But maybe he could fix the latter.
If Poppy could wield her daivyakhi efficiently, then it might prove to Zeyar that she was a viable candidate. If anything, it would help her gain respect in the eyes of Virians if they knew she was gods-blessed like the rulers of old. The nobility only had power as long as the people obeyed, and the masses had been teeming on the edge of chaos for a while now. The crime rate had come to a hard boil, and the gutters overflowed with desperation. If Hasan gave the people a reason to resist, a leader to unite behind, they could intimidate the Council into accepting Poppy.
But he was getting ahead of himself. If this plan was going to work, he would have two weeks to teach Poppy everything she should have learned in her childhood. He stood, yanking the chakrams out of the tree, replacing them in his mother’s cabinet before going upstairs.
He hesitated, his knuckles inches away from Poppy’s door. He had promised Zeyar that he would consult him before doing anything drastic. His last vow to Paranjay had been to stop making rash decisions without conferring with his family. If he did this, he would be reneging on his word to both of them.
Hasan fought the urge to lower his hand and walk away even as he yearned to knock on the door and let himself in. Then he thought of Vinay, and his resolve solidified. If he went behind his brothers’ backs to train Poppy, then he would suffer their wrath at first, but they would come around given time. But if Richard became viceroy, then the whole country would bleed, and he could not live with that.
It was too late to ask for permission. Hasan would have to ask for forgiveness.
Before he could change his mind, he knocked twice on Poppy’s door.
“Who’s there?” Poppy’s uncertain voice called back. “Harithi?”
“It’s me.” Hasan opened the door and stepped inside.
Poppy sat on the bed, her thumb wrapped in white gauze. Her hair had been braided into a thick, glossy braid, and a serving tray was positioned over her legs. She’d been served a small thali with dhal, behndi, rice, and chicken. To his amusement, she was eating each one separately, with a spoon.
Poppy narrowed her eyes. “Can I help you with something? Or are you back for my thumb?” She tilted her head, smiling sourly. “I hear third time’s the charm.”
He leaned against the doorframe, ignoring the way her words struck him like stones. “It wasn’t my idea, if that makes things better.”
Poppy turned back to her meal. “It doesn’t.”
“Okay,” Hasan said. “Then this will: I’ve decided to back your bid for vicereine, provided you prove to me your ability to succeed in the role.” He gestured to the door with his thumb. “Get up, Miss Sutherland. You have two weeks to show me what you’re made of, and we don’t have a second to waste.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Pantheon of Silent Gods
Buzzing with adrenaline, Poppy followed Hasan to an unremarkable door adjacent to the mudroom. Inside was a closet, full of raincoats and jackets. Hasan pushed inside, hunching his shoulders to fit through the narrow doorframe.
“What are you doing?” Poppy balked. “We’ll never fit.”
“Come on,” Hasan said. “You’ll see.”
Poppy hesitated, but she needed this alliance. She pushed through the garments, stepping into the closet. Her foot plunged down, finding only empty air where she’d expected the floor to be. A strong hand wrapped around her upper arm. Hasan pulled her back, gripping her hip to steady her. Blood rushed through her cheeks. Even though his touch was purely practical, no man had ever touched her like that, not even Richard. His hand didn’t linger, but the shadow of its weight remained.
“What you’re going to see down here is Viryana’s best-kept secret,” Hasan said. “Once we go down this staircase, there’s no going back. Youwillbe one of us, even if it makes your life as vicereine harder. You will protect this secret with your life, the way the rest of us have since the Welkish settlers landed here. Understood?”
His tone was fierce, more serious than it had ever been, even at the museum. Poppy pulled back a touch. What was she consenting to? But the wordsone of usrang through her mind, alluring and foreign at once. Her foot hovered over the first step. Then she planted it down firmly. “Understood,” she said, solemn.
The pair descended the staircase. At the bottom of the stairs, he reached out into the darkness and tugged on a chain. With a click, electric lights flickered to life, illuminating the space in front of them.
“Wow,” she breathed.
In front of them stood a diorama of the island, with a collection of at least thirty idols arranged across the landscape. Most of them had brown skin, though there were some with inhuman features, extra arms and eyes, or skin tones of blue and red and green.
“These are our gods,” Hasan said, placing a slight emphasis on the wordour. “Each of them has an affinity for one of the four divine elements of our land: earth, water, sky, and fire.” He pointed to an idol painted in indigo lacquer and speckled in stars. “For example, this is Swapnil, the god of dreams. His element is sky, though some also believe him to be water-aligned.”
“Why is there disagreement?” Poppy asked. “Wouldn’t their texts tell you what their alignments were?”
“Texts?” Hasan repeated. “What are you talking about?”
She waved her hand. “You know, like how the Founder left behind his manifesto. Didn’t your gods leave behind teachings for you to follow?”
He laughed. “The Founder was a historical figure,” he said. “These aregods, Poppy. True gods, not a man whose legacy has been used to justify colonization. They didn’t leave us a rule book with a carefully prescribed morality.”
