “And I’m so glad you have, but I also…” Priya stopped, and instead of continuing her train of thought said, “I kept your letter. The first one. Did you really read the Birch Bark Mantras for me?”
“For you, and for me,” Malini said, low. “You know how I like knowledge.”
“I do.”
“Priya.” Malini leaned forward, letting their skirts mingle, knees brush. “Why won’t you look at me?”
A beat of breathless silence. Malini watched Priya’s mouth curve into a smile.
“Because I want to kiss you,” Priya said, voice a little rough. “And I know I can’t. Not when…” She gestured at the curtain, reminding Malini of all the highborn lords beyond it.
“You probably could if you were quick,” Malini teased.
Priya finally lifted her head. And there she was—those bright eyes, and those golden lashes making them brighter; that crooked nose and easy smile growing wider, that skin that had felt like warmth and silk, once, under Malini’s hands.
“Is that a joke?” Priya sounded delighted. “Is the Empress of Parijatdvipa joking with me?”
“I would like to think I’m flirting with you,” Malini said, feeling her own heart lighten in response. “Or daring you, perhaps. But you may call it a joke if you like.”
The smile faded from Priya’s lips. But the light was still in her eyes, fierce enough that it made Malini’s breath catch.
“I don’t really think you want a brief kiss from me,” Priya said lowly. “And that’s not what I want from you either.”
“Perhaps we should both stare at opposite walls,” Malini muttered, and Priya laughed again.
“Perhaps,” she agreed. And tilted her head against the palanquin wall, even as her gaze stayed on Malini—steady, and so very soft.
I would kiss you, Malini thought. Throat aching.I would kiss you and kiss you.
But that isn’t why I need you here. That isn’t the yielding I require from you.
Not today.
The temple had clearly prepared for their arrival, despite the short notice. There were oil lamps arrayed upon the temple’s entrance steps in great winding spirals of light. The pillars were festooned in garlands of flowers, honey-sweet. Bees buzzed around them, held at bay by clouds of incense, rising from joss sticks set in pillared alcoves.
A small welcoming party of priests awaited them, bowing as Malini emerged from the palanquin. Behind her she could hear the clatter of hooves and whinny of horses, and the grating call of chariot wheels turning. She ground her teeth together. Perhaps when she returned to camp, she would inform the military officials to allocate some of their funds toward oil for those wheel spokes. Clearly they were being neglected.
She did not wait for Priya, Lata, or Sima to emerge. She knew that given half the chance, one of her lords would take it upon himself to greet the priests in her place. So she glided forward and slipped her gilded sandals from her feet; held up the edge of her sari in the crook of two curled fingers and walked up the temple stairs. The priests hurriedly bowed. One, younger than the rest, was visibly sweating.
