“Ah,” murmured Malini. She looked at Priya’s hand—at the cup, and her strong, fine-boned fingers curled around it. “That explains a great deal.”
She reached out. Then drew her hand back. “Take it away,” she said. “I won’t drink it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to,” said Malini.
“Malini,” said Priya.
“No. I won’t touch it again. What it did to me…” The bile of poison on her tongue. Her mind in a terrible fog, a choking haze. Her grief, winding itself around her, a constant and whispering noose. “No. I won’t take it.”
“You’ll die if you don’t take it,” Priya said bluntly. “You’ve trusted me with so much. Trust me on this.”
Trusted by necessity. But yes. Yes, she had. She’d trusted Priya with the knowledge of Rao’s existence, after all. Rao, who had kept his promise and awaited her word.
“Not yet, then,” said Malini. “Not quite yet.”
“Why not?”
Malini looked past her.
Beyond Priya’s shoulders, in a room wavering as if through a mist of heat, stood two figures. They watched her. Smoke coiled from their hair. Their crowns of stars burning. Malini looked at them, reached out, as her vision wavered once more, as blackness came for her.
Narina had always been the prettiest of the three of them. A long, fine nose and arched eyebrows, which she plucked to an even finer arch. High cheekbones that she rouged. In the fashion of her father’s people, she blackened her teeth, which made her lips look an even lusher red in comparison.
She stood and gazed at Malini with a singed smile. No teeth. Only char and ash.
“We’ve missed you, heart sister,” she said.
“You needn’t say anything,” Alori said tenderly. “We know you’ve missed us too.”
Time passed. Flickered. But Malini was still upon the floor, and Priya was shaking her, shaking her awake, as those two ghosts shifted about the room, mirages of colored smoke, red silk coiling and glistening, the stars in their hair glinting, fire-hot.
“Malini. Malini.”
Oh, her head ached.
“If this is a ploy to make me help you escape, it’s a dangerous one,” Priya said. Her voice was trembling. “Pramila is awake, and I’ve managed to distract her but—please. You need to drink. Please.”
“How is my mother?” Narina asked. She cocked her head to the side, with a crackle like kindling wood. “No. I know. I don’t even need to guess. She’s twisted herself into knots of grief for me. She blames you for everything. Better than blaming the emperor. Better than blaming herself.”
Alori said nothing. She looked at Malini with eyes like sad hollows, deep and dark.
“My mother will never forgive you,” murmured Narina. “I hope you know that.”
“Of course I do.”
“What?” Priya looked confused. Alarmed. “I don’t understand.”
“Does she think I’m immortal now? A mother of flame? Do you?”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Malini said honestly.
Kneeling before her, Priya lowered her head and let out a curse.
Priya.
When had Priya spoken to Pramila? How long had Malini been on the floor, watching the slow coil of Narina’s dead smile?
“Just drink,” Priya said, her voice a fearful whisper. “Please.”
Malini shook her head. And with a sickening lurch, Narina and Alori were beside her, before her.
“Do you remember how we both cut our hair, after your brother cut yours? We used silver shears and made ours even shorter. My mother was furious,” Narina said. “She said, What are you without your crowning glory? But now I wear a crown of fire and I am gristle and dust, so I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
“You’ve lost so much,” Alori said, infinitely gentle, infinitely sad, as her gossamer fingers brushed over Malini’s forehead. And Malini felt… nothing.
Because they were not here.
“Your lovely silks. Your jewels. Your network of allies. Your friends. Your power. All gone. And who are you without them?”
“Cruel,” murmured Malini. “You were never cruel, nameless princess.”
“What is your name, beneath all the finery you’ve lost?” Alori whispered. “What did the nameless call you, on the day you were born?”
“That,” Malini said, “is your faith, not mine.”