So instead, she walked away from the plinth and touched her fingertips to one of the leaves in the garden. Rubbed her fingers back and forth over the surface, feeling the slick strangeness of it. Lac. Sweet lac.
“There are sewers beneath the gardens, are there not? To carry the waters away and feed the fruit orchard.” She had seen the grates; heard the echo of them. “How deep are they? Large enough for men to walk through them?”
“I believe so,” Aditya said, clearly perplexed by her change in conversation.
“Can they be used to leave the gardens discreetly?”
“Perhaps,” Aditya said cautiously.
Malini thought of the oil that had been rubbed into Narina’s hair, and Alori’s, the day they burned. The wax stitched in small weights into their skirts.
She felt nauseous.
And exultant.
“I have a plan,” said Malini. “To ensure that we survive, and are able to leave this place, and seek out your army—and we must hope, by the mothers, that they’re still waiting for you.”
She told him each detail, carefully delineated, deliberate. She watched the horror on his face grow.
“I won’t do it,” said Aditya. “I won’t allow it.”
“You will,” said Malini. “You will. Or we will all die. Perhaps we could have fought them, but thanks to your unwillingness to act your numbers are depleted. This valley is a prison.” The only stroke of luck was the narrowness of the entry to the monastery gardens. “Ask your nameless for guidance if you like, Aditya, but it’s this plan that we will enact.”
“And if I will not?” he said softly.
She could have threatened him. The lords were frightened and angry and restless, and she knew how to weave pretty words and wear a pretty face while doing it. It would take so little to turn them against him. Or she could have wept or pleaded with her brother, wearing her wounded heart on her skin.
But she was tired of all of it.
But she needed him, still.
“Look at the world, not at the water,” said Malini. “Look at your sister. You know this is what must be done.”
The lords were still bickering when she returned. She went to stand by Rao’s side. Waited, until their noise lulled for a moment.
“My lords and princes,” she said. “May I speak?”
They fell utterly silent.
“My brother Chandra always told me I did not obey the priests or the mothers as I should,” said Malini. “He told me I should listen to the voice of the mothers in my heart. But when I listened, I heard nothing. And I knew he heard nothing, too.”
Truth and lie. She wound them together, a weaving so fine that it had the look of one singular flesh. “Then he sought to burn me. And I finally heard the mothers. And I remembered one fact we have all forgotten, my lords.”
She had them. Held them bound with her words, winding and winding.
“The first of the mothers, who founded our line and the empire, was a devotee of the nameless god, as the Alorans and Srugani are. In his faith and his nature, Aditya is closer to her than any scion of her line has ever been. He does not forget that Parijatdvipa is bound together for a reason. The mothers chose to ascend in fire to gain the power to protect their people. Our people, for we are one empire.”
There was a noise from behind her. Malini did not turn as the men bowed; as Aditya approached, dressed in his soft priestly robes, his head held as high as an emperor’s.
Aditya took a deep breath. Moved forward to stand before her.
“There is nothing to fear,” he said, in that measured, resonant cadence of his, the one that had always quelled even the fiercest men to quiet. “My sister speaks true. I have never forgotten the bonds between us, my brothers. And I know how to ensure not only our survival, but our victory.”
PRIYA
They traveled from Srugna back along the seeker’s path. The people of the mahal and the rebels made uneasy company. The rebels kept trying to take the lead and the maidservants and men of the mahal looked like they were seriously considering gutting the lot of them in the dark of the night.
By necessity, they moved slowly. Bhumika could only travel in her palanquin. The rebels had also put together a makeshift palanquin for Ashok, a canvas held up by canes, more a hammock than anything else. Kritika walked beside him. Priya wondered how he fared. Could he still talk? Was he in pain?
She didn’t approach him, though. She didn’t know what to say to him. Once they were in Hiranaprastha, and he had passed through the deathless waters and was well again, they would talk.