As they pulled away from the curb, Paranjay asked about Zeyar again. “Where is he? I thought he’d come.”
Hasan sighed. He opened his mouth, trying and failing to find the right words. Finally, he said, “Zeyar’s left our business, Paranjay.”
Briefly, Hasan explained all that had taken place between himself and Zeyar. Paranjay listened mutely, which was unlike him. Normally, he’d chime in, always full of opinions and questions. But he stared at Hasan with haunted eyes, saying nothing until, finally, Hasan prompted, “Well?”
“It sounds like he didn’t leave,” Paranjay said. “It sounds more like you sent him away because you were upset with him.”
Hasan bristled at the accusation in Paranjay’s tone. “Because he betrayed us!”
How did Paranjay not get that? He’d been the prisoner. Was Paranjay not angry that Zeyar had bargained for himself instead of his brother’s freedom?
Paranjay flinched at Hasan’s raised voice, his hands shaking, the first sign of his invisible injuries.
Hasan lowered his voice hurriedly. “Sorry. I shouldn’t shout at you. But are you honestly taking his side right now?”
“I’m not taking sides. I’m making an observation,” Paranjay said. “I agree?—Zeyar should have never made that bargain without you, just as you should have never agreed to back Poppy without asking him.”
Hasan tightened his grip on the wheel. “Those aren’t the same, and you know it.”
“Maybe not in magnitude, but at its core, both of you made the same decision: to take matters into your own hands, and ask for forgiveness instead of permission. Did you try to see it from his point of view?”
“I would have understood if it had actually worked,” Hasan said. “Hell, I’d have packed Poppy’s bags myself if I knew it would bring you back. But in the end, it wasmewho had to free you. The only thing he gained from this was power.”
“Okay, and I’m back now.” Paranjay’s voice wavered as he asked, “Can’t we move past it?”
Hasan couldn’t believe this. He almost wanted to remind Paranjay that he was free because of him, not Zeyar, so no, they could not justmove past it. But he looked at Paranjay again, and wondered if it might be worth it, if it would help him recover his spirits quicker. Then he remembered the way that Zeyar had restrained him when Richard had arrived at Sanivali, Poppy’s feet stumbling out of his line of sight before he’d blacked out.
“You can’t forgive someone where there’s no remorse,” Hasan said, his jaw set. “If you want to talk to him, you can. But I’m done. I don’t trust him anymore.”
“Hasan?—”
“No, Paranjay.” Hasan stared ahead resolutely. He couldn’t look at his brother, couldn’t bear to see his sunken face crumple, couldn’t watch his bony shoulders slump, or his resolve would crumble. “I’ve made up my mind. If Zeyar wants to be forgiven, he’ll come and ask me. If it takes us until our senior years for him to humble himself, then so be it. Until then, I’ll keep my distance.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Paranjay said. “The chasm will only widen with time, and with our line of work, growing old isn’t guaranteed. Baba is proof of that.” He struggled for a moment, searching for words or courage?—maybe both. “When I was in jail, I was certain they would execute me. All I could think about was the things I had said?—and the things I hadn’t?—to the people I loved, things I thought I’d never get to rectify. You don’t want to have regrets like that, Hasan.”
“I won’t have any regrets.”
Paranjay only sighed. “You’re too stubborn,” he said. “I won’t push this issue any further. But think about it. Right now, he’s out there missing you as much as you miss him. All it takes is one call.”
“I don’t miss him,” Hasan lied. “Can we not talk about it?”
When they arrived at their mother’s house, she ran out onto the lawn, tears streaking her face as she buried Paranjay in a tight embrace. “My son has come home,” she wept. “I’ve invited the entire village to celebrate.”
As Hasan surveyed the tables and chairs set out in the backyard, he reconsidered what he’d said to Paranjay. If he’d forgiven Zeyar, then Zeyar would have been here to welcome home Paranjay. It seemed unfair that everyone in Sanivali was here, but the trio was still incomplete. Hasan could have fixed this, if he’d forgiven Zeyar.
Hasan shook his head, casting off the thought. If Zeyar wanted to be here, then he shouldn’t have betrayed them. It wasn’t Hasan’s responsibility to rebuild the bridge that Zeyar had burned. Zeyar would realize that, eventually.
And then he would come back and beg him for forgiveness, and the three of them would be together once more.
Epilogue
Roots
Six Months Later
Hasan, Arun, and Poppy sat in the viceroy’s office?—Poppy’s office?—late on a Friday evening. While she’d been away on her inaugural tour, she’d ordered all the rugs and furniture changed, instructing the cleaners to scrub the floors twice. Though the room still reeked of wood polish, sometimes Poppy could have sworn she’d stepped in a puddle of blood, only to look down and see her own reflection in the hardwood floor.
Many had tried to dissuade her from touring, but her reasons were threefold: First, it was just before the monsoon season, so her storms in the farmlands could be passed off as an early start to the season. Her position with the lords and representatives was too tenuous to openly expose herself as daivyakt, and she could not lose the few allies she had if she was going to bring about change. Second, she needed the common people to see her, their new vicereine, and know that their voices had been heard. And last, the Sutherland estate was haunted.
