She wanted to tell him that she was disappointed; that he had spent a year in her company and yet he clearly knew nothing of her. He had followed her for the prophecy she had garbed herself in, then immediately sought to abandon her when the gold shell of it had cracked. He had failed to take the opportunity his closeness to her had offered to actually learn her worth.
But it did not matter if he knew her. She knew him.
“I am not Chandra,” she said. “Your family will not suffer for your crimes. I admire your daughter’s intelligence, her wisdom. She is a credit to your family.”
Did he understand what was unsaid—that Deepa had proved herself an ally to Malini? That she had betrayed him, raising herself even as his downfall came for him? From the way he looked at his daughter as she walked forward, her own expression calm, Malini thought perhaps he did.
“Will I be exiled?” There was a deep exhaustion in his voice. And perhaps a fury, too. “Or will my throat be slit in the night?”
“Father,” Deepa said. He looked away from her.
“I am disgraced,” he said. “I am a traitor, in your eyes. Do not treat me cruelly, Empress. Tell me my fate.”
“Your daughter has spoken for you,” Malini replied. “And her love for you moved me. You will not be killed.” She paused, as if considering her words. Then: “There is an opportunity to serve Parijatdvipa. To save us all. This evening, before the council… I would ask you to listen. And consider your future. It would be a chance to serve Parijatdvipa with your whole heart and soul and earn back my respect. I encourage you to take it.”
After his departure, Malini’s court gathered around her once more. All of them wore grim expressions, but Lata’s was the most serious of all. She strode straight to Malini, close enough that her words would not be overheard.
“Empress,” Lata murmured. “I’ve found her.”
Relief coursed through Malini. “Where is she?” she breathed. She looked toward the entrance of the tent. Began to rise to her feet.
Priya entered, and froze as their gazes met. She was whole and alive, and Malini was walking to her, reaching for her before her good sense could stop her.
“Empress,” Priya said swiftly. She sketched a bow, and Malini stopped—hand upraised, not yet touching. Priya raised her head. “Empress,” she said again, softer now. “I’m well.”
“Elder Priya,” Malini said, remembering herself. She took a step back. Another. Lowered herself into her seat. She was surprised by the steadiness of her own voice. “I was told your encampment burned.”
“We lost a few men,” Priya said, nodding. “But not all, and well—not ourselves.” She gestured at Sima, who had slipped into the tent behind her. Sima looked more than a little gray, though her expression was resolute. Her face was speckled with motes of ash. “We’re unharmed.”
“I am glad of it,” Malini said. “I would never want any of my women to be hurt.”
Priya looked into her eyes and smiled. The ash had streaked across her face like misapplied kajal. Her hair was wild darkness all around her shoulders, unspooled.You are like ink, Malini thought helplessly.Ink, and all I want is to make poetry of you.“Your women feel the same of you, Empress,” she said.
“Empress,” Lata said, clearing her throat. “The council are waiting.”
Yes. The council. Malini forced herself to stop looking at Priya. Dragging her gaze away, she turned her attention to the other women around her.
“A show of unity,” she said. “You will all come with me, and… I must ask you for a favor. An act of trust.”
“Ask us,” Raziya said, unflinching. “And we’ll do whatever is needful.”
“Don’t show fear,” she said. “Trust me, and be brave. That’s all I ask.”
The lords and princes were indeed waiting for her, but they were not an organized and silent audience. Men kept coming and going, striding from where nervous groups of archers and soldiers had been placed to watch the fort’s walls for new attacks. Every time the tent was entered by a new official, still clad in armor and heavy boots, the smoke of the battlefield was carried in. Soon the air was awash with char.
They all still bowed when Malini and her women entered; when she made her way to her dais. She rose, but did not kneel down upon the cushions to signal the start of the council. Instead, she stood and waited as the women settled behind her in a watchful crescent. Waited, as the men straightened from their bows, then shifted with confused unease and then, finally, fell silent. She saw Mahesh among them. Rao. And there, at the edge of the tent, in all his priestly colors, her brother Aditya.
“My lords,” she said finally. “I know many of you believe—and fear—that Chandra is blessed by the mothers. That the unnatural fire that has killed so many of our men is a sign that he is chosen, and I am not.” A pause, as she watched guilty eyes slide away from her own. “But his fire is false. A lie. And I will prove it to you.”
Behind her, Lata rose and carried over the box carved from black stone.
“This was bravely obtained from the battlefield,” Malini lied. There was no need to mention the role of the temple of the faceless mother. This kind of gathering required a simpler story—something compelling, something their shaken faith could easily cling to. “Unnatural fire, caught in ash and contained.” She opened the lid of the box, revealing the ash inside—and the beating heart of flame that lay twisting within it.
Someone flinched. A few men scrambled back, and she saw at least one figure slip out of the tent. But the majority remained still. She could not see the women behind her—Raziya or Lata, or Deepa or even Priya—but she was sure they were unmoved and unafraid. Just as she had asked them to be.
She calmly drew her own saber and touched it to the fire.
“There is no need to be afraid, my lords,” she said. “The fire will not hurt you.”
