The Lotus Empire (The Burning Kingdoms #3)

Chapter 16 Malini

MALINI

She arrived back to Parijat to so much celebration that she wondered if her people had somehow been misled and believed the war had been won. Even through the curtains of her chariot and the shadowy perimeter of guards on horseback around her, she could see the throng of crowds and hear their voices crying out.

Empress. Empress. Empress.

In her imperial court, seated on her raised throne, she could still hear the faint sounds of the city of Harsinghar celebrating her return. Drumbeats and cymbals echoed like wingbeats through the hall as kings and warriors seated themselves beneath her raised dais. The women of court were already seated behind her.

Varsha had joined them. She was close to the end of her pregnancy, and the strain was visible in every line of her body. Her pallu was drawn over her face; the hand not holding her sari was pressed to the swell of her stomach. She sat at the very back of the crescent of seated women, behind Raziya and Lata and Deepa, among the highborn wives and daughters and grandmothers of the kings and princes who kneeled below.

Servants closed the shutters. The sound grew muted until there was nothing but the noise of men’s low murmuring voices, the rustle of silks, and the crackle of lanterns.

Malini leaned forward, and even the sound of those voices died away.

“There are wars,” Malini said, “that cannot be fought by warriors alone. The rot grows. The priesthood have assured us that the yaksa will return, and what we all witnessed in Ahiranya—and the soldiers we lost—confirms their claim. The warriors who remain to watch Ahiranya’s borders are brave,” she continued, speaking of Mahesh and the priestly warriors—the ones left behind. “But we have an even greater duty: We must protect our food and fields from the rot, or all is lost.”

She gestured to Lata, who rose smoothly to her feet and began to explain the inner workings of their plan: the essential harvests that had to be protected; the grain and rice in Alor, the herds in Dwarali, the Srugani orchards. The way soldiers uninfected with the rot would be directed and managed; the way harvests would need to be stored and distributed to ensure the empire’s survival.

There were objections, of course. There were always objections.

“Empress,” one quavering-voiced lord from Alor said. “Not all of this can be done. Not in an empire of our size. Not with perfection. We do not have the men. The war has drained us.”

“Starvation would drain us much further,” Malini said crisply. “We do not need perfection, my lord. Only willingness. Only bravery. All of you claim you would die by the sword for Parijatdvipa. If you are willing to do so, you can take on the smaller sacrifice of sharing food.”

“There are many landowners and lords who will not wish to give their grain to the empire,” another prince said. His gaze was steady. “They may resist.”

“This is war,” Malini replied. “They will do what is needful. And if they do not, you will convince them to do what is right.”

He bowed. “Empress,” he said. “As you command.”

She went to the imperial temple. In these times, an appearance of piety was to her benefit.

She walked through the gardens of the temple under the cover of a parasol, with only Sahar to guard her. Hemanth soon joined her. He looked as unassuming as ever, an unremarkable figure in his plain robes, his ash-marked brow furrowed.

“High Priest,” she said, inclining her head with a practiced smile. Then she allowed her face to smooth to graveness. “I have come to pray.”

“You are welcome, Empress, in the temple of your ancestor,” Hemanth replied. “Will you pray alongside me?”

“I have come for solitude,” she said.

His jaw tightened.

“I am glad to see you safe,” he said. “Is Ahiranya quelled?”

“I am sure you know how the battle fared,” she murmured.

“I trust your word above all else, Empress.” He met her gaze.

Every time she met his eyes she saw a sure belief in them. Not hatred—it would have been simpler if she simply saw hatred in his eyes—but a steady truth. Even as he bowed to her, she read the message in every line of his body.

One day you will burn.

Hemanth and the priesthood that served him believed the yaksa would return, and that Malini’s willing death—like the deaths of the mothers of flame long before her—would give Parijatdvipa the strength to destroy the yaksa once more. When they had supported her brother Chandra’s claim to the throne, they had done so for the sake of that truth. And when the High Priest had finally, finally , turned upon Chandra and backed Malini’s rise to empress, he had done so for the same reason.

She had vowed she would not burn if she could not have her throne. The loyalty of the priesthood hinged upon that vow.

Aditya had bought her time with his death by fire. Because of him, many believed utterly that her rule was mother-blessed. But she knew how contradictory beliefs and desires could coexist in the human heart. And the priesthood held great sway.

She could not destroy Hemanth yet. Not until the power in his hands had faded.

“We tested the strength of Ahiranya, and our own fire,” Malini said finally. “The war has only begun, High Priest. My advisors and I will carve a path forward and defeat the yaksa. They will crawl into the world, and we will purge them.”

“There is only one way to purge the yaksa, Empress. I am willing—and able—to counsel you on how to face the future bravely.”

“I will pray for Divyanshi’s guidance,” said Malini.

A heavy sigh left him. “Will you burn women, as your brother did? For the good of Parijatdvipa?” Those implacable eyes of his were pitying. “I understand that with the fate lying before you, it must be a hard thing to face your duty. But if you must fight the yaksa, if you cannot yet burn yourself…”

There were many things she could have said, the very things she had told herself in the dark, before nightmares of Priya’s face swallowed her again. The false fire was not enough. Perhaps her own death would not be enough. And she wanted so much, so very much, to live.

The world was changed, riven with rot, and Malini wanted above all else to live, and taste vengeance.

“Thank you, High Priest,” she said. “I will consider your words carefully.”

There was a room reserved for her to pray in solitude. She’d used it many times during her recovery from her knife wound; she had arranged for its contents herself. It was small and bare. The walls were curved and carved from pale stone. The only items in the room were a hand-knotted rug, soft enough to kneel on, and a single item on a plinth: a yaksa’s arm.

A severed arm from the Age of Flowers. An arm that had flowered, fleshlike, with new life. Its flowering had marked the return of the yaksa and Priya’s inevitable betrayal.

Sahar remained outside the room, at the end of the hall. Malini kneeled and closed her eyes. She was relieved Hemanth had not tried to remain. She’d had enough of him.

She did not pray. She sat in silence, knees aching, her chest thrumming with a low-level, persistent pain. The mark Priya had left on her was impossible to ignore.

Time passed. She heard no footsteps, but she did hear the faint groan of the door opening and closing.

“Sahar told me to meet you here,” Rao said. “I… did not expect to find you praying alone.”

“I’m not truly praying, Rao,” Malini said, amusement seeping into her voice. “I wanted to meet you without eyes on us.”

“Ah,” said Rao.

She opened her own eyes and turned her head, and saw that he had angled his body into the shadow between the door and the wall, where no passing guard or curious priest could walk by and catch sight of him. He looked tired but better than he had in a long time.

“What are you meant to be praying for?” Rao prompted.

“Success against Ahiranya, of course. I’ve assured Hemanth I intend to contemplate the nature of sacrifice.” She clasped her own hands before her. “It wasn’t entirely a lie. That is why I called for you, Rao.” A fortifying breath to hold herself steady. “You were with Aditya. At the end.”

He swallowed. She saw the movement of his throat. The flinch in his gaze.

“Ask,” he said. “And I’ll tell you what it was like.”

She shook her head.

“Rao,” she said. “I do not want to burn as he burned. And yet I know what the priesthood wants. What everyone will want in time.”

The crowds may have lauded her when she’d moved through the city, but with the rot spreading and the yaksa returning, people would turn against her. Faith was slow to grow and quick to splinter. It was inevitable and only a matter of time.

“You saw him,” she said quietly. “Would you want that for me?”

“You know I wouldn’t,” he said, his voice rough. “Even if I hadn’t seen him. Even then.”

She nodded. She’d known. But she’d wanted to be sure.

“Lata has been looking for alternatives,” Malini said. “She has studied every book and scroll in the imperial libraries and beyond. And she believes there may be other ways to fight the yaksa. There are tales—myths—from the Age of Flowers that offer possibilities beyond flame. I want you to chase one of those myths for me, Rao.”

His face was distant, as if he couldn’t quite reach his own emotions.

“Where do you want me to go?”

“Dwarali,” she replied. “I want you to go beyond the Lal Qila. Beyond Parijatdvipa, where the tribes of the Jagatay and Babure dwell. Lata will tell you more, if you choose to go.”

Silence. She saw his forehead crease, his jaw tense. Then, carefully, he said, “I had hoped to go home. To Alor.”

“You cannot go yet.”

“Lord Khalil or Lady Raziya. If you spoke to them—”

“Lord Khalil must remain here to assist in my war. Lady Raziya will go to the sultan’s court with a portion of my army,” said Malini. “I promised her husband the sultan’s throne, you see. By law it is not mine to give, but the sultan is old, and he has no heirs but a distant cousin. Raziya has my permission to ensure that power transitions smoothly into Lord Khalil’s hands.”

“That sounds a little like murder.”

“Does it? How strange.”

“Malini.”

“I thought we were beyond your judgment, Rao,” Malini said, baring her teeth into a smile. “You’re missing the most important truth: I trust you more than I trust them. I know the price of their loyalty, and I know the source of yours. It lies in your sister’s pyre, and my brother’s. I know the strength of that grief. I trust you, perhaps, more than I trust anyone.”

“Do you?” His gaze fixed on her. Sharpened. “Or are you sending me on a fool’s errand? Perhaps you don’t feel I am a fit general for your army any longer. I wouldn’t blame you, Malini. I know what I am.”

There can be more than one truth.

She didn’t say the words. Didn’t speak of Lata’s troubled gaze, the way she’d whispered to Malini about him. All I desire is for him to have peace.

“This is no punishment,” she said gently. “And no fool’s errand. If distance provides you ease or respite… I would be glad. But I hope you will return with answers, Rao. And even if you do not, I hope you will return to be my general and my advisor again.”

Vulnerability flashed across his half-shadowed face.

“I want to take Sima with me,” he said. “Lata placed her in my care on your behalf, but I won’t act without your permission.”

“Do you not trust me to keep her safe?”

“I know you will only stay in Harsinghar until Lady Varsha’s child is born,” he replied. “Then you will go to war again. She can’t be your priority.”

“Is she yours?”

“She is a good person, or so I believe,” Rao said quietly. “I’d like to make sure one good person survives this war.”

“Do not return to me and tell me you’ve misplaced her,” she said.

“I wouldn’t do such a thing.”

She felt nothing about Sima but an echo of her feelings for Priya.

But Rao. Well.

She didn’t tell him what she knew. Sima’s guards replaced with newer, kinder men; the efforts to arrange better food. The nighttime visits. The list of small kindnesses and intimacies revealed his partiality to her. If another man had been so attentive, Malini would have wondered if he’d fallen in love or lust with his prisoner. But with Rao, she was not sure such concerns were necessary. She knew where his heart lay, and it was in ashes, not in Sima’s bed.

“Remember what she is,” said Malini. “She may be good-natured, she may listen to you and be kind enough, but she is Ahiranyi. She comes from our enemies, and no matter what she may say, her heart belongs with them. Remember she is a prisoner with good reason, and treat her as such.”