There were things they didn’t do in Parijat.
And there are things, Priya told herself firmly, that I will not do, because I am not that much of an owl-brained fool.
“I’ll sit by you, my lady,” she said. “Until you fall asleep.”
Malini did not argue. She clearly did not have the energy to. She lay still, eyes closed. Her face was going to bruise. Malini’s skin was like paper.
Breath. Pulse. The color of her gums, her nails. Priya did not need to see any of those things to know that Malini was dying by steady increments.
She needed a way to keep Malini alive. And she needed the Hirana’s strength. Patience, Ashok had told her. Patience and time were key. But patience could only get her so far. And she’d never had a surfeit of it to begin with.
She would take control of the dosages of poison. She’d prove herself biddable and easy to ignore once more, so that Pramila would hand her the responsibility, never questioning her motives. She’d keep the princess alive—for the sake of Bhumika and the household, and also because it was right.
And not because she wanted to. Not because of that at all.
PRIYA
At first, she thought it was another dream.
The water at her feet. Winding of liquid, sleek as rope. The memory of her brother’s red-limned shadow.
Then she felt the magic of the yaksa singing through her. Salt in her veins.
She remembered the cosmic rivers. The World Egg.
（The World Peafowl. No. She wasn’t going to think of that.）
She looked around and—through the haze of dreaming, through sleep—forced herself to see.
Dark water beneath her. Water of a river. Three rivers, meeting and winding: a river of a red so deep it was nearly black, pulsing around her, ugly with life. A river of green flecked with gold, rolling like grass in a howl of wind; a river of darkness. Lightless, a rippling void.
She felt the rivers beneath her feet. The rivers winding through her skull. This was no dream.
This was—
“Priya.” Bhumika’s voice. She sounded relieved. “You’re finally here.”
Bhumika stood before her, waist deep in water. She was a shadow, darkness against the water; the river around her glowed faintly rose—shimmering with the red-limned light of her.
“The sangam,” Priya said, awed. “I haven’t seen it properly in so long.”
“The Hirana’s influence,” Bhumika murmured. Then she said, “What do you mean, properly?”
“When Meena strangled me, I thought I saw a glimpse of it. But not like this.”
“Well,” Bhumika murmured, displeased. “You didn’t tell me that when we talked of it, of course.”
Priya shrugged. “It didn’t seem important.”
Bhumika let out a sigh. Priya looked away from her, taking the sangam in.
The rivers wound beneath her, but above her they were mirrored, blanketed with stars. The cosmic rivers were a folded, creased flower—dozens of worlds pressed together, bound by the movement of water.
“At least this saves us meeting in person,” Bhumika said, watching as Priya turned all about—as she waded a circle through the water, three rivers roiling around her knees. “Tell me about the princess.”
“She’s sick.”
“I knew that, Priya.”
“Pramila is poisoning her with powdered needle-flower, dosed via wine,” added Priya. “I’m not sure if she intends to kill her or not, but—”
“It amounts to the same,” finished Bhumika. “You don’t think the emperor intends to finish her, then?”
Bhumika had feared that General Vikram and his household were one of the emperor’s targets—that he sought to remove his sister and the general in one fell, economical swoop. But Priya was not so sure now. She waded deeper, drawing closer to Bhumika, the cosmic confluence rising to her waist.
“No,” she said. “Not by poison. I think—I’m almost sure—he wants her to burn. But if she continues to refuse, perhaps he thinks the poison will have to do. Death by needle-flower would be… it would be a bad death.” She pushed the thought away. “Do you know what she did to anger him, Bhumika? Why he wants her to burn?”
“No, that I don’t know. Perhaps nothing, Priya.” Bhumika sounded suddenly weary. “There were women burned in the city today—imperial justice, apparently.”
“What? Did General Vikram order it?”
“One of the emperor’s men—never mind. It isn’t important. All you need to know is that the emperor takes pleasure in the burning. It gives him something of value. Serves him some kind of purpose—of control, or faith, I don’t know.”