He dipped an arrow in ghee. Held up his flint. Lit a spark.
The priests of the nameless built their garden of lac and resin. They knew this day would come to pass.
Rao watched the burning point of flame as Malini raised and nocked the arrow with a face like stone. He thought of the priests who’d remained behind and their own calm eyes. He thought of the way fate moved like a winding noose, a thing of silk, waiting until the time came to tighten its grip.
They knew this day would come to pass. It felt right. Ah, damn her, it felt true.
Behind her—around her—a dozen new points of flame appeared. A dozen more. Arrows were drawn. Spears held high.
Malini released her arrow, and the fire followed the arc of her loosed flame.
For a moment there was nothing more than the tips of those burning arrows in the dark, small motes lighting like falling stars.
And then the lacquer garden began to burn.
Through the crackle of the flames, Rao heard screams. Malini stood, for a brief moment, limned in light, the bow still in her hands. The smoke rose up behind her, a great cloud of it, curling gray into the night, its edges faded gold. He swallowed, staring at her and staring at her, until the smoke and the fire made his eyes tear and burn. Such was the way of fate.
He should have known this day would come to pass, too.
PRIYA
It was no burden to carry Ashok’s weight, even though he seemed convinced that it was. She could feel the fragility of his body: the in and out of his breath rattling his ribs, the wetness in his lungs.
“You’ll fall under my weight,” Ashok said to Priya, his voice uneven. There was blood on his lips, falling like tears from his eyes.
“Don’t lean on me entirely, and we’ll be fine, then,” she said.
They walked forward in silence for a moment. Then he said, “Kritika carries a crown mask with her. When we’re thrice-born—one of us should wear it.”
“We don’t need crowns or masks,” said Bhumika tiredly.
“But we do need power,” Ashok responded. Doubled over with coughing. Bhumika looked away from them, her face a mask of its own kind, and kept on walking. But Priya stopped, allowing him to breathe, still holding him up.
He was going to be fine, she reminded herself. Once they had passed through the deathless waters, his strength would return to him.
“Priya,” he said, after a moment. “Priya. You—you need to know.”
“What?”
“I killed Chandni. Or as good as killed her. I left her tied to the rot-riven tree. And Sendhil.” A heaved breath. “The elders are all gone. We’re all that remains.”
Dead. Chandni dead.
The words rung in Priya’s head like a bell. I killed her. I left her tied to the rot-riven tree. I killed her.
She couldn’t speak for a long moment. Then she forced her tongue, her lips to move, even though they felt leaden.
“Why are you telling me this? Do you want me to be happy about it?”
“I just wanted you to know,” Ashok murmured.
“By soil and sky, why?”
“It’s your right to know,” he said. “Consider it my deathbed confession.”
He did not sound guilty. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to. She only knew that the knowledge felt like a blow to the skull; it rang in her ears still. She couldn’t think around it, and yet she tried. What was the last thing she had said to Chandni? How had Chandni looked at Priya when Priya had left her? She couldn’t recall it. She hadn’t thought she would want to.
“She was an old woman who was dying anyway. And you’re not afraid of killing. I should have expected it. And I shouldn’t care.” Priya’s throat felt thick. It was hard to force the words out. “And I wish I could say that I don’t know why you’re like this—why you always gut the heart out of me, over and over—but I know why. I lived through our childhood too.” She looked away from him. “We’re here.”
They stood at the base of the Hirana.
Bhumika gave Priya a level look, and Priya shook her head. “We don’t need to climb,” Priya said swiftly. “The Hirana knows me. And I know it. It will let us in.”
Bhumika didn’t argue when Priya passed the weight of Ashok over. He rested on Bhumika’s shoulder as Priya pressed a hand to the Hirana’s deep gray stone, awash with mosaics of moss. The Hirana felt her. Welcomed her.
The way opened.
It was a tunnel. Lightless, dark, but a way through all the same.
“All of you,” said Priya. “Follow me.”