Chapter 18 Malini
MALINI
“Stop,” said Malini. “There is no need—or time—for us to argue about this, Mahesh.”
“Empress,” he said, gruff and disapproving as Swati laid out breakfast—paper-thin, crisp dosas and vibrant green and orange chutneys and painfully hot tea—and bustled swiftly away. “There is ample reason to discuss this. The highborn are all talking to one another and if you do not act—”
“Argue with me about the allocation of supplies and weaponry,” Malini cut in. “Tell me what reconnaissance you’ve gained about the fort. But this—there is no need for this. I summoned her here. She has value to me and to our siege. That should be enough.”
“It isn’t the value of one woman in war that concerns me,” Mahesh said.
“It is the place of Ahiranya in this campaign and in your empire. We recognize that you have made peace with Ahiranya’s new leaders.
But no man of Parijatdvipa views the Ahiranyi without suspicion.
My men call them witches. Monsters. There is not a single lord who will view that woman as his equal.
Her blood, the history of her country, the magic she wields…
” He exhaled, shaking his head. “You are traveling through dangerous waters,” Mahesh warned her.
As if she did not know that already. “There are men who will say you are being used.”
And Malini had met Priya alone. Met her without highborn to watch them—with no one to judge what passed between them, and measure who held the true power: The Ahiranyi witch, or the Parijatdvipan empress with no throne.
“The Ahiranyi were instrumental to my escape from the prison my brother Chandra arranged for me,” Malini said. “That does not make me their creature.”
“I was not suggesting it did,” Mahesh said, sounding aggravated.
Oh, you were, thought Malini.
As much as his words galled her, he was not wrong.
Priya’s presence had sent ripples through the camp, whispers of discontent in its wake.
There would never be any trust for the Ahiranyi in Parijatdvipa.
History was too weighty. Malini had known it, even when she wrote the letter to Bhumika and Priya; even as she had placed it in Yogesh’s hands.
But some risks were worth taking.
Malini sipped her tea and let her gaze wander the room.
Swati was still hovering obediently in the background.
Four military officials sat at a remove, writing, the scratch of ink on paper a low susurration in the air as they recorded the meeting and prepared answers to those far more pressing questions of supply allocation and weaponry, as needed.
Deepa sat beside them, looking through their papers with a slight frown.
She had come with her father, head bowed, trying to make herself small in the face of her father’s anger.
But Malini was glad for his ire. It afforded her an opportunity.
“I will make sure Elder Priya demonstrates her loyalty to Parijatdvipa and to my rule, as you have advised,” Malini said. “As, clearly, her bow to me before everyone was not enough.”
“Everyone bows to you, Empress.”
“Indeed,” Malini agreed. “But no temple elder of the Ahiranyi has ever bowed in worship to the mothers of flame.”
There was a beat of silence. Mahesh gave her a shrewd look.
“Ah—Empress. If I may, no temple of the mothers of flame will allow an Ahiranyi priest to walk through its doors,” one official said tentatively, gaze lowered.
He looked uncomfortable, and was visibly forcing himself to continue.
“For the—ah, elder—to affirm her loyalty to Parijatdvipa in a temple will not be possible.”
“Do you not consider temples of the faceless mother to be proper temples?” Malini asked, eyebrow raised.
“They are…” The official trailed off and said helplessly, “I defer to the empress, of course.”
“There is a temple of the faceless mother on Low Prince Kunal’s lands, is there not?”
Another rustle of paper.
“Yes, Empress.”
“Then we will go there.”
“Such a temple—it is not—”
“Not ideal,” Malini agreed. “Not entirely pure. But it will please the Saketan foot soldiers.”
Lord Mahesh said nothing.
“I think it will suffice, Mahesh,” Malini said.
“It will not be enough, Empress,” Mahesh said grimly. “But if you insist on moving on to other business, we shall.”
The chariot arranged for Malini’s journey to the temple was large, drawn by two swift horses, with space enough inside the covered interior for both Lata and Priya. But Lata agreed easily enough to travel with Sima, leaving Priya and Malini alone. Rati, Raziya, and Deepa remained behind.
They sat. Priya kept her face slightly turned away, hands clasped in her lap. It should have looked respectful. It made Malini want to take Priya’s face in her hands. Turn her head. Look at me.
Foolishness.
Malini waited until they were on the move, the chariot juddering around them, the highborn and soldiers accompanying them creating a clatter of wheels and hooves beyond the fabric and wrought ivory of the chariot’s walls.
“I missed you,” Malini murmured. It was like letting an overexerted muscle finally rest. She’d spent so long controlling herself that saying something truly honest was pure relief. “I’ve missed you so very much, Priya. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I told you I’d come if you asked me to,” Priya said immediately.
Her head was still lowered, but it turned a little at the sound of Malini’s voice.
Malini traced the angle of Priya’s jaw with her eyes, followed the line of Priya’s vision, and saw that Priya was looking at her, at the place where their clothes almost touched, their legs turned toward one another.
One slight movement, and their knees would be pressed together.
Would Priya’s skin feel warm, even through all the cloth separating them?
“And I’m so glad you have, but I also…” Priya stopped, and instead of continuing her train of thought said, “I kept your letter. The first one. Did you really read the Birch Bark Mantras for me?”
“For you, and for me,” Malini said, low. “You know how I like knowledge.”
“I do.”
“Priya.” Malini leaned forward, letting their skirts mingle, knees brush. “Why won’t you look at me?”
A beat of breathless silence. Malini watched Priya’s mouth curve into a smile.
“Because I want to kiss you,” Priya said, voice a little rough. “And I know I can’t. Not when…” She gestured at the curtain, reminding Malini of all the highborn lords beyond it.
“You probably could if you were quick,” Malini teased.
Priya finally lifted her head. And there she was—those bright eyes, and those golden lashes making them brighter; that crooked nose and easy smile growing wider, that skin that had felt like warmth and silk, once, under Malini’s hands.
“Is that a joke?” Priya sounded delighted. “Is the Empress of Parijatdvipa joking with me?”
“I would like to think I’m flirting with you,” Malini said, feeling her own heart lighten in response. “Or daring you, perhaps. But you may call it a joke if you like.”
The smile faded from Priya’s lips. But the light was still in her eyes, fierce enough that it made Malini’s breath catch.
“I don’t really think you want a brief kiss from me,” Priya said lowly. “And that’s not what I want from you either.”
“Perhaps we should both stare at opposite walls,” Malini muttered, and Priya laughed again.
“Perhaps,” she agreed. And tilted her head against the palanquin wall, even as her gaze stayed on Malini—steady, and so very soft.
I would kiss you, Malini thought. Throat aching. I would kiss you and kiss you.
But that isn’t why I need you here. That isn’t the yielding I require from you.
Not today.
The temple had clearly prepared for their arrival, despite the short notice.
There were oil lamps arrayed upon the temple’s entrance steps in great winding spirals of light.
The pillars were festooned in garlands of flowers, honey-sweet.
Bees buzzed around them, held at bay by clouds of incense, rising from joss sticks set in pillared alcoves.
A small welcoming party of priests awaited them, bowing as Malini emerged from the palanquin.
Behind her she could hear the clatter of hooves and whinny of horses, and the grating call of chariot wheels turning.
She ground her teeth together. Perhaps when she returned to camp, she would inform the military officials to allocate some of their funds toward oil for those wheel spokes. Clearly they were being neglected.
She did not wait for Priya, Lata, or Sima to emerge.
She knew that given half the chance, one of her lords would take it upon himself to greet the priests in her place.
So she glided forward and slipped her gilded sandals from her feet; held up the edge of her sari in the crook of two curled fingers and walked up the temple stairs.
The priests hurriedly bowed. One, younger than the rest, was visibly sweating.
She stopped before him.
“I must speak to your head priest,” Malini said.
She could hear footsteps behind her. Three pairs, their tread too light to be those of her armed men.
As Priya’s, Sima’s, and Lata’s shadows mingled with her own on the marble stairs, she said, “When we have made our offerings, tell him his empress requests a private meeting.”
“Y-yes. Empress.” The young priest bowed jerkily. Left them.
They were ushered into the temple, directly to the worship hall.
The marble was cool beneath her bare feet. Priests stood or kneeled along the edges of the room. There was no sound but the crackling of torches. Lata motioned to another priest, spoke to him in a low voice. No doubt discussing the money that Malini had brought as a gift of devotion to the temple.
She strode forward, Priya matching her steps. Malini let her arm gently graze against Priya’s own, and felt the briefest brush of skin and warmth. She felt Priya’s head turn; felt soft breath against her cheek.
“You must bow,” Malini murmured. “That is all. I promise, Priya.”