Eyes that widened, in the half second before she felt the press of a knife against her skin.
“I’ll kill her before I let you take her,” said Malini.
She’d positioned the knife in the concave area beneath Priya’s ribs. It was a good place to angle a weapon. Better than the neck. Here, at the angle she held the blade, she could slide it up into Priya’s heart.
The rebels stood, shocked into stillness. And Priya…
Priya did nothing. She could feel blood still trickling down her scalp and shoulders from the wound in her hair.
“Priya could kill you where you stand,” said Ashok.
Malini laughed—a glorious laugh like the sound of a blade unsheathed.
“She could. But she won’t.”
Priya’s breaths were shallow. She didn’t know if she was afraid or not. Sweat stood out on her skin. The wooden knife burned. She was not sure she even felt betrayed.
“I know Priya. Every inch of her heart.” The way Malini said heart, so savagely—it was as if she were truly talking of the muscle pulsing in Priya’s chest, and it made the breath seize in Priya’s throat. “She won’t touch me. She could snap my hand clean, but she won’t do it.”
This was a game of wills. Ashok, staring at Malini, staring at her straight in the eyes. And Malini staring back. Priya knew he was thinking: This is a ruse.
But it wasn’t. Priya could feel the steadiness of Malini’s hand and Priya did… nothing. Still nothing. Stood and breathed and breathed as if the knife beneath her ribs were a welcome friend. Maybe it was the shock of it. She didn’t know. She felt the warmth of Malini at her back. The beat of Malini’s heart, fast with terror.
“Step away from her, Priya,” said Ashok. Low.
“She won’t,” Malini repeated. “She’d rather I hurt her, rather I kill her, than give you what you want. It’s in your best interests, Ashok, to let us both go. Because I assure you, I can’t lead you to your deathless waters. If Priya dies, the knowledge dies with her. And I will be glad to die too, knowing I have kept my empire safe from you and your ilk.”
Something flickered in Ashok’s eyes. She saw the way he took Malini in, weighing up her skin, light enough to reveal she wasn’t accustomed to outdoor labor; the thinness of her, the lack of muscle in her limbs; the sari she wore, more expensive than anything he or Priya had ever owned. He shifted, just a little.
And the knife moved, just a little. Just nicking skin.
“You may be quick,” Malini said more loudly. “But I can be quicker. So. What will you do?”
Ashok took a step forward. Another. Malini held steady.
“What is this, Priya?” His gaze flickered over. “Will you let this Parijati whore murder you, to spite me?”
“You shouldn’t be so rude to women holding knives,” Malini said, holding Priya tight, tight. “It isn’t wise.”
He looked at Malini once more. Something ugly twisted his mouth. “Kill her, then,” he said. “Go on.”
“I would rather leave.”
“Well, you can’t. So kill her, or lower your weapon. I’ll wait.”
“You need her,” hissed Malini.
“And you,” Ashok said, eyes narrowed, “won’t kill her. Not a soft thing like you. I know your people. You’re more likely to cut your own throat than hers. I will not let you go. What will you do now?”
Ah, Ashok, Priya thought, despairing. You don’t know her at all.
Priya felt Malini’s wrist move, the muscles holding her knife steady tensing.
The moment stretched and stretched. Was she loosening her grip or driving the dagger up? In that moment, Priya wasn’t sure, couldn’t be sure. She could only stand there and feel the green magic of life in the forest around her, in the soil beneath her.
The magic shifted. Lurched.
A rain of rocks was being thrown, slung by the hands of people hidden behind the trees. The ground shuddered, seismic, as figures appeared in the shadows between those trees. The rebels who surrounded them were now surrounded in turn by maidservants and cooks and gardeners that Priya had known almost her whole life.
And there, leading them, was Bhumika.
She had real soldiers with her, too. Soldiers, including some of the regent’s most loyal men. Priya recognized Jeevan, no longer in the colors of Parijatdvipa, though he still wore his commander’s armlet of curved and polished silver. Khalida, wielding a scythe like an extension of her arm. A glut of maidservants in armor, the head chef holding a huge mace.