Bhumika remained by her husband’s side in the tense hours that followed, assisting the physician to administer a weak mixture of wine and needle-flower, and the maids to daub away the remaining blood and ash on her husband’s body. After the physician had been dismissed, Bhumika helped her husband redress into a new tunic and dhoti of light silk that would not aggravate his injury. Although she was mindful of his wound, he was still grayer than ever with pain by the time the task was done.
A moment later, there was a clamor beyond the door. Commander Jeevan strode in without being announced, his white-and-gold armor scuffed with dirt and blood, his expression dark. His gaze flickered to Bhumika, then away, as he bowed.
“My lord,” said Jeevan. “Are you well?”
“No pleasantries,” Vikram said shortly. “Tell me everything.”
Jeevan did.
As he described what Lord Santosh and his men had done in the city, Vikram’s expression grew stormier. By the time Jeevan fell silent, Vikram’s face was so tight with pain and anger that Bhumika reached automatically for the needle-flower concoction the physician had left. When she began to pour it, Vikram made a tight, angry gesture with his hand.
“No.”
She lowered the cup and the pitcher back down, offering him nothing.
“Bring Lord Santosh to me as soon as he returns,” Vikram said to the commander. “The second he arrives, I want him brought here. The second. Am I understood?”
“He’s on his way back, my lord,” Commander Jeevan said. “My men are watching his progress. I’ll see to it.”
“Go,” said Vikram.
Commander Jeevan bowed once more, then turned on his heel and departed.
“Bhumika,” Vikram said eventually. “You must leave now.”
She shook her head and cupped one of his hands in her own, her eyes lowered. “I won’t leave you until I’m sure you’re well,” she murmured, every inch the devoted wife. Before he could protest again, she squeezed his hand tight and released it, saying, “But I will wait on the balcony until Lord Santosh is gone. I promise.”
She swept out onto the shaded balcony, giving him no time to order her away again. From here, she could see the grounds of the mahal. The sky. Standing at the far edge of the balcony, she was no longer visible to him from his bed. He would have to stand up if he wanted to seek her out, or shout if he wanted to send her away. She wasn’t surprised when he remained silent.
It wasn’t long before the door opened again, and Lord Santosh was announced.
The voices were muted, but Bhumika could hear the heavy thud of Santosh’s boots. His greeting. Vikram did not greet him in return.
“I have heard what you’ve done, Lord Santosh,” said Vikram.
There was a tone that Vikram used when he spoke to Santosh. It was a tone for diplomacy; for placating, for manipulating, for maintaining peace while navigating the thorniest of politics.
That tone was gone. This bloodied night had clearly shattered his patience. With a bite to his voice, he said, “Shall I tell you what my soldiers witnessed? Buildings ransacked. Men and women running for their lives, their homes destroyed. Beggars with their throats slit.”
“Ahiranyi beggars,” Santosh said dismissively.
“You also damaged the pink lantern district,” Vikram said. “The source of income for Ahiranya’s highborn. You’re aware of the value of the pleasure houses to Ahiranya’s economy, surely? To the emperor’s coffers? You must be. So tell me, Lord Santosh. Why did you do it?”
There was a beat of silence.
“The Ahiranyi killed Lord Iskar,” Santosh said slowly, incredulous. “They nearly killed you.”
“Why did you do it?” Vikram repeated, voice clipped.
Bhumika winced. Her husband was not hiding his anger.
He should have consumed the needle-flower when she had offered it to him. Softened the edge of his pain, for the sake of controlling his usually well-restrained temper. Agony had unleashed it far too well.
“I did what was necessary to remind the Ahiranyi of their place,” Santosh said, after a pause. His voice was suddenly oily, cloying. Bhumika tightened her hand upon the balustrade and listened to the cadence of it—the warning his sudden obsequiousness carried with it. “You’ve long been absent from the heart of the empire, General Vikram. Perhaps you do not understand the kind of governance Emperor Chandra expects of you. When brutes like these Ahiranyi kill our own, they must be crushed with greater might. They must all face justice.”