For days they had been working from first light, hacking down the branches and piling them into a bonfire. Priya followed the smoke and found them clearing an old, old tree. It was vast, thick-trunked with deep, sprawling roots that were half-visible, now that the soil around the base had been cleared away. The roots had been pared open so that the interior would begin to dry out and catch alight more easily.
The men working wore cloth wrapped around their mouths to stop them from breathing in the worst of the smoke, but Priya wasn’t half as prepared. She drew her pallu over her mouth as she balanced the food and the flask against her hip, taking shallow breaths and trying not to think of all the things the smell of smoke always made her think of. Her brother’s arms around her. Blood. The Hirana.
The princess, staring at her with bloodshot eyes, dark as pitch.
Are you real?
She forced the thought back and peered through the haze until she caught sight of a familiar small figure, staggering under an enormous pile of wood.
“Rukh!” Priya called.
He looked over the stack, and his eyes creased with a smile when he saw her. He excitedly flung the wood onto the bonfire.
“I’ve brought everyone food,” she yelled out, and there were relieved noises from the other men as they lowered their machetes.
There were vats of salted water set nearby, and all the workers poured pitchers of it over their own hands before they began to eat, to cleanse their skin. Salt, some thought, helped keep the rot at bay.
“How is life as a servant going?” Priya asked Rukh, after she had parceled out the food and passed the flask of tea to the nearest man, who murmured his thanks.
“The food is great,” Rukh said, wiping his wet hands on his tunic. His eyes were fixed on the parathas. He grabbed one quickly.
Priya wanted to interrogate him a little more. She’d only seen him now and then since leaving him in Khalida’s care, usually in the times when he came to eat in the kitchens in the early morning, along with the rest of the servants. Once or twice, he’d come to sit with her after dinner and let her tell him yaksa tales. That was all. But he was tucking into the food with such joyful vigor that she hated to interrupt him, so she sighed and said, “Give me your hand.” She took hold of his wrist. “You can eat with the other one.”
“It’s a lot better,” he said, through a mouthful of food. “Doesn’t hurt as much.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
He pushed the rest of the paratha into his mouth, cheeks stuffed, and nodded quickly. She bent her head to hide her grin, inspecting his fingers. The bead hung snug at his wrist on a strong thread.
She felt a wave of relief. His rot was no better, but it was no worse, the skin still puckered around the growth beneath it, but unbroken. The bead of sacred wood was working its magic.
“When the bead goes cold, come to me straight away,” she said. “Before it gets worse, Rukh. Not after.”
“Okay,” he said mildly. “I promise,” he added, under her stern look.
“You should probably join them,” she said, gesturing over at the others. “I’ve got to go to bed anyway.” She resisted the urge to ruffle his shorn hair. He wouldn’t appreciate that in front of others.
“In a second,” he said. He rocked back on his heels a little, eyes lowered. “Priya. Will you…” He hesitated. “Will you do me another favor?”
“Another favor?” she asked, incredulous. “You mean besides getting you a job? You do have some cheek.” She paused. “Well, it depends what it is.”
“Please. Don’t go up the Hirana this week.”
That… was not what she’d expected. “At all this week?”
“All week,” he confirmed. He swallowed. “Please.”
It was such an absurd request that she could only laugh. When he raised his head, she arched an eyebrow at him.
“How will I keep a job if I don’t work, hm? You think the regent keeps on women who don’t pull their own weight?”
“Say you’re sick. They won’t make you climb if you’re sick, and you said his wife is kind, she wouldn’t let him send you off,” Rukh pressed on, determined. “Please, Priya. Everyone says that place is haunted. And after what happened with you and Sima…”
“Sima was the one who fell,” Priya pointed out. “Not me. And you’re not asking her to fake illness, are you?”
“She’s not you,” said Rukh. “You’re the one who spends your money on sacred wood for children with rot. No one else wasted that on us. You’re the one who gave me this chance. Not her, or anyone else.” His expression was solemn, filled with an earnestness that was both childish and somehow too mature for that sharp, small face to contain. “Priya, just. Please. Just for a week. Until the rains die down?”