She walked by Sima instead. At the moment, Sima held baby Padma in her arms, carefully bound to her chest with a sling made of ripped cloth, to allow Bhumika some time to sleep. Priya nudged close as they walked, peering down at Padma’s scrunched face.
“She looks like an old lady, don’t you think?” Priya observed.
“Babies always do, Pri. She’ll get prettier.” Sima looked down, and added dubiously, “Probably.”
There was a noise ahead of them. One of the rebel men crumpled to the ground, and his fellows—their faces simultaneously horrified and resigned—hefted him to his feet. His face was wet with an outpouring of blood. He wasn’t breathing.
That was another one lost, then.
“I don’t know anything about politics, but I think people who kill innocents and burn a city should be killed themselves,” Sima muttered.
“That’s why we let Lady Bhumika do the politics,” Priya replied.
“You seem to be going along with it happily enough,” said Sima. And there was real accusation in her voice—and real hurt.
They’d not spoken of Priya’s true nature since they’d first reunited in the forest. Then, relief had overwhelmed any hurt. But oh, the pain was there now, glinting in Sima’s eyes.
Priya sighed. “It wasn’t just my secret,” she said. “What I am. And I… Sima. I didn’t think I would ever be a temple child again. I thought I’d be a maidservant forever.”
“Really?” Sima’s voice was guarded.
“Really. I don’t like any of this. The compromising with murderers, or the murders happening at all. The… all of this.” She waved a hand at the crowd around them. “I wish things could be like they used to be.”
“Do you really wish that?”
Did she? Priya let herself think of it, just for a moment. Did she want to be a maidservant again, drinking in the orchard, laughing and joking with Sima? Moving around Bhumika in guarded circles? Staring up at the Hirana and yearning for something she barely had—something lost and wanted—the possibility of more always beyond her, drawing her on like a song?
Did she wish she had never met Malini—never kissed her? Never left her behind?
“Of course,” she lied. “Of course I do.”
“Lady Bhumika,” someone called out. It was Billu who’d spoken; who crouched now beside Bhumika’s palanquin, as the two men holding it up lowered it to let her out. “One of our own is sick. The boy—he’s getting worse.”
Priya hurried forward. “What’s the matter with Rukh? Billu, where is he?”
Bhumika looked up at her, dark circles shadowing her eyes. “I’ll leave it to you, Priya?” she asked tiredly.
Priya gave her a nod. “Rest again if you can,” Priya said, and left.
Billu took Priya to Rukh, who was curled up on his side against a tree. He was in obvious pain, hunched forward, clutching his arm against his chest.
“Hurts,” he rasped, when Priya kneeled down to check on him. She took his hand away from his stomach. Shoots of wood had forced their way through his skin, from his fingers to his elbow. The flesh around them was mottled with blood, unnaturally pearly.
“Oh, Rukh,” she said softly. Looking up at Billu, she said, “Does anyone have something for the pain?”
He shook his head. “The rebels have used up their own stock. We have nothing.”
Priya lifted Rukh up. He gave a groan, and she bit her lip to stop herself swearing or crying or both.
“On my back,” she said. “There you go.”
She heard the crunch of the undergrowth, and Jeevan appeared.
“You need to be able to defend us,” he said, looking between her and Billu and Rukh with narrow eyes. “Lady Bhumika cannot. You too, Billu.”
“Oh, you don’t need me,” said Billu.
“You’re strong,” Jeevan said. “We don’t know what we’re going to come across.”
“What do you expect us to do, then?” Priya snapped. “Leave him here?”
Rukh made a miserable sound, and Priya immediately felt like an awful human being. Billu gave her a helpless look.
“I’ll do it.” It was one of the rebels—a man called Ganam. “I can’t fight,” he added with a tight, wary smile of his own. “I could get sicker at any moment. But I’m healthier than most of those who drank the vial waters, and I could manage Ashok’s weight. I can hold a child up.”