The Lotus Empire (The Burning Kingdoms #3)

Chapter 35 Priya

PRIYA

In the aftermath, with blood drying clammy cold on her skin, its metallic stench filling her nose, she went to a woman who’d drunk the deathless waters.

She hadn’t seen her do it, but that didn’t matter. Priya could feel the writhing power in her, a green and living thing severed from its source. She took the woman’s hands.

“Ruchi,” she said. “How do you feel?”

There was a fleck of blood on Ruchi’s cheek. Her pupils were huge discs of black. She laughed, a little hiccupping thing, and said, “Amazing. I’ve never felt so strong before. I see why the mask-keepers tried it.” Her mouth was shiny with water still. Gleaming. “It feels like it’s worth risking death for.”

Her grip on Priya was strong. Priya gripped back just as hard. Grounding.

“The feeling is going to pass,” Priya said. “When you begin to feel weak, or ill, speak to me, all right? I’ll make sure you have the waters broken from the source as long as you need. But even then—the waters will only make you powerful for so long. Do you understand?”

“When will I go into the deathless waters?” Ruchi asked eagerly. “When can I prove myself?”

Priya swallowed. “When the yaksa will it,” she said.

Ruchi barely seemed aware of what Priya was saying—and not saying. Her death loomed over her, but she only nodded frantically, and smiled, then whirled around to face the other warriors. They were watching her with fear and a little awe and drew her into their circle swiftly. Some of them were shaking; one was retching noisily into a bush.

Ganam wasn’t in their circle. So Priya took a firm breath, squared her own shoulders like a woman going to war, and turned in his direction.

She walked over and put her hand on Ganam’s back, and rubbed circles. He was crouched by the body of the man he’d killed, head lowered.

“Get up,” she said, low. “The rest are scared. We need to look strong for them.”

He looked up at her.

“We used children in war,” he said, low. “Ashok. The rebels. We did what we needed to do. I never minded it then. I’ve gotten soft.”

“No,” she said.

A shudder of breath out of him.

“Those temple children. Rukh. Little Padma.” His hands clenched. “I’ve accepted that we don’t get a better world,” he said. “But this. I won’t go back to this.”

One day, she would have to take those temple children through the deathless waters. One day, some of them wouldn’t survive and she would have to bury them in soil, knowing a yaksa could rise wearing any of their faces. One day, and another day, and another.

She felt a wave of nausea pass through her.

“I agree,” she said, just as low. She raised her eyes—saw the people around her. “Get up,” she said again, gently. “We have a long way to go.”

The Srugani knew they were here now. They would need to move swiftly.

They traveled deep into the night, until she could hear the yawns behind her.

“I can hide us,” said Priya. “Ganam, help me.”

“As the High Elder commands.” Ganam rose to his feet.

With a little urging, he drew on his twice-born strength. They wove a camouflage for their group—a hollowed basin of soil hidden beneath a canopy of leaves. From a distance, no Srugani soldiers would see them. And up close, Priya would have an array of weapons to draw on. She sharpened one branch into a series of thorn knives, tucked beneath the leaves ready for use, then settled on the ground to hold vigil.

The warriors fell asleep around her. The vials of water at their waists gave off faint light.

Ganam settled next to her.

“Sleep,” she said to him. “You’re going to need it.”

He shook his head.

“No. I’ll keep watch.”

“Grief is like an extra weight you have to carry around wherever you go,” Priya said, tucking her chin against her knees. “Sleep. Let the weight go.”

“I’ve got no right to grieve,” Ganam said wretchedly. “The yaksa chose me. They let the rest of the rebels—my family —die.”

The yaksa had made no such decision. Priya had seen their panic.

Maybe strength doesn’t matter to the deathless waters after all , Priya thought with disquiet. Kritika had been strong. So many of the mask-keepers had been strong. Maybe it was all chance. Maybe she and Ganam were here and everyone else was gone because of luck alone.

That didn’t make her feel better, and she didn’t think it would help Ganam either.

“Just close your eyes for a little while,” she said. “See. I’ll close mine too.”

“Someone should keep watch.”

“I’ll feel it if anyone comes,” Priya said. “The green speaks to me. There’s nothing to be afraid of, all right? Now, sleep.”

It took Ganam a long time to sleep, but eventually he did. She listened to his low, even breaths and buried her face against her knees. She wept silently, misery forcing its way out of her like blood, like poison. Bhumika was gone and Sima was gone; the mask-keepers were dead. The people around her would all eventually drink the water from their vials and die too. Even Ganam would enter the deathless waters for a third time, and in her heart she didn’t believe he would return.

No harm had come to her today, but she felt like a hollow thing, scraped clean. No organs, no bones to hold her together, no joy, no strength. A single touch would be enough to break her.

She slept.

The imperial court was shattered.

The stone had crumbled. The stone was being carried away by swift, strong waters. Three rivers roared and swirled, merging around Priya’s knees. Somehow, she still stood upright. This wasn’t the sangam, although it looked very like it. Above her were the arches of the court’s ceiling, shining from within with the golden light of fire. Around them were vast trees, bending in a fierce wind Priya couldn’t feel. There were paths all around her, breathing, calling her. But the strongest song came from the waters around her. It was like a plucked string—a resonance. Here you are.

From behind her, she heard a sharp inhale. Heard the movement of a body through water.

Felt fingertips against her arm. The resonance ran right through her, and she knew.

Those were not Mani Ara’s fingers. She would know these hands anywhere. They had held her and traced the shape of her body; they had been inside her. They had closed around a dark flower carved from her own heart.

They were hands that wanted her dead.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t dream of her tonight. She couldn’t .

“Malini,” she said, voice choked. “Don’t.”