The Lotus Empire (The Burning Kingdoms #3)

Chapter 8 Sanvi

SANVI

The priest wasn’t the one who found her. There were fools who liked to think that holy priests of the mothers plucked girls from their beds and roped them to pyres, but Sanvi had been brought up better than that. The priest had not tricked her, nor had he sought her out; she had gone to him.

She found him at her neighborhood shrine, a small alcove that served multiple households. The statues of the mothers within it were modest—gold only at their eyes—but they were surrounded by candles and garlands. The people of Harsinghar, the city that Divyanshi’s scions had built, loved the mothers.

Sanvi kneeled beside him. In the candlelight, her shadow eclipsed his. He was a small man—narrow-shouldered, slender—and she was a broad and tall woman who’d learned to wield a saber at age ten, when she had followed her mother into service in a highborn household with the wealth to properly protect its women.

“I have heard, priest, that you are from a holy temple far from the city,” said Sanvi, watching him from under her lashes as he worshipped. “That you came here to serve under the High Priest. I hear you choose to pray in a small temple. That you seek out girls of faith who’d like a place in the empress’s mahal.”

A pause. “You hear a great deal,” he said.

“Women talk, priest. You’re lucky no spy of the empress has heard you seek out women who respect the pyre.”

His shoulders were stiff, wary. But he remained where he kneeled, incense wreathing his face.

“Do you respect the pyre, little sister?”

She settled more comfortably on her knees.

“When Emperor Chandra burned holy women, the lady I serve and guard wept and hid in her manse,” Sanvi said. “But I celebrated. I read the Book of Mothers, and I was glad for those girls. They’re immortal now. With the mothers. What greater joy is there?

“I’m no highborn lady,” she continued. “I’m not fit for burning, for that kind of purity. But I’m faithful. I believe.”

“And what do you seek from me?” the priest asked.

“I am a guardswoman from Lady Gul’s household,” Sanvi said. “She is a widow, and loyal to the empress. My lady was approached by the head of the empress’s personal guard. They’re seeking women capable of protecting the empress. I volunteered myself.”

“Is that so,” he murmured. His gaze met her own. His eyes were pale, beautiful. “I do not believe the empress will allow herself to be guarded by a woman of true faith, I am afraid.”

“Is that why you only seek maidservants? Women you think she won’t notice? You need not fear, priest. I don’t prattle about my faith. No one knows my heart but me. And now, you.” She leaned forward, placing a coin on the shrine to the mothers. “If I can serve the mothers of flame,” she said. “If I can serve the empire, I’d like to do so. I want my life to have purpose. I want to die for something that matters. I think I’m what you seek.” She leaned back. “Maybe the mothers sent me to you. I hope so.”

He said nothing, so Sanvi stood and choked back disappointment.

“I’ll return tomorrow evening,” she said. “If the mothers have a purpose for me, I hope you’ll meet me here.”

She returned the next eve, her heart in her throat. She walked up the small shrine’s stairs, which were bluish in the fading light. Inside, the light of the candles glowed luminously on the shrine and shone in the eyes of the mothers.

And there, before the mothers, stood her priest. Waiting for her. Her heart soared.

“I am Mitul,” he said. “Little sister, servant of the mothers: What must I call you?”

“Sanvi,” she said. “What do the mothers need of me, priest?”