Deepa was still staring at her own feet. The crackle of the fire filled the silence. Lata stood by the hearth and met Malini’s eyes briefly, a question in her own gaze.What are you going to do with her?Lata’s eyes said.What use is this girl to you?
“What are your skills, Lady Deepa?” Malini asked. Deepa’s head darted up.
“Skills, Empress?”
“Yes,” Malini said patiently. “What do you bring to my service?”
Deepa lowered her eyes again, clearly embarrassed.Look at me,Malini wanted to stay.Show me your strength. Do not be timid for my sake.
“I like to read,” Deepa admitted softly after a moment. “To study. I am not a good musician or—I don’t tell very good jokes. But I can work. And I like numbers. If… if you need anyone for such work.”
Numbers and scholarship. Those were not the skills taught to a daughter intended for marriage.
“Good,” Malini said, as if she did not have a dozen military officials to hand, and more arriving daily, to do such work. “You can assist Lata, then.”
“I am Empress Malini’s sage,” said Lata then, nodding in acknowledgment. “I will be glad of your help, Lady Deepa.”
Deepa stammered out thanks and said, “Anything you or—or the empress needs of me, I am honored to do.”
“I am glad to hear, Lady Deepa,” Malini said. And then she smiled at the girl. Deepa flushed, clutching her shawl more tightly. “I’m sure you’ll find yourself happy here.”
She dismissed Deepa. The door closed softly behind her, leaving Lata and Malini alone in the warmth of the room.
“He brought his daughter to spy on you, my lady,” Lata said after a moment.
“Of course he has,” Malini said easily. “And soon all the highborn lords and princes who have sworn loyalty to me will try and do the same. How else will they win my favor?” She shrugged. “I have nothing to fear from spies,” said Malini. “Not spies I am aware of, at least. And I have the measure of Lady Deepa.”
A plain girl. Or more specifically, a girl who had been told she was plain. Not the oldest daughter or the most marriageable, but the one her father thought clever enough not to offend an empress.
“She’s nervous and frightened, but if she was truthful, then she has a good mind and she’ll do anything you ask without complaint. Don’t tell me an assistant wouldn’t be useful to you, Lata.”
“As you say,” Lata replied, which was her polite way of saying she disagreed but did not think it worth arguing over the matter.
Malini looked into the flames and thought of Alori and Narina again. The grief worked its way through her, rising like a wave from her heart to pour through her limbs, then ebb once more.
It would be so much easier if you were here, she thought with a pang.I always knew I could trust you.
But they were gone. Her heart sisters would never return. She would never have a court full of women who had grown up alongside her, who were written into her soul as she was in theirs. She would have to settle for one with women ambitious enough to see the benefits of allying with her, and clever enough to recognize that betraying her would be the height of foolishness.
She did not have that yet, she admitted to herself. Lata, of course, she could rely upon. But Lady Deepa had not yet proved her worth.
If she wanted better allies—allies with strength and cunning—she would have to seek them out herself.
“I’m going to talk to our host,” Malini said, rising to her feet.
“Lord Khalil is patrolling with his men,” Lata said promptly.
Malini shook her head. “Not him,” she said. “Hand me my shawl, Lata. There’s no need to accompany me. I’ll soon have plenty of chaperones to guard me.”
From the Lal Qila the world beyond the subcontinent was visible like a half-forgotten memory: great mountains, so high they seemed to vanish into pale nothingness; snow, whiter than bone, blanketing mountains green with life. The Lal Qila itself was all deep red stone, tall and imposing, an edifice that seemed to have an ancient life and grandeur all of its own.
Lady Raziya stood at the edge of the ramparts, swathed in a thick blue shawl. Around her stood a semicircle of women armed with bows: female Dwarali archers who traveled with her everywhere. Malini had not lied when she had told Lata she would have chaperones to spare.
When Malini’s army had first arrived at the Lal Qila, Lady Raziya—Lord Khalil’s wife, and the mistress of the Lal Qila—had greeted Malini’s army at the gates on horseback. She had looked like a seasoned general waiting for battle, her face turned toward the full mass of Malini’s forces unflinching, her saber gleaming at her hip. Even now, clad in a delicately embroidered salwar kameez with a dupatta laid demurely over her hair, she had the look of a soldier about her. As Malini approached, she turned, and her women turned with her as one, faces alert and spines straight.
“Empress,” said Raziya. She smiled, her eyes crinkling. The faces of the women around her did not change.
“Lady Raziya,” Malini greeted her. “I hoped I would find you here. May I join you?”
