“And when you have a child,” Chandni said, a gentle smile curving her mouth. “Bring them to us. Let us see if they are worthy of rising to our temple. That is the only offering I demand of you.”
Bhumika could not control what she felt—the horror that poured through her in a wave. She wondered if the yaksa could feel it; if they could taste the salt of her fear, the frantic thrum of her heartbeat, the nausea rising in her stomach.
After the woman had stumbled away, still whimpering her thanks, Bhumika said, “Priya used to do something similar.” At her side, Ashok gave her a look. Hungry, yearning. She didn’t look at him in return. “She would halt the rot inside people. In plants. It was no cure, but it was survival.” She paused. Then said, “Is that what you have done?”
“Such curiosity,” Sanjana said, delighted. And Chandni replied, saying, “Yes, daughter. Your kin’s gifts are from us, after all. As are your own.”
Bhumika clasped her hands in front of her, seeking calm. Forcing it into her voice as she said, “I wish you had allowed me to summon her home.”
“She cannot come home,” Sendhil said. “Not yet.”
She lives, Bhumika thought, relief rushing through so fiercely that she feared she might crumple, then and there.She lives, she lives.
“We want no one to leave Ahiranya,” Nandi said. “And we want no one to come. So no one shall.”
No one to leave. No one to come. Relief gave way to swift creeping horror. She thought of the merchants who regularly crossed the border. The Ahiranyi who traded regularly with neighboring cities.
“No one shall,” she repeated faintly. “I understand.”
“Bhumika,” Ashok murmured at her side. She forced her hands to relax, and the tension in her shoulders to ease. Behind her mask, she closed her eyes and did not answer him. “Bhumika,” he said again.
A new group of worshippers entered, and he fell silent. But his eyes stayed on her.
There had been no Srugani or Aloran merchants for weeks. She had thought they were too frightened to come, or simply too wise. When she had considered them, it had only been to wonder how the world beyond Ahiranya was reacting to the news of the yaksa’s return. Did they fear the rise of a second Age of Flowers? Were they already rallying weapons and soldiers, working together to try to obliterate Ahiranya’s power once more? She could not ruminate on the question. She had so much to worry about in her own home, her own temple.
But she had her answer now, regardless.
No one knew the yaksa lived. No one had passed the borders alive to tell the tale.
She stood in the mahal’s rose garden, with her crown mask pressed to her face, and reached into the green. Far, far—through thorn and soil, through roots, to the borders of her kingdom. Tangled as she’d been with attending on the yaksa, she had not looked. Notseen.
She took off the mask. Her hands shook.
“Jeevan,” she called out, voice thin. He stood at the edge of the gardens, waiting for her. Whatever look he saw on her face made him stride swiftly toward her, his usually impassive face softened with concern, dark eyebrows furrowed.
“My lady?”
“I have an order,” she managed. She touched the back of her hand to her cheek. It came away wet. No matter. “The borders. Close them. If anyone—Ahiranyi or outsider—attempts to leave, make your men turn them back. Tell your men it is theironlyresponsibility. Tell them this task is a matter of life or death.” She turned the mask over in her hands. Stared at the varnished wood, the glow of it under sunlight. “The yaksa,” she went on, “do not want anyone to know they live once more. And they will not ask anyone to stay in Ahiranya, or politely request that no one leaves. They will kill them. Like the rider you sent, left at my door. They…”
He touched his knuckles to her hand. His hand was so much larger than her own, flecked with scars. She quietened and looked up at him.
“It will be done,” he said.
“Careful,” she said in return. “The maskwillburn you.”
“I am not afraid, my lady,” he said solemnly.
“Foolish,” she said. “I will simply have to protect you, then.” She folded the mask into her pallu. He lowered his hand, and stepped back. “Go now,” she said.
He hesitated.
“Don’t remain alone,” he said. “My lady, go to your daughter.”
She shook her head.
“I will go to my work,” she replied. “But thank you, Jeevan. I…” She swallowed. She did not like to be vulnerable. “Thank you,” she said again.
Ganam met her in the corridors later; sidled casually up to her and said, “Rukh and I are going to train,” he told her. “During the midday rest. If you want to see his progress…”
