And there, in her child’s room—
“I thought you would come,” Chandni said. The moonlight was a spill over her shoulders. In its light, the darkness of her hair was a river—the slick, dark growth of fronds beneath water. “I called for you. The sangam carries echoes so sweetly.”
Padma was awake in Nandi’s arms, but she was silent. Staring up at the yaksa that held her with wide, dark eyes.
There was ice in Bhumika’s veins.
“You have been resisting us,” Nandi said, in that child’s voice of his. Rocking Padma lightly, as if she were a much smaller baby. “Fighting us in your heart. Seeking out our secrets.”
“I… I am a temple elder. It is my duty to learn,” Bhumika managed. “To rule.”
“If you have questions you must come to us. You must learn to trust,” Chandni said, touching her fingertip to Bhumika’s lower lip. Her fingertip was far too soft. Like fruit overripened. “You must trust us. With your country. Your faith. Your people.” A pause. “Your child.”
The hand lowered.
“We will take care of her,” said Chandni. “And you will trust in us.”
There was nothing in Bhumika. Nothing but the way her own eyes were drawn to the empty cot, to her baby in Nandi’s arms; nothing but the desire to move forward, and grasp Padma, and run and run. It was an animal, awful desire as all her cleverness, her control, her strength crumpled inside her leaving nothing but agony.No.
“Yaksa,” Bhumika managed. “Elder Chandni. Please. I will do—whatever you require. Only. Not this.”
The yaksa who was not Chandni gave a sad smile and shook her head.
“Your little one will remain in our care for now.”
A choked noise from the corner of the room, and Bhumika realized Khalida had been there all along. Trembling with terror, even as she bowed.
“I am only a maid,” Khalida said, in the smallest voice Bhumika had ever heard her use. “Yaksa, immortal one, please—allow me to attend to the child.”
“No,” Chandni said softly. “No. That would be unwise.”
She turned back to Nandi, and he placed Padma back in her cot. There were vines winding in steadily through the windows.
“Both of you go,” she said. “And perhaps you will see her tomorrow.”
Bhumika could not move.
“There is no need to fear, Elder Bhumika,” said Chandni. “The yaksa have raised many a child before. Whole temple councils were reared by our hands. Rest well, and trust in us.”
Bhumika lowered her head.
“Yaksa,” she said, heart howling. “As you say.”
She was bound. This was better than a knife at the throat. They had her—her own gods—by the heart. And it was too late, far too late, for anything to be done to stop it.
GANAM
Ganam had never thought he’d end up being a spy for the widow of the regent of Ahiranya. But that was life, he supposed. Unpredictable. You could spend most of it fighting to see your country free, and actually live to see the day come to pass. And then, by chance, you could also live to see your gods return, and the man you used to follow rise from the dead, and learn that the world you’d dreamed of was just more of the same. Rot, and tyrants, and keeping your eyes open for danger. So it goes.
He made his way toward Elder Bhumika’s study. He’d left Rukh behind in the practice yard, staring up at the night sky, counting the stars. “I know Elder Bhumika told you to keep an eye on the yaksa,” Ganam had said. “But you need to be careful, boy.”
“I told her I would be,” said Rukh. “I mean, I told her Iam.”
“Then you lied both times.” Ganam sighed. Put a hand on Rukh’s head. “There’s no handling you without Priya here,” he told him. “Just wait until she gets back. She’ll beat some sense into you.”
He’d speak to Elder Bhumika. He rehearsed what he’d say in his head.Send the boy away. Get him some work in another household. Or at that library of yours. Anywhere he can’t get into trouble.
Leave him here, and he’ll find it sooner or later.
