She carefully did not think of how her husband had spoken of her people. There were a great many things she was careful not to think about around her husband.
She poured the wine into the cup.
“Drink,” she said, and placed the cup against his lips. She kept her voice tender, her expression compassionate, as if the conversation had meant nothing to her at all. “You need your rest. Let your wife take care of you, just this once.”
Without opening his eyes, with utter trust, he drank.
PRIYA
It was one of the easiest things she had ever done. She prepared all the food, after all. She was the one who made the evening meal, the parathas, the pickles, the little pots of dhal or yoghurt if any happened to be available. She assembled a plate for Pramila and placed the smallest dose of needle-flower into Pramila’s tea. The sweetness of the sugar she’d heaped into the cup would hopefully hide the taste.
With hands that shook far less than they should have, considering how nervous she was, Priya prepared the rest of the food. The maidservants had left bags of rice and wholemeal flour on their last visit, purses of ground spices, and bags of onions and ginger. As Priya heaved one bag of flour, she saw a piece of paper flutter to the floor. She leaned down and picked it up.
It was a letter written in indigo ink, smeared from long being folded between two sacks, though someone had gone to some trouble to dry it and had pressed a cloth between the two edges to blot the color. She recognized it as Sima’s hand, crude Zaban. Sima was not a habitual writer, and her knowledge of written script was shaky.
Stay safe. Thinking of you.
Beneath it, Sima had drawn a little bird—a fat fledgling dove, marking in its dark eyes and fluffy down with painstaking care.
She thought of Sima sitting and carefully capturing words on the page for Priya’s sake, and a lump rose to her throat.
She stuffed the note into her blouse, finished her cooking, and took the food to Pramila’s chamber with a fixed smile on her face.
When she finally returned to Malini’s room, she found Malini on the floor of her cell, her cheek pressed to the stone and her eyes wide. Priya ran over to her.
“What happened? Are you well?”
“Clearly I am not well,” Malini gasped out. “I just—fainted.”
“How…？”
“My vision went black,” Malini said. “And I felt sick. And now I’m on the floor. That’s all I know. Please, help me up.”
Priya did, taking Malini’s weight as she rose to a seated position. She could feel the clamminess of the princess’s skin.
“The dizziness will pass,” Malini said firmly. She looked angry. “It’s going to pass. This is a natural impact of giving up needle-flower, is it not?”
“I don’t know,” said Priya helplessly.
“You said you knew about the effects of the poison.”
“I do. But I’m no healer.”
“Well, then.” Malini’s jaw tightened. She raised her head higher, as if fighting some invisible force pinning her skull down. Carefully, she rose to her feet, then lowered herself to the charpoy.
Priya watched her.
“It’s the lingering effect of the needle-flower,” Malini added, eventually. As if to assure them both. “That’s all. I’ll be better in time. Are you ready, Priya? Is Pramila dealt with?”
“She’s sleeping. I checked. If the guards come…”
“They won’t come to my room,” said Malini. “They know better.”
“But if they do?”
“I’ll pretend to sleep,” said Malini. “And if they wake me, I’ll tell them I don’t know where you are.”
“Then I’m ready,” said Priya.
“You remember—”
“I remember everything you told me,” Priya said impatiently. “We have a deal, Malini. Don’t worry about anything.”
The palace of illusions, Malini had told her, was the place she needed to go. Priya knew of it. It was a pleasure house in a rather elegant—if not terribly reputable—part of the pink lantern district. Its name was both a joke and a mockery: It had been named for the palace in an old myth found all across the subcontinent, the palace of a beautiful queen who had many husbands.
She knew she was to meet the young lord who was staying there, a distant cousin of a low prince of Saketa—although that was not, according to Malini, his true lineage. She was to give him a message from Malini, ask Malini’s questions, and then return. All before Pramila woke.