“What do you think?”
She said nothing for a moment.
“I think we need to bandage your ribs,” she said finally. “Hold still. This will hurt.”
“Don’t worry,” Rao said, swallowing. The roses stared back down at him, so red upon the ceiling that they resembled spatters of blood. “I’m very good at following orders.”
PRIYA
There were prison cells beneath the mahal. Priya had never had reason to consider that reality before. But she had good reason to now.
The guards had been gentle enough with her. They’d allowed her to make her own way down the Hirana’s surface—by necessity, more than anything else, she suspected—then bound her hands and guided her beyond the general’s orchards, the near-overflowing stepwell, and into a separate iron-gated staircase that led down into the bowels of the mahal. They had locked her into a cell, bid her to sit and rest until she was called upon, and then left her.
There was only one window in her cell: a high slat, covered in a filigree of bars, that seemed to let in barely any light but allowed the rainwater in freely. It had stopped raining finally, finally, but the water still poured through the slat in a slow, steady stream, as everything the soil couldn’t swallow up rolled down the sloping earth and into Priya’s chamber.
She wondered if the design of it—the slope, the window, the water pooling unavoidably at her feet—was intentional. After an hour of standing in the murky chill, too numb with shock to do anything more, she decided grimly that it probably was. She edged her way to the farthest corner of the space. Sat, curling forward, her head upon her knees.
The minute she sat on the ground, her body began to shudder. She couldn’t control it. She clutched her own palms to her elbows, struggling to control her breath, and felt a wild kind of panic tighten her chest.
She’d wanted to remember, hadn’t she? Oh, she could admit that to herself now. She’d wanted more than fragments of memory. Well, she’d achieved her wish. More than achieved it. For a moment, as she’d fought Meena, she’d been the Priya who was a temple child. She had seen the sangam in her mind.
And she’d killed a woman.
Meena had been trying to kill her, of course. But that didn’t make her feel any less shaken now.
As a child, she’d learned how to inflict and handle pain. All temple children of the Hirana had been taught to be strong in the same way, so that they would stand a chance of surviving the process of becoming an elder. Three journeys, through magical deathless waters. Three journeys that could leave them dead by drowning. Or other, worse ways.
Priya had sunk beneath the waters once. Only once. And she’d come out with gifts. The ability to manipulate the Hirana. The skill of slipping into the sangam.
She hadn’t done that since she was a girl. She hadn’t been able to.
She looked down at her hands. She’d wanted coin. Wanted power. Maybe, in her secret heart of hearts, she’d even wanted her rightful gifts. But now she stared at her trembling fingers and wondered if her wants were wise. Wondered if her memories had splintered to save her from a greater pain.
Eventually, despite the cold and the water, she dozed. The heat began to filter in, as the sun rose, and she slept uneasily, dreaming that the water beneath her feet was hissing and writhing, that eyes watched her from the dark.
When she woke she saw that someone had brought food. She ate it, then curled up once more. Slept, and dreamt of the water again. Her brother’s shadow in the liquid dark.
Hours passed.
The door clanged open. She thought more food was being brought for her. Instead, she felt a hand upon her arm.
“Come,” said the guard. He was armed to the teeth, but his voice was gentle enough, and his grip, too. “Lady Bhumika wants you.”
Within Lady Bhumika’s chambers in the rose palace, there were profusions of flowers set in ornate vases upon the windows. Cut lilies floated like pale clouds on pools of water, shifting as if a breeze nudged them about with light hands.
Lady Bhumika herself sat on a divan of amethyst silk. She did not recline, despite the profusion of pillows behind her. She sat tall, one hand resting on the swell of her belly. A maidservant stood at her side, fanning her. When Priya entered the room and bowed low, Lady Bhumika did not smile. Her eyes were rimmed with shadow.
“All is well, child,” she said, in a soft voice. “My husband has asked me to make arrangements for you. You need not be afraid.”
“My lady,” Priya said, and bowed her head once more demurely.