“How did you know he was one of my own?” the priest said finally.
“He had a priest’s hair,” Malini replied. “He wore an ash mark. But he was not Parijati, and he carried the many names of the mothers, inked into his wrists. Just as you do.”
“You examined his body.” The priest’s voice was unreadable.
“With great respect, yes,” Malini responded. “I will return him to you, if you request it of me. If you do not, he will be burned.”
“It was not our intent for the man to die,” the priest said slowly. “It was our intent that a message be passed to you, discreetly.” A wary pause. “It is difficult for you to be approached with any subtlety, Empress.”
Not so difficult if they had sent a maid, a woman. But clearly, they had not considered it.
“Well, I am here now before you. I am willing to listen. What message do you have for me?” When he paused, throat working, she gestured at the room. The emptiness, only Lata watching them. The torches flickered. “You will not have another opportunity like this again.”
His throat worked. And worked.
“Emperor Chandra wishes to end your life,” the priest said, each word spoken with great care. “That is no secret.”
Malini inclined her head in agreement.
“As you have been taught—as you have seen—a life can possess great value. And you are a daughter of Divyanshi’s line.”
Malini waited.
The priest swallowed once more, and Malini thought vaguely that perhaps she should have requested refreshments after all, if only to put an end to that particular tic. In the light of the study—dim as it was—she could see that his skin was slick with sweat. The ash at his forehead was oily with it.
“My temple is small, Empress. We are not significant.”And do not wish to be, his tone implied. “Proximity. You understand.”
“Your message is from someone else,” she said levelly. He nodded. “You are near the siege, but not too near. Close, but not in service to any lord.” Another nod. “Then your message is from a priest of significant power,” she concluded.
“There are some who would make an alliance with you, Empress. If you wished it.”
“Their names?”
The priest shook his head.
“It was my understanding,” Malini said, “that Chandra has the complete support of the priesthood. That he has raised you above all kings and princes of Parijatdvipa. Your powerful friend must be aware I cannot do the same, when the throne is mine. And yet a priest died for me. Help me understand.”
“The priests of the mothers are not perfect allies to one another. Nor do we share a perfectly agreed-upon sense of what is right. What we share in common is a desire todoright. To walk a righteous path. But there are some who think Emperor Chandra… Your brother. That he is the right path. And there are others who look to you, Empress. And place their hope in you.”
Fine words, but Malini was not sure she could believe that any of the priesthood would so easily set aside the power they possessed under Chandra. So she waited, allowing the priest time to sweat and feel the weight of her eyes on him, and his own words press at his lungs, his lips.
“Not all of us have gained great power under Emperor Chandra,” the priest added.
A truth. But not the whole truth. The secrecy here—the sense that a game was being played that she could not see the fullness of—made her teeth ache.
“How can I trust your ally, when you give me so little?”
“Your life was saved, Empress,” the priest said. “One of our own sacrificed himself.”
“Which was not the intent, as you have already said. But what does your ally want from me? And what can I gain from him in return? Can you tell me this, priest?”
“What can you gain—? Ah. I have a gift for you, Empress. From the man himself.”
The priest rose abruptly to his feet, turning away from her and walking over to his manuscripts.
Hidden behind his books lay a small box, polished, carved from onyx. He kneeled down and held it out to Malini like an offering.
She did not take it.
