“We protect each other.”
“I know,” Sima said again, her smile softening into something more real. There was almost color in her cheeks again. “I really am getting better with a bow. Jeevan’s going to be so pleased.”
“Absolutely,” Priya agreed. “He’ll have you teaching the little ones before you know it.”
Sima gave a theatrical shudder. “Don’t threaten me with that,” she said.
They strode up to the main entrance of the mahal.
“You all did well,” Priya said, once they were inside. Took off her shawl and wiped what remained of the dried sweat and blood of battle from her face, her neck. “Does anyone know who is on the next patrol? They’ll want to check that no more imperial soldiers are hiding somewhere.”
“I’ll ask Kritika who volunteered,” Ganam said. “I told her I’d join her on the Hirana anyway.”
“Then I’ll talk to Jeevan,” Priya said. The mask-keepers were Kritika’s people, just as the ex-soldiers were Jeevan’s, and the balance of power was always…interesting, at best. Priya was desperately glad that Bhumika was so good at soothing the tensions between all the fragmented groups that made up Ahiranya’s new, ragtag government. She had no head for that kind of emotional, tiresome work.
“I’lltalk to Jeevan,” said Sima. “You need to go and wash and change. Aren’t you meant to be receiving people on the Hirana this evening? You can’t go like that. You’ll scare people.”
Priya was meant to be on the Hirana later, it was true. Welcoming worshippers and helping the rot-riven. Placing her hands on them, and freezing the rot within them, so it would progress no further. So they would live.
And then, tomorrow, she would be out on patrol again.
“Thank you,” Priya said. She gave Sima a grin and turned, intending to hurry back to her own room, where she could change. But instead, she found her feet leading her toward the orchard.
Time to herself was so rare now. And though she didn’t exactly have complaints, she couldn’t resist the urge to take a moment alone. Just a moment, when she could walk under trees and pluck a ripe fruit from a low-hanging branch, and purge the memory of imperial soldiers and imperial steel with the comfort of being alone in a familiar place.
She had barely stepped into the orchard when she heard a voice calling her name.
“Priya!”
She looked up.
“Rukh,” she greeted him, squinting against the sunlight. He was seated on a high branch—leaning forward so he could see her and waving one arm to catch her attention. “What are you doing up there?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Want me to throw you a fig?”
“Yes,” she said. He chucked one down, and she caught it one-handed. Bit straight into it. Between bites, she said, “You’re hiding, aren’t you?”
“‘Hiding’ is a strong word,” Rukh said. “I said hello, didn’t I? If I were hiding, I would have kept quiet.”
“I know you’re not hiding fromme. You’re meant to be in training.”
“Do you want anything else?” Rukh asked helpfully. “I can climb a different tree if you like. Any tree.”
“Jeevan is going to skin you.”
“He would never,” said Rukh. “He’s too nice. He’ll just make me run around the practice yard.”
Nicewasn’t a word Priya would have applied to Jeevan, who was solemn and harsh-faced and unsmiling and seemed to spend all his time hovering around Bhumika or herding his trainees around like cats. But she didn’t argue. “Ganam’s back.”
Rukh’s expression visibly brightened.
“Where is he?”
“He’s going up the Hirana.”
“I’m going to go see him,” Rukh said decisively. “Maybe he can train me later. Then Jeevan won’t be disappointed.”
Rukh and Ganam had been rebels together, once. Rukh had vowed to serve Bhumika and had been saved from death by Priya—that kind of bond stuck. But he and Ganam had grown something special in their shared time in the mahal, and Priya was glad of it. Often, she found the two of them together—Ganam patiently demonstrating the use of a sickle to Rukh, who’d copy him, frowning, all focus.
