She remembered how she had bowed to the mothers of flame.
That memory was like a vein of rot—something ugly threading its roots through the golden sweetness of Malini’s eyes and hands on her.
Priya had done what was politically needful. She was no Bhumika, and no Malini, but she understood that sometimes unpleasant things had to be done for the sake of a greater goal. She had ruled and she had killed.Bowingwas hardly the most difficult thing she’d done.
And yet… she’d betrayed something in herself by doing it. It was the old temple elders and her siblings who’d made her. It was Ahiranya that had shaped her into what she was. The mothers of flame were not hers to worship. If anything, they were hers to hate.
But Malini had asked, and Priya had… not said no.
Did I bow for the sake of Ahiranya, or for Malini?Priya asked herself. It wasn’t a question she could answer. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Priya stole one moment for herself—reaching and seeking in the sangam, searching for her sister in the rivers. But no matter how she called, Bhumika refused to answer, and Priya returned to her skin ill at ease, and a little angry. What was Bhumikadoing?
She distracted herself by combing out her hair, then carefully binding it in place with darts of wood. She was already wearing a white salwar kameez—her best, one of the few nice things she had carefully carried with her, wrapped in muslin to keep it from getting dirty or moth-bitten until she had a chance to wear it with highborn company.
“Do you need to me to do your hair?” Sima asked, slipping into the tent.
Priya dropped one of her pins. Paused. “Maybe,” she said.
“Oh, Pri, here. Let me.”
Sima gathered up Priya’s hair and began to put the staves of wood in place.
“I’ve been listening to the gossip,” Sima said, her voice low so they wouldn’t be overheard. Only Nitin and a few other Ahiranyi soldiers were around, so Priya wasn’t sure who could possibly hear, but it always paid to be careful. “There’s doubt among the highborn over whether the empress should be empress. They think the fire’s a sign. The maids who were willing to speak to me—they said most of the common soldiers aren’t so sure.” One of the darts slid into place, poking Priya’s scalp in the process. She winced, and Sima adjusted it. “Sorry. Anyway, the highborn think they’re being subtle.”
“But they’re not?”
“Not at all,” Sima snorted. “I can see why your empress was worried enough to drag you here.”
But what can I actually do?Priya thought. Be an emissary for Ahiranya? Certainly. Moon over Malini? She could do that as easily as breathing. But if Malini wanted more from her…
Priya thought of how her powers had guttered on the journey here, and worry gnawed at her all over again.
She reminded herself that she could feel the green now. The sangam was waiting for her, waiting for her to reach out. But what use was it if Bhumika wouldn’t answer her?
She forced away her unease and turned to Sima. “Let me do yours now,” she said, taking Sima’s long braid in her hands. “And then we should probably go or we’ll be late, and who knows how insulted those highborn women will be?”
Lata, Malini’s sage, had come to personally request Priya’s presence at a meeting of “the empress’s closest companions.” Lata had looked like no sage Priya had ever seen before, her sari a glorious deep green silk, her braided hair severe but her bangles a refined beaten gold. She looked like a highborn woman, but from her serious bearing and the ink on her fingers, it was clear she was more of an advisor. And from the way the guards bowed their heads, deferring to her, asenioradvisor.
“If you were a man, Elder Priya, you would have been required to meet the highborn men who counsel the empress,” Lata had said. “But as you are not, you must meet with the wives and daughters who attend on Empress Malini.”
“Must?” Priya had asked.
“Must,” Lata had stated firmly.
Now, Sima and Priya left the sweltering heat of the tent and met the guard Lata had sent to guide them. They walked toward the main camp, where the tents for the other highborn stood. They passed Saketan liegemen practicing with their blade whips out in a training circle cordoned off with rope; one Srugani soldier sleeping with his mace propped at his side; and a handful of cooks carrying vats of oil and sacks of rice, who gave Priya and Sima distrustful looks as they passed. The army encampment was carefully delineated into segments by city-state and liege loyalty, but the overall atmosphere was still one of pure chaos. Priya was a little dizzied by it. She’d never seen so many people in one place, and she’d spent nearly her entire life in the most populated part of Ahiranya.
Still, she was fairly certain she’d managed to affect a look of serene calm by the time she and Sima reached their destination.
The tent they were led to was large. When the guard announced them, they entered, and were greeted by a pleasantly cool interior, faintly perfumed with rosewater and incense. There were bowls of water laid out to keep the air fresh, and a single maid desultorily waving about a horsehair fan over an older woman who was dozing on a floor cushion. Two younger noblewomen were playing a game of chaturanga, which they set carefully aside when Priya and Sima entered.
Malini was not present. Neither was Lata.
Perfect.
The younger noblewomen stood and nodded to Priya. She returned the gesture.
“Elder Priya,” said one—a tall woman in a deep blue salwar kameez. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.” She didn’t even sound as if she were entirely lying. “I am Lady Raziya, of the Lal Qila. This is Lady Deepa.”
