“Jeevan will still be disappointed, but do what you like,” Priya said with a sigh.
Rukh jumped down. He straightened up. Once, he’d been so thin and so small—but even the short time he’d spent in the Hirana had added flesh to his bones and softened his face. He was stronger, taller, his curling hair thick enough now to almost conceal the fronds of leaves growing from his scalp. “Do you want to come?”
She shook her head. “I’ve had a busy morning.”
“Are you going to see Elder Bhumika?” Rukh asked.
“I wasn’t planning to,” she said. “Do you know how our little grandma is doing?”
“Padma doesn’t look like an old lady anymore,” Rukh said in his most disapproving voice. “Well. Mostly. She’s not crying as much, I think. Khalida said Jeevan got her a wooden bracelet to bite on to help her gums stop hurting.”
“Sweet of him,” said Priya. Then: “Is there a reason I should see Bhumika?”
Rukh—who’d gained a disturbing interest in knowing absolutely everything—said, “She’s got a letter for you in her study. Something from the empress.”
A beat of silence. Priya swallowed, her heart racing. Finally, she said, “I’m not even going to ask how you know that.”
“I was helping Khalida look after Padma. We went to bring her to Lady Bhumika, and I saw it then,” he said anyway. “Do you know what the letter’s about?”
“Go and find Ganam, you beast,” Priya said. “I won’t tell Jeevan I saw you unless he asks.”
She turned, walking sedately until Rukh—who yelled his thanks with a laugh—had scampered off behind her.
She didn’t quite start running, but it was a close thing.
She read the official letter from the empress to the elders of Ahiranya first. It was lying plainly on Bhumika’s desk. Bhumika’s study was barred to outsiders, but Priya, of course, had a key. Maybe Bhumika had known Priya would wander in at some point and rifle through her papers, and had decided to make Priya’s life easier. She often made such small, thoughtful gestures. Sometimes Priya would return to her room and find sachets of herbs to perfume her clothes, or a meal wrapped in cloth, and she knew it was Bhumika trying to take care of her, even as their responsibilities kept them so often apart, like two ghosts haunting the same space, never quite crossing paths.
Next to the official missive, propped pointedly against a pile of books, lay a letter plainly addressed to Priya. It had no official seal of the empress on it—no sign it was from Malini at all. But Priya knew.
That Malini had gone one step further andwrittento her, had put down some of what bound them permanently in ink, was—well. It made Priya feel soft and tender, and stunned by Malini’s foolishness.
She opened the letter. Pressed it flat. That writing—it had to be Malini’s. It was too graceful to be anyone else’s.
She wrote of garlands. Of Mani Ara, and her river. And other tales of yaksa and mortals.
“I didn’t tell her these,” Priya whispered. Which meant that at some point, Malini had read the Birch Bark Mantras. Had she learned the tales for Priya’s sake?
Priya couldn’t write back. She knew it. Whatever subtle means Malini had used to deliver this to her—and spirits, she hoped they had been subtle, for Malini’s sake—there was no way Priya should write to her in return.
But somehow she found herself sitting at Bhumika’s desk. Grasping a clean sheet of paper. Writing down words.
I miss you, she began.
MALINI
Malini’s appointed room in the Lal Qila was intimate—a circular chamber with narrow windows that opened to the sky, and a low fire burning to maintain heat. The floor was a familiar marble, but swathed in a grand carpet that would have rotted in Parijat’s greater heat: a hand-sewn expanse of knotted goat’s wool, depicting the moon and stars, and prey animals running across snow. She stared and stared, tracing the patterns with her eyes, sinking into meditative calm, as she waited for Lord Mahesh to bring her his daughter.
She heard a door creak open.
Lord Mahesh entered, and bowed. A girl entered with him. She was a slip of a thing, with an unremarkable face and long hair, a shawl draped over her shoulders to ward of Dwarali’s cold, and shadows of exhaustion around her eyes. Her journey to Dwarali must have been grueling. Malini wondered if Mahesh had even allowed the girl a moment to rest before dragging her into Malini’s presence.
“My daughter, Deepa,” Lord Mahesh said, urging the girl forward with a hand at her back. Deepa stumbled. Bowed hastily. “As I told you, she is a biddable girl, and only a few years your junior. I am sure she will be an able addition to your court.”
It was laughable to mention Malini’s court when she had none to speak of. Oh, she had her highborn lords and princes, and she had Lata. But she had no court ofwomen: no heart sisters to share her secrets with. No elder women or grandmothers to counsel her, and no daughters of allies to foster ties with. That had to change.
“Thank you, Lord Mahesh,” Malini said. “You may leave her with us. I’ll be sure to make her welcome.” Her mouth tilted into a smile. “I know Prince Rao has been searching for you.”
“Empress,” Mahesh said, bowing his head. Then he turned and departed.
