Chapter 3 Malini
MALINI
Malini’s appointed room in the Lal Qila was intimate—a circular chamber with narrow windows that opened to the sky, and a low fire burning to maintain heat.
The floor was a familiar marble, but swathed in a grand carpet that would have rotted in Parijat’s greater heat: a hand-sewn expanse of knotted goat’s wool, depicting the moon and stars, and prey animals running across snow.
She stared and stared, tracing the patterns with her eyes, sinking into meditative calm, as she waited for Lord Mahesh to bring her his daughter.
She heard a door creak open.
Lord Mahesh entered, and bowed. A girl entered with him.
She was a slip of a thing, with an unremarkable face and long hair, a shawl draped over her shoulders to ward of Dwarali’s cold, and shadows of exhaustion around her eyes.
Her journey to Dwarali must have been grueling.
Malini wondered if Mahesh had even allowed the girl a moment to rest before dragging her into Malini’s presence.
“My daughter, Deepa,” Lord Mahesh said, urging the girl forward with a hand at her back. Deepa stumbled. Bowed hastily. “As I told you, she is a biddable girl, and only a few years your junior. I am sure she will be an able addition to your court.”
It was laughable to mention Malini’s court when she had none to speak of.
Oh, she had her highborn lords and princes, and she had Lata.
But she had no court of women: no heart sisters to share her secrets with.
No elder women or grandmothers to counsel her, and no daughters of allies to foster ties with. That had to change.
“Thank you, Lord Mahesh,” Malini said. “You may leave her with us. I’ll be sure to make her welcome.” Her mouth tilted into a smile. “I know Prince Rao has been searching for you.”
“Empress,” Mahesh said, bowing his head. Then he turned and departed.
Deepa was still staring at her own feet. The crackle of the fire filled the silence. Lata stood by the hearth and met Malini’s eyes briefly, a question in her own gaze. What are you going to do with her? Lata’s eyes said. What use is this girl to you?
“What are your skills, Lady Deepa?” Malini asked. Deepa’s head darted up.
“Skills, Empress?”
“Yes,” Malini said patiently. “What do you bring to my service?”
Deepa lowered her eyes again, clearly embarrassed. Look at me, Malini wanted to stay. Show me your strength. Do not be timid for my sake.
“I like to read,” Deepa admitted softly after a moment. “To study. I am not a good musician or—I don’t tell very good jokes. But I can work. And I like numbers. If… if you need anyone for such work.”
Numbers and scholarship. Those were not the skills taught to a daughter intended for marriage.
“Good,” Malini said, as if she did not have a dozen military officials to hand, and more arriving daily, to do such work. “You can assist Lata, then.”
“I am Empress Malini’s sage,” said Lata then, nodding in acknowledgment. “I will be glad of your help, Lady Deepa.”
Deepa stammered out thanks and said, “Anything you or—or the empress needs of me, I am honored to do.”
“I am glad to hear, Lady Deepa,” Malini said. And then she smiled at the girl. Deepa flushed, clutching her shawl more tightly. “I’m sure you’ll find yourself happy here.”
She dismissed Deepa. The door closed softly behind her, leaving Lata and Malini alone in the warmth of the room.
“He brought his daughter to spy on you, my lady,” Lata said after a moment.
“Of course he has,” Malini said easily. “And soon all the highborn lords and princes who have sworn loyalty to me will try and do the same. How else will they win my favor?” She shrugged.
“I have nothing to fear from spies,” said Malini.
“Not spies I am aware of, at least. And I have the measure of Lady Deepa.”
A plain girl. Or more specifically, a girl who had been told she was plain. Not the oldest daughter or the most marriageable, but the one her father thought clever enough not to offend an empress.
“She’s nervous and frightened, but if she was truthful, then she has a good mind and she’ll do anything you ask without complaint. Don’t tell me an assistant wouldn’t be useful to you, Lata.”
“As you say,” Lata replied, which was her polite way of saying she disagreed but did not think it worth arguing over the matter.
Malini looked into the flames and thought of Alori and Narina again. The grief worked its way through her, rising like a wave from her heart to pour through her limbs, then ebb once more.
It would be so much easier if you were here, she thought with a pang. I always knew I could trust you.
But they were gone. Her heart sisters would never return.
She would never have a court full of women who had grown up alongside her, who were written into her soul as she was in theirs.
She would have to settle for one with women ambitious enough to see the benefits of allying with her, and clever enough to recognize that betraying her would be the height of foolishness.
She did not have that yet, she admitted to herself. Lata, of course, she could rely upon. But Lady Deepa had not yet proved her worth.
If she wanted better allies—allies with strength and cunning—she would have to seek them out herself.
“I’m going to talk to our host,” Malini said, rising to her feet.
“Lord Khalil is patrolling with his men,” Lata said promptly.
Malini shook her head. “Not him,” she said. “Hand me my shawl, Lata. There’s no need to accompany me. I’ll soon have plenty of chaperones to guard me.”
From the Lal Qila the world beyond the subcontinent was visible like a half-forgotten memory: great mountains, so high they seemed to vanish into pale nothingness; snow, whiter than bone, blanketing mountains green with life.
The Lal Qila itself was all deep red stone, tall and imposing, an edifice that seemed to have an ancient life and grandeur all of its own.
Lady Raziya stood at the edge of the ramparts, swathed in a thick blue shawl. Around her stood a semicircle of women armed with bows: female Dwarali archers who traveled with her everywhere. Malini had not lied when she had told Lata she would have chaperones to spare.
When Malini’s army had first arrived at the Lal Qila, Lady Raziya—Lord Khalil’s wife, and the mistress of the Lal Qila—had greeted Malini’s army at the gates on horseback.
She had looked like a seasoned general waiting for battle, her face turned toward the full mass of Malini’s forces unflinching, her saber gleaming at her hip.
Even now, clad in a delicately embroidered salwar kameez with a dupatta laid demurely over her hair, she had the look of a soldier about her.
As Malini approached, she turned, and her women turned with her as one, faces alert and spines straight.
“Empress,” said Raziya. She smiled, her eyes crinkling. The faces of the women around her did not change.
“Lady Raziya,” Malini greeted her. “I hoped I would find you here. May I join you?”
“Of course.” The guardswomen moved aside, allowing Malini to stand beside Raziya. “How did you know where to find me, Empress? I would have come to you if you had summoned me.”
“People talk.” Well. Maidservants talked, if they were coaxed appropriately, with a smile from an empress, or a coin from a sage in return for details on the daily routine of the mistress of the Lal Qila.
“And I know you would have come, Lady Raziya. But I wanted to see the views here myself.” As she spoke, her breath formed small clouds before her. “They’re beautiful.”
Raziya gave her a sidelong look, assessing and amused.
“Step back,” she said crisply, and her guardswomen vanished like ghosts, moving to stand some distance away, their backs turned. Only then did Raziya turn to look Malini directly in the eyes.
“Although I would like to remark upon the beauty of Dwarali to you, and ease you into a discussion of favors,” Raziya said, “I find I must take advantage of our privacy to be frank: My husband has intimated that he will follow you into the battle, and all that comes after. That he will follow you until Chandra is defeated.”
“He’s told me much the same,” Malini said.
“I have no wish to remain where he is not,” said Raziya. “If you allow me to accompany you, I would be grateful. My sons and daughters are old enough to hold the Lal Qila in our stead.”
Malini gazed off into the distance for a long moment, watching the clouds drift slowly by.
Raziya’s request certainly made things a great deal easier.
Malini had corresponded with Raziya enough that she felt as if she had the measure of her: Incisive and thoughtful, Raziya had a huge amount of influence over her husband’s political choices.
And Malini already wanted Raziya on her side, in her court. She also knew Raziya was not the kind of woman to act from adoration for her husband alone—and surely she could not think that Malini would believe such of her.
“Is it love alone that compels you?” Malini asked.
Raziya laughed.
“A certain amount of sentimentality drives me,” she said.
“But no, not love alone. I am ambitious for my family, Empress. I have no shame in it. And it strikes me that in the court of an empress, a woman may rise very far. I am a seasoned leader, Empress. I know politics, and do not fear war. Take me with you, and you will have no regrets. Of that, I can assure you.”
“It sounds like I could gain a great deal from having you at my side,” said Malini. “Tell me, Lady Raziya. What does a woman of your power and position seek from my service? What can an empress offer you to bind your loyalty?”
“It would be a terrible thing,” Lady Raziya said mildly, “for my husband to contemplate turning against the sultan. The sultan is your ally, and rules Dwarali ably. The lord of the Lal Qila is no more than his obedient servant. As the wife of the lord of the Lal Qila, I cannot ask my empress to give my husband a throne. I know some things cannot even be dreamt of without cost.”
And yet you dream them regardless, Malini thought. You have so much and you want more still.
She could understand that hunger. Admire it, even.
“I am sure Lord Khalil would not reject a gift freely given,” Malini said evenly.
“When I win the empire in my grasp, Lady Raziya, I will show him my gratitude.” How she would take the throne from the sultan, she did not yet know.
But it could be done, and would be. Malini kept her promises.
“But I wonder: Why dream of power for him, and not for yourself?”
“Empress,” Lady Raziya said. “I love my husband. What greater love is there than wanting to lay the world in your beloved’s hands?”
It was deep, dark night when an Aloran messenger arrived with a message from Ahiranya. It was worn from travel, dust-stained, and had clearly passed through many hands. It did not have Malini’s name on it, but she knew at once that it held Priya’s words. Priya’s voice.
I miss you, the letter said. Artless words. She could feel Priya in them, and it made her heart bloom with helpless fondness.
Such grand stories you know now! Where did you discover them? Did you seek them out?
I don’t know if I will ever have your answer. Maybe it’s enough to wonder. Maybe that’s what you want, for me to think of you.
There is so much I wish I could tell you. But I have no head for poetry, though I’ve met it from time to time.
I will say only this.
I made you a promise once. Say my name, and though it makes me a fool—and I know it does—I’ll find my way. I’ll come.