Beyond the mahal the city of Hiranaprastha was burning. Smoke coiled in the air, a halo of it.
“One of them is here,” Priya said tightly. “No. More than that.” She was still holding Malini’s hands, and she gripped them even tighter for a moment before finally letting go. Then she turned, facing the open expanse of land, marked only by outcroppings of trees.
A shadow moved beneath the trunks of those trees. Just for a moment.
Malini stood very still, the wind whipping her hair.
Then, suddenly—there they were.
Two people wearing wooden masks, great fearsome carved faces, raced toward them. Priya shoved Malini gracelessly down against the ground, and Malini flattened without complaint. She did not want to die like this, not when freedom was so close, not when she had a chance of reaching Rao and Aditya and the vengeance she craved. And combat had never been her strength.
But it certainly was Priya’s. She moved with a snake’s venomous swiftness. She was not a tall woman, but there was strength in her shoulders, in the corded muscle of those arms. She caught the first rebel with a shoulder to the stomach, tackling them to the ground. The rebel was winded, but they recovered quickly, throwing a fist at Priya’s face.
She dodged, but the movement dislodged her hold, and the rebel was up, turning on her again. This punch didn’t miss. Priya was caught on her side and hit the ground hard. The masked rebel was on her, fists flying. And Malini was on her feet after all, propelled by some wild instinct, as if her meager strength would be enough to see either of these rebels away.
But Priya—Priya was laughing. The rebel paused, as their companion slowed to a stop behind them, no longer running to join the fray.
“If you kill me, the way will go with me,” Priya hissed. “If you kill me you all die, desperately sipping your vials.”
The rebel above Priya froze.
“I closed it,” she pushed on. “Hid it again. The way to the deathless waters is gone.”
The rebel hesitated a second longer.
The ground shook beneath their feet, huge thorns bursting from the sod. The standing rebel yelped, falling backward. A line of blood bloomed on their arm. The wood of the mask was scored with a white line of damage, dangerously close to the eye socket.
The smaller rebel—possibly a woman—had their hand open before them. As if that motion could hold the thorns back. And perhaps it could.
Upon the ground, those thorns were twisting, curling upon themselves.
“You’re not the only one with gifts.” Through the mask, their voice was hollow, distorted by wood. “I’m water-blessed too.”
“Vial-blessed,” Priya gritted out. “A dead thing walking. You won’t live long.”
If the rebel had any thoughts on that statement, their feelings were well hidden by the mask. “You could save us all, if you only showed us the way. We should be on the same side.”
“Tell your leader that,” said Priya. “You tell him he was the one who brought us to this point. Not me. I want what I’ve always wanted.” Priya did not move a hand, and the thorns slowly began to uncurl again, bristling. The movement was slow. Too slow.
“Your will isn’t stronger than mine,” said the rebel. “You are not a creature of conviction. You serve nothing.”
“I’m stronger than you think,” said Priya. And then the ground began to break beneath the rebels. The thorns bent in closer, menacing. “Your leader doesn’t want my corpse,” Priya said, as they struggled to maintain their balance. “We both know that. But me? I wouldn’t mind killing you at all. So my advice to you is simple: Run.”
They didn’t want to. That much was clear. But the sod was churning beneath them, new thorns creeping free like spindly fingers, clawed and curving. So they turned and made their scrambling retreat.
Priya did not even watch them go. She was panting, her arm already livid with bruising, staring at something beyond them. Malini followed the tilt of her head. Saw what Priya saw.
There was a man near the mahal. He was not moving toward them. Malini was not even sure he was watching. The eyes of his mask were black pits. He stood with a bow propped against his leg, making no move to use it. His head tilted back. Like an acknowledgment, or a challenge.
“Come,” muttered Priya, taking a step back. Another. Malini sucked in a breath and followed her.
It seemed it was now their turn to run.
They didn’t stand out in the city as Malini had feared they would, because the violence of the rebels and the equally violent response of the general’s soldiers had sown chaos. The wooden houses of Hiranaprastha had been no match for it. Soon they were darting through a burning maze of buildings. Even if Malini had not spent months trapped in a single room, she would have been overwhelmed by the scope and size of the madness.