Jitesh was no idiot.
He turned and ran.
He ran into the haveli, ran down the corridor, straight into the arms of two other guards. He hit them with a thump so hard that one of them, winded, swore. Beyond them he could see the celebration—the guests, the gentle waft of music from a tanpura, the flicker of lantern light. He opened his mouth to yell.
It was already too late.
There was a scream as the first masked rebel emerged from nowhere—and truly they must have come from the air, because it looked as if they’d peeled open the thick lattice of wood, curling it away like mist, and surely that couldn’t be possible—and slit a guest’s throat. The screaming grew louder when three more emerged. Then another.
The guards holding Jitesh let go and reached for their swords. Jitesh stayed where he was, rooted by his horror.
By the dais, Lord Iskar drew his saber, face gray with fear. The regent was standing next to him. The regent was saying something, shouting, drawing his own saber, gesturing men forward. The rebels, Jitesh realized, were not indiscriminate. They killed one of the richest Parijati traders in the city. The wife of the most powerful tax collector. Then they strode toward Lord Iskar’s wife, who screamed, clutching her child close. Her husband stepped in front of her.
Jitesh saw a knife fly through the air and bury itself point first in Lord Iskar’s throat. Then the crowd of panicked fleeing guests crashed into him like a wave, and Jitesh was pushed back out of the room.
He ran through the haveli corridors, stumbling, blinded by panic. He ran even as he heard screaming begin from within the household’s upper levels and saw the first hints of golden fire at the windows. He ran even as other guards spotted the blaze, shouted, “Water, water!”
He ran. And then there was someone standing before him, blocking his path.
“You did well,” said a masked figure. It was not the masked rebel from before. The voice was younger, the eyes lighter. “A good run. I watched you. But now you’re going to stay still.”
He tried to run, but it was as if the ground tipped beneath him. He fell.
Frozen, he looked up at the figure above him.
“Thank you,” the rebel said. They took a knife from their belt. “That will make things much easier.”
PRIYA
It takes poison time to leave a body. And yet it seemed as if Malini improved almost immediately. She remained awake for once at night, instead of falling directly into a stupor.
“Light a lantern,” she insisted. “I want to try walking about.”
Would anyone notice that Priya had used more lamp oil than usual? It was something the senior maidservants in the mahal would have noticed. They would have remarked upon it. But Priya didn’t think anyone cared here. Certainly not Pramila.
Malini clung to the wall for support and walked around the edge of the room on unsteady feet. Priya watched, seated upon the charpoy Malini had abandoned, as the princess pressed her hands to the stone, feeling the edges and curves of the obliterated carvings, a map destroyed. “It feels like the walls are always changing,” Malini said with the faintest laugh, her eyes bright. “I feel like I’m swimming in this place, I’m so unsteady.”
“Do you want to try letting go of the wall?” Priya asked.
“I’m not sure that’s wise,” said Malini. She looked at the blackened image of the yaksa on the wall. Then she exhaled and said, “Why not.”
Priya stood up and walked through the spill of lantern light. “Here,” she said, holding her hands out before herself, palms up. “Let me help.”
“Thank you,” said Malini. She took a tentative step forward and placed her hands above Priya’s. “I want to walk on my own, I think.”
“Then let me just keep my hands below yours,” said Priya. “You try to walk, my lady, and I’ll be here to catch you if need be.”
Their hands weren’t touching but shared the same air, the same fall of shadow, as Malini took one tentative step after another, and Priya walked backward in front of her.
Malini’s eyes met her own, face alight with a smile.
“You’re doing well,” Priya said, encouraging, and Malini’s smile deepened.
“I feel less dizzy than I did a moment ago,” she agreed. “I never thought I’d see the day when I would be complimented on not falling over. How my life has changed.” Her voice turned wistful. “You’ve never seen me how I really am. I wish you could. I used to wear the most lovely silk saris in Parijat, and flowers twined in my hair like a crown. I was beautiful then.”