Home > Books > The Jasmine Throne (Burning Kingdoms, #1)(133)

The Jasmine Throne (Burning Kingdoms, #1)(133)

Author:Tasha Suri

As it was, all she could do was grit her teeth and force herself to keep moving, no matter how her body threatened to betray her. The crowd jostled her, the pressure crushing, and Priya gripped her tighter. “Don’t let go of me,” urged Priya. “Hold on to me like we’re still climbing down the Hirana. Just like that.”

“I can smell the fire,” Malini said, voice throttled by the taste of it and the memories it dredged up in her.

“I know,” said Priya. “I know.” She was blinking hard, her eyes streaming, the whites red from smoke. For the briefest moment, she was not looking at Malini but through her: caught up in the darkness of her own past. “Don’t think of it.” She tightened her grip. “We can’t think of it. We need to keep moving.”

Priya led them on, a woman on a mission. Through narrow alleys and wide streets full of people and shouting and chaos. She gestured at Malini to cover her face with her pallu, to keep out the acrid scent, as Malini’s eyes streamed from the smell and the feel of the smoke. Keep moving, Malini told herself. Keep moving, you’re so close. We’re so close.

She could see the forest in the distance when Priya suddenly veered to the right, dragging Malini beneath the cover of a stone alcove. The crowds still surged by them.

Priya’s expression was resolute.

“You go,” said Priya. “Go to your loyal follower, whatever his name is. He’s waiting for you, under the bower of bones. I’ll tell you the way; it’s not far from here. Go and he’ll take you to your brother.”

“You think I can survive here alone?” Malini asked incredulously. “I have a high opinion of myself, I promise you, but I’m hardly capable of making my way through a burning city without dying.”

“We all learn this way,” said Priya.

“By hoping we won’t die, when the odds are thoroughly stacked against us?”

Malini did not mean it seriously, but Priya’s mouth was firm, her eyes solemn as she nodded.

“Yes,” said Priya.

“You asked me to make a promise,” Malini tried. “You asked me to make a vow to you, for the sake of your Ahiranya. Won’t you try to ensure that I live to see it fulfilled?”

Priya said, in a choked voice, “My friends are in the mahal.”

Her friends. Those other maidservants. Malini swallowed and said, calmly, “Then they’re behind strong walls, and as safe as they can possibly be.”

But Priya was not listening to her. “I have this power. This gift in me. And it’s stronger now than it will ever be again. I need to help them. If anything happens to them, I…”

“Are you stronger than every rebel attacking the mahal and burning this city combined?” Malini asked. “Are you more cunning, are you cleverer, better equipped, and better placed to conquer them?”

“You only want to convince me to do what you need of me.”

“Yes,” Malini acknowledged. “But that doesn’t make me wrong. Save me, and you may save your Ahiranya. Save me and your country has an option beyond the rebels and whatever fate the emperor has in store for you. Please.”

Priya was not sure what to do, Malini knew that. She saw it in Priya’s eyes; in her downturned lips, tight as a bowstring drawn taut. And Malini could do no more to convince her.

“You’re right,” Priya said. “I made you a promise. And you made me one in return.”

And then she whirled, heading toward the cover of the forest, and Malini had no choice but to follow her.

They were deep into the dark and winding maze of trees when Priya suddenly stopped.

“Priya,” Malini said. She spoke quietly. Had she heard something? Seen something? “What is it?”

Priya was swaying faintly on her feet. She turned to face Malini slowly, blinking. She reached an arm up, wiping her eyes.

The hand she drew back was streaked with blood.

“Something,” Priya said. “Something is—wrong.”

Malini had no time to do or say anything before Priya crumpled to the ground.

ASHOK

He could barely feel Priya any longer.

He stood before the squat little fort—the rose palace, Bhumika’s ugly creation, of that he had no doubt—that lay at the heart of the mahal. Surrounded by gardens, its walls were a knot-work of thorns. Thorns as wide as a man’s arm. Thorns as sharp as a blade. They were gristly with blood.

She was within those walls. But Priya was not.

“I could reach you, Bhumika,” he murmured, eyes closed. “If I tried, I could do it.”