Hasan rolled his eyes at her exit. “Harithi prefers the bloodier epics. I tried to persuade the troupe to perform more of the legends, but this was the only one they were willing to do. It’s one of the ones my grandfather used to take us to see every Bahaari.”
“Bahaari?”
“The beginning of the spring planting season,” he elaborated. “The farmers celebrate the marriage of Savana and Altan with a festival of colors. The entire village attends. It’s not unusual for there to be archery contests, artisans, and recitations by scholars and poets.”
Poppy tried to picture that: the streets full of celebration, merriment and mirth swirling in the spring air. “I’ve never been to a festival,” she yawned. Without the music and the story to keep her engaged, sleep beckoned to her, the warm summer night and her full stomach making her drowsy. Perhaps that was why, in a moment of thoughtlessness, she added, “You’ll have to take me next year.”
Immediately, she bit her tongue. There would be nonext year, if all went to plan. She’d be back in society, her father’s daughter and heir, and he would be reunited with his brother, free to resume his life of crime.
For one long, mortifying moment, Hasan said nothing, not meeting her eyes.Stupid,she admonished herself. He was likely thinking of ways to let her down gently.
Then, he said, “If you insist.”
Somehow, this unsettled her far more than a rejection.
Mercifully, Hasan changed the topic. “Today was a bad start, I’ll admit. But I meant what I said: I believe in our deal. I’m not giving up. Not unless you want to.”
She bit her bottom lip, both heartened and intimidated by his words. She was so used to having to earn other people’s faith. Hasan’s conviction weighed on her like an obligation, a debt she couldn’t repay.
“You’re putting a lot of pressure on me,” she said.
“It’s nothing close to the pressure you’ll face as vicereine. Are you up for this or not?”
Poppy turned over the question in her mind, doubt crawling over. Even with Hasan’s alliance, this would be an uphill battle until the very end. She wasn’t a goddess like Savana. She didn’t have a century to prepare. But when she thought about the bleary damp of Welkland, of Richard’s laughter as he discussed murdering daivyakt, her resolve hardened. No matter what it cost, he had to be stopped.
“I am,” she said.
Satisfaction gleamed in his black eyes. “Then I’ll see you first thing tomorrow.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nothing to Sacrifice
The next morning, Poppy stood, holding her breakfast at the foot of the pantheon. Hasan waited upstairs, respecting her request. She needed to speak to the gods alone, without trying to imitate his behavior.
She chewed on her lip, staring at the idols. Many of them still looked unfamiliar, but now she recognized a handful: Altan, crowned in gold, perched at the peak of the volcano. Pregnant Rukmini, sitting on the fields of Sanivali. And finally, Savana, a bow in one hand and a sitar in the other, dressed in silver and blue. Poppy focused on her. Savana had not been afraid to claim her own power, and neither would she.
“We both know what it is to feel isolated,” she told the statuette. “I can’t go back to that.”
With that, she kneeled and put the plate down. After a moment’s hesitation, she recited, “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.” Instead of focusing on her pronunciation, Poppy held eye contact with the idol, praying,Please, Savana. Even a fraction of your strength would be enough.Her skin tingled?—or was she imagining it?
She forced herself to leave the pantheon and head out to the yard, where Hasan and Harithi waited with a bucket of dirty, soapy water. Poppy glanced at Hasan first. His expression was neutral, his face relaxed. If he thought she’d failed again, he did a good job of hiding it.
“We’re going to start simple today,” he said. He gestured to Harithi, who dumped the bucket of water into the grass. It seeped into the hard earth, the dry soil drinking it greedily.
“Try to summon it back,” Hasan instructed. “Draw the moisture back into a puddle on the surface. Once you master that, you can try to put it back in the bucket.”
Hold a puddle. How hard could that be?
She closed her eyes, slowly reaching for the power. Trepidation came over her. She hesitated, mental fingers outstretched. What if the prayer hadn’t worked again? This time, she’d have no one to blame but herself.
Hasan’s and Harithi’s curious stares weighed on Poppy. It occurred to her that the longer she stalled, the more concerned they would become. Hasan took a step closer, stirring the air beside her.
“Miss Sutherland?—”
“No!” She threw out a hand to keep him from coming closer. “I’m fine. I’m just concentrating.”
Before she could lose her nerve, she reached for the daivyakhi, splaying her fingers wide. In the soil, the water was trickling down quickly, heading toward the groundwater reservoir deep below them. Snapping her fingers into a fist, Poppy caught it with her powers before it could sink any farther. After a moment of fumbling, she managed to pull the water up through the earth again, like a sieve in reverse, drawing her arm upward as if hauling a bucket from a well.
