Hasan’s brow creased. She braced herself for his judgment, but it didn’t come. “We’ll have to practice, then.”
Silence filled the room. Poppy walked around the edge of the miniature island, careful not to step on the flowers and other offerings. She studied each god, taking in their lacquered faces, their whimsical designs. They stared back at her, their gazes hard and unyielding. She swallowed. When she looked up, Hasan was watching her, his face inscrutable.
She changed the topic. “What’s the plan, then?”
“The plan is twofold,” he said. “First, you’re going to reacquaint yourself with Virian. You’ll be allowed out of your room whenever you please from now on. Harithi and the widows will speak to you in Virian only, and you’ll pick up the language from them.”
“Widows?”
“Those women in white,” Hasan clarified. “They help my mother around the house.”
Poppy recalled the women who had aided her upon her arrival. She’d assumed they were Hasan’s family. “But they’re so young,” she said. “How can they be widows?”
Hasan hesitated. “I’ll explain another time,” he said. “It’s late, and that’s a long story.”
“Okay,” she said reluctantly. “And the second part of the plan?”
“You’ll learn to make naumya and wield daivyakhi.”
Poppy’s heart sank. She had to relearn an entire language? While seeking the blessings of gods who might or might not exist, so that she could use magic? If anyone from back home found out, she’d be branded a heretic in an instant. Nanny had been fired just for talking about magic?—what would happen if anyone found out she practiced it?
“Seems like a very reasonable itinerary for two weeks,” she deadpanned, trying to hide her discomfort.
“I don’t expect mastery, Miss Sutherland, but you need exposure.” Hasan sighed. “I wish we had more time, too, okay? But we have to make the best of what we’ve got. Do we have a deal?”
He extended his hand. Poppy’s gaze flickered from his hand, to the pantheon, to his face. She doubted this would work. She didn’t have the upbringing Hasan did, never had parents who could sit and show her how to use her budding powers instead of teaching her to revile and fear them. There was no guarantee that the gods would even hear her prayers, given that she had been raised to follow her adoptive culture’s religion. But what choice did she have? She had already tied her fate to the most notorious criminal in Marnapur; she might as well put her trust in these unseen gods as well. She placed her hand in his. His bare skin was callused and warm, but his grip was soft.
“Deal.” Under the watchful eyes of the island’s gods, they shook once, firmly.
• • •
Poppy had already washed and dressed in her white widow’s attire when Hasan fetched her for breakfast. He’d dressed casually, in a plain green cotton kurta with little white buttons. Though the sun had just begun to stretch into the sky, Rohini had already set the table with platters of parathas, fresh fruit, puffed puris, jam, and a rotund pot that no doubt was responsible for the aromatic scent of cardamom and black tea wafting through the air.
Poppy got in line in front of Hasan, reaching for a plate eagerly.
“Take some food,” he said, speaking in slow, precise Virian, “but touch none of it.”
Though her stomach rumbled in protest, she did as he instructed. She thought back toward the little motley mound of food and flowers and coins at the base of the pantheon. “Will this be my sacrifice?” she asked, wincing at her stilted Virian.
Hasan grinned, approval on his face. “Yes, you’re going to make your first sacrifice today.”
Her limbs went leaden as she followed him to the pantheon. Though Hasan had said he didn’t expect mastery from her, she set her heart on it anyway. Throughout her life, people had only ever expected perfection from her. To strive for anything less would be to risk rejection.
But it wasn’t human approval she’d need this morning?—it was that of the divine. This entire deal hinged on one thing: if the gods accepted her sacrifice as worthy. If they deemed Poppy as worthy. As she stared at the pantheon, it seemed like all the idols had pulled rank, shutting her out as they glared with hostile eyes.
One thing Hasan had said yesterday had kept her up nearly half the night:If a person commits a sin so offensive in the eyes of the pantheon, the gods can refuse to bestow power on them for the rest of the person’s life.It was likely incredibly rare, she reasoned, and probably for very dark sins, like murder. Nothing that she had to worry about.
Except she did worry, because what if, in all her years of ignorance, she had done something to turn the gods against her? What if she put her plate down, said her prayer, and still felt nothing? The royals of old had been stripped of name and family, but Poppy’s name and family had been given to her by Clarence Sutherland.
And if he learns you’ve summoned this magic, hewillstrip you of name and family,a little voice in her head said.Would it truly be so bad to fail?
“Okay,” Hasan said, completely unaware of her inner turmoil. “I’ll go first, show you how it’s done. I’m going to put my plate there, where the rest of the offerings are, and then say the prayer. Let’s practice it a couple of times before we start.” He recited a line in Virian.
She still didn’t understand it. “What does it mean?”
“My veins are a vessel for the divine power of the gods. If they find my sacrifice worthy, may I be filled with their cosmic energy,” Hasan translated. “Okay, now, repeat after me.” He restated the lines in Virian.
Poppy echoed the words, concentrating hard to match his pronunciation.
